One Last Thing Before I Go

ornate white tablecloth, his mother’s silver Shabbat candlesticks standing in the center, burning brightly. This was his childhood, safe and warm and brightly lit, and being here now makes him feel like he died years ago and he’s now a lost spirit, stuck between worlds with unfinished business.
    “I hope you don’t mind,” his father says, giving him a hug.
    “You could have told me they’d all be here.”
    “But then you wouldn’t have come, and I couldn’t disappoint your mother like that.”
    “So instead, you disappointed me.”
    He smiles. “I love you, but I sleep in her bed.”
    “OK, Pops, don’t be gross,” Casey says, and he kisses her cheek happily.
    “Is he here?” Elaine calls out from the kitchen.
    “Go say hello to your mother,” Ruben says.
    “Hey, Ma.”
    Elaine stands at the center island of her kitchen in a black dinner dress and slippers, slicing a London broil. She must have gone to shul with his father. Silver pictures them, walking home arm in arm after services, breathing in the warm summer air, listening to the familiar rhythm of their heels on the sidewalk, anticipating a lively Shabbat dinner with their children. He can feel their love, their peace, their quiet comfort with their lives and each other. They have done something right without consciously trying, achieved some vital contentment that has fatally eluded him.
    “You look terrible,” his mother says, putting down her knife.
    “It’s been a rough few days.”
    “Come give me a hug.”
    He is twice her size, but when she hugs him, he disappears.
    “Ma,” he says as the lump in his throat rises.
    “I know,” she says, rubbing his back. “I know.”
    And he almost believes her.
    * * *
    Although the vision has gradually been returning to his left eye, it’s still somewhat unfocused, giving him minor balance problems. In the living room, he staggers a bit before sitting down between Casey and Denise on the couch. “You good?” Denise says.
    “Good enough.”
    “I hope this is OK. Your mom wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
    “It’s fine.”
    “And, you know, I miss them.”
    He knows that’s true. Denise’s mother died when she was thirteen, and Elaine had always yearned for a daughter. After they got married, Denise had formed an intimate bond with Silver’s mother. Silver sometimes wonders whether he and Denise only lasted as long as they did because Denise didn’t want to lose Elaine. They still get together for lunch every so often. His mother doesn’t mention it to him, but it’s a small enough town, and he’s occasionally seen them, on sidewalks and through restaurant windows. Getting divorced is a messy business under the best of circumstances, because in some ways, you never stop being a family. The movie stars can pull it off. Everyone else stumbles through it with a sloppy combination of false hope and willful blindness.
    * * *
    At the table he is seated between Casey and Denise, across from Chuck and Ruby, whose two boys sit beside them, vibrating like hot molecules. Zack and Benny, eight and six; they’re like cartoon characters who never stop moving. The baby, Nate, is sleeping in his car seat on the floor in the corner. They sing “Shalom Aleichem,” and then Ruben raises his silver cup and recites the kiddush, then pours wine from the cup into small silver cups that get passed around the table. The kiddush wine tastes like cough syrup, coating Silver’s tongue and throat with its sickly sweetness. They go into the kitchen to wash their hands with a silver washing cup, then return to the table, where Ruben says a blessing and cuts the challah. Then, having dispensed with the rituals, Elaine and Casey bring out the soup.
    Ruben tells a condensed version of the story he told at services tonight, and Silver is acutely aware of Denise beside him, listening, laughing, enjoying herself. He would like to hold her hand. So he reaches for it, under the table. She gives him a funny look as she slides out of his grasp, standing up to help clear the soup bowls.
    Ruby cuts the chicken for her boys, trading furtive glances with Chuck. Something is going on, there’s a plan in place, an intervention of sorts, and there’s nothing Silver can do but sit here and wait for them to make their move. He tries to disarm Chuck with a hard stare, but his brother is avoiding eye contact.
    “Chuck,” Silver says, and when the table falls instantly silent, he realizes that he’s said it maybe a