Pizza in the Rain Pt. I

I know this week I should be publishing a book review, but as I announced last week there would be no blog post, I also mentioned I had a special edition two part series planned I wanted to share. That said, as the executive powers that be lie with, well…me, I have elected no book review shall be shared this week.

Instead, I am going to share the story of how it all happened, of how my husband and I “met”. (I say “met” because we were already friends for three years before we started developing feelings.)

Why? Because this week is our five year anniversary since that fateful night when it all began, which I thought would be a great piece to write and share with all of you.

Before I dive into those events—of getting pizza in the rain—we need to go back to earlier in that week, of when I met up with a different friend for some sushi after work.

(*The names in the following story have been changed to maintain each person’s anonymity.)

The traffic seemed light downtown as I raced South on Oak Street before cutting East on 17th. Didn’t help that all I could think about was how crispy and delectable the sushi at Nara was, and had been all day as it dragged on for what felt like hours and hours. There was something about that tempura fried veggie roll I couldn’t find in any other sushi bar; probably the smokiness or the cream cheese. Never mind they tempura fried pickles, too.

Sure, I was almost as equally excited to meet up with Kevin again. I couldn’t remember the last time we hung out together at our usual sushi bar, especially without William tagging along. I didn’t mind William. He was interesting, could carry an invigorating conversation, but he was too…serious. Not that I mind, but sometimes life is too serious, and I desire laughter. But Kevin? Kevin understood how to laugh at the world; though, like me, he was still learning how to laugh at himself. His humour tinged with that sweet caress of bitter darkness and melancholy matched my own, and we could sit like the philosophers of old under the stoa and laugh at the world and its folly.

It would be good to see him, to laugh again. I was glad to have caught him at shul this past Shabbas and remind him our forum was well overdue.

After catching each other up, it was about halfway through my sushi roll when he began regaling me with how the latest union conference had transpired—or rather how one female in particular had set her sights on procuring him as her would-be husband.

Oy gevalt!

As I dropped my piece of sushi, mouth hanging wide open, I marvelled that the worst of it was how so many from our own congregation had encouraged their mingling. Of course they would! What is it about meddling in matchmaking that makes us go nuts? Why can’t people just let people be? Thankfully, he explained how he quickly nipped any budding ideas she had sprouting in her head of their future together, but unfortunately, he confessed, this set-up our mutual friend to be her new target.

That’s right: Justin.

His roommate and former pending fiancée of his sister as well as my friend, who I knew intimately through our collected moments of shared silence, which spoke more to me than all the words we had ever exchanged—Justin was being targeted by a husband-hunter.

Oy just isn’t enough.

I erupted, enraged she had set her sights on Justin when I knew he was still recovering from a messy break-up the summer before. I was still irate with how that woman had broken off their would-be engagement. He had been with her for eight years—EIGHT YEARS! The man needed time to grieve. If he was anything like I knew him to be, I felt like it was still too soon. We both knew how loyal to a fault Justin could be, how tragically devoted. I exploded with my fury, emoting to Kevin how furious I was someone would dare swoop in and try to arrange any sort of match with him. Kevin tried to calm me by reassuring me Justin was well aware of everyone’s intentions and wasn’t having any of it.

Of course, as I listened to his reassurances, I realised how much my outburst surprised me. Was I merely angry at the little respect Justin was shown when it felt like, to me, he was still grieving inside? Or was I angry for another reason? A reason I did not yet know?

Ignoring my own questions, I focused instead on the rest of our conversation as we shared our similar experiences. I had returned earlier that year from a Shavuot gathering where I bewilderingly caught the eye of several men, one who was quite keen and I had briefly considered a possible match. I expressed how baffling and irritating it was to me of why our young adult lives were so caught up in finding mates. Even my own desires were a source of constant frustration, especially since only months before I had my heart ripped out by the one man I thought finally loved me for me after three whole years of being strung along on his small tokens of affection, which were merely lies I learned too late.

Unrequited love is the worst.

After commiserating on love and its fallacies, we celebrated our singleness with a hearty discussion on the joys of discovering our individualism without the looming presence of another person hovering around and the sweet freedom it brought. It ended with a promise we would hang out that Shabbas after havdalah and continue our platonically defiant friendship with another late night summer adventure.

Little did we know what such adventures would bring…

Stay tuned until next week when I share just what those adventures were!

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Update: continue reading our story here with Part Two!