Sabbath Flames

By Shula J Asher Silberstein

When Meira's boyfriend couldn't accept that Meira was attracted to women, too, they broke up. After snapping out of a self-pity stage, Meira decides she wants to date women for a while. The second she meets beautiful, mysterious Layla at her mother's temple, she knows this is the girl she wants to date. But can their relationship survive Layla's asexuality and her fear of coming out to her family?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shula J Asher Silberstein
• Release date: Nov 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9780981645933

Shula J Asher Silberstein

Shula J Asher Silberstein is living proof that being diagnosed with Aspergers syndrome doesn't have to limit a person's potential. He has supported himself through freelance writing since 2009 and is the author of two young adult novels as well as over 2,000 non-fiction articles on topics related to getting and staying out of financial trouble. Shula considers himself an advocate for suicide prevention in the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender community as well as the Autistic community. He speaks to parents of LGBT children and parents of Autistic children about how to best understand, help and encourage their children to live full, productive lives.

Book preview

SABBATH FLAMES

by

Shula J Asher Silberstein

Copyright

Copyright Shula J Asher Silberstein 2011

Published by Narrow Path Publishing at Smashwords


This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

About the Author

Chapter One

The first Shabbat she spent alone, Meira lit the candles out of habit. The table was set beautifully, more beautifully than it ever had been when she and Jonathan were together. She put the silver candlesticks her mother had given her in the center of the table, in front of the loaf of challah and the bottle of wine. Both the challah and wine were real―none of that Italian bread and sparkling grape juice Jonathan always insisted on using instead―and she'd used her fanciest dishes to set two places. She'd read in some magazine that if you set an extra place, the company you were craving would come. Besides, it helped her forget that she was completely and utterly alone.

After she lit the candles, she put her hand near the flame, then pulled it towards herself in a circular motion as if she were calling the flame itself into her heart. For a second, she felt an intense longing for something . . . else, something without words. She closed her eyes and tried to pray.

Their first Shabbat together, Jonathan turned up in a pair of jeans and a stained t-shirt. Meira was in the kitchen working on the lasagna when he knocked on the door. She called to him to come in so she wouldn't be interrupted.

Don't leave your door unlocked, he said, coming up behind her in the kitchen. You never know who might walk in on you.

I was expecting you, she said. I don't leave it open all the time.

He paused, his lips on the back of her neck. After a minute, he kissed her very lightly and laughed. What's for supper?

Lasagna. Here. Measure out the cheese for me. She handed him a metal measuring cup. He pushed the cup aside. It clanged into the sink. Don't need it. Gimme the cheese. She handed him the bag and he ripped it open. He made a mountain of cheese on top of the noodles, then got on his knees to check it out. There. That looks about right.

It's not. Her voice rose a little despite her best efforts. She wanted to make a perfect dinner for him, and he was ruining it. But she didn't want to fight, not tonight, not the first time they were together on Shabbat.

It'll be fine. He put his arms around her and kissed her hard. She felt like he was taking possession of her and she liked it . . . .

And then a year later the fight happened. The stupid, ugly fight just because she―

Meira opened her eyes. She was not going there tonight. She said the Hebrew prayers hurriedly, trying to shut up the voice in the back of her head that kept saying now that maybe Jonathan would come back, maybe it wasn't over, maybe it could still be resolved.

She'd set the table for the woman of her dreams, not for him. She had to. He couldn't accept her, not all of her. He couldn't accept that she felt the same way about women as she did about him.

And if he couldn't accept that, there was no point.

She poured herself a glass of wine so that she could sit on the couch and imagine someone―a female someone―was about to knock on the door.

Shabbat was a dismal failure. No one knocked on the door, no one called, nothing happened. Meira ended up drinking wine by herself and going to bed early.

The whole week was like that. Every night she went to bed earlier and earlier. She wasn't tired, just cold because it was the middle of October and winter was starting to sneak up before she was ready for it. She was always more exhausted when she woke up than when she went to bed; she huddled under the covers for as long as she could get away with and still make it to work on time. The only thing that got her out of bed at all was the thought that maybe today she would hear from Jonathan.

The phone stayed quiet until Thursday afternoon. It wasn't Jonathan then, either. It was her mom. "Hi, sweetie. I was wondering if you needed challah for tomorrow."

Meira leaned against her car door. Nah, she said. I'm kinda taking a break from Shabbat.

I don't think that's a good idea.

Yeah, well. The wind bit at her fingers as she fumbled with her car key. She hurried to get it into the lock. I do.

I figured we'd go to Whole Foods, Mom said. We can eat at the salad bar afterwards. Unless you'd rather eat at home.

Meira sighed. Why did her mother always do this? It wasn't just that she wouldn't take no for an answer; she ignored all No's as if they didn't exist, especially when they came from Meira.

Salad bar's fine, Meira said.

Great. I'll pick you up in half an hour. Mom hung up.

Meira yanked the car door open and plopped into her car, letting it slam behind her. Now she had to rush home instead of exploring a side street she had never gone down before. She had wanted to see what stores lay on that street. Window-shopping took her mind off Jonathan. Now she was going to be stuck with his ghost the whole way home.

Mom was already waiting in front of the house when Meira pulled up. Meira pretended not to see her as she pulled into the garage. She deliberately took her time going inside and checking her mail. She had nothing but a bunch of flyers that had been stuffed into everybody's mailbox. She threw them away as hard as she could before walking slowly out to the car.

Mom looked perfect. Her brown hair curled around her forehead and mascara highlighted her dark eyes. Except for the little bit of gray blending into the front of her head, Meira thought she looked like a prettier version of herself.

So what's this about you giving up Shabbat? she said as Meira struggled to get her seatbelt on.

Meira didn't have the words to explain the disconnection she felt from the whole Friday night ritual, and even if she had Mom was the last person she wanted to share those feelings with. It's just not my thing, she said. Jonathan was way more into it than I was. She expected tears to spring to her eyes at the mention of Jonathan's name; to her surprise her body reacted as if him being gone was normal.

Jonathan. Mom nearly spat the word, as if his name were some horrible curse.

Mom . . . Meira said, then thought better of it and cut herself off.

They were quiet for a minute, then Mom said, as if the conversation had never been interrupted by anything unpleasant, I ran into Mandy Dreiss at temple last week.

Oh? Meira had no idea who Mandy Dreiss was.

She misses her son terribly. He just left for Israel, you know.

Ah. Meira leaned back against the seat as her mother braked at a red light.

When they got to Whole Foods, Meira remembered everything she hated about the place. It was so crowded they had to drive around the huge parking lot four times to find a space, and inside the store buggies went every which way and people kept getting in each other's way. Meira's chest tightened until she was hardly breathing; she was relieved when Mom said, "Let's hit the salad bar first. We can get the challah later."

There weren't as many people at the salad bar; Meira guessed that five o'clock was a little too early for most people to eat. The greens looked fresher and brighter than the boxed salad she had been eating all week to save money, and the olives were in some kind of vinegar that smelled wonderful. She quickly deflated, though, when she saw the signs all around that said salad was $7.99 a pound. There was no way she could afford a decent sized meal.

Mom was already filling her plate with lettuce. What are you waiting for? Dig in.

Meira could feel her face getting hot. She looked down at the ground, the tears that hadn't come earlier threatening to overtake her now. The check she'd just gotten was nearly spent already between her rent and her water bill. And Mom could never understand that.

Mom glanced at her. If you're worrying about the cost, stop. I've got it covered.

Thanks, Meira mumbled. Her cheeks got even hotter and she thought