“Tessa Andrews accepts with pleasure.” Sophie slams a card down happily. “Oh. Hell. Yes.”
“Sophie, don’t cuss,” says Mom.
Sophie tilts her head. “I don’t really think of hell as a cuss word, though.”
“It’s a gateway cuss,” I say, settling in beside Mom. Boomer parks his chin in my lap, leaning in for a head scratch.
“Here, I’ve got the spreadsheet pulled up,” says Grandma.
“Sophie, are you listening?” says Mom. “Now, the other option for the buffet is this bonus room at the back of the venue. But is it weird having the food that close to the restrooms?”
I shrug. “At least it’s convenient.”
“Jamie! Don’t be gross,” Sophie says.
“Oh my God, for handwashing!”
Mom rubs her temples. “I’d like us to utilize the space, since we’ll be paying for it anyway, but—”
“Hey.” Sophie perks up. “What about a teen room?” Mom narrows her eyes, but Sophie raises a finger. “Hear me out. It’s a thing. You’ve got the adults, all of your friends, family—you all get the nice party in the ballroom, right? And then we get our own super chill smaller party in the other room. Nothing fancy.”
“That’s ridiculous,” says Mom. “Why wouldn’t you want to be with family?”
“I’m just concerned about some of the music being a bit much for the old people, you know? This way, y’all can play ‘Shout’ or whatever in here.” She pokes the middle of the ballroom on the floor plan. “And then we can have Travis Scott . . . and everyone’s happy.”
“Travis Scott. Now, isn’t that Stormi’s dad?” says Grandma.
“We’re not having two separate parties,” says Mom.
“Then why’d you ask my opinion?” says Sophie. “Why am I even here?”
“Why am I even here?” I mutter to Boomer, who gazes back at me solemnly.
I mean, let’s be real. Mom didn’t even want my input when it was my own bar mitzvah. I didn’t even get to pick my own theme. I wanted historical timelines. Mom made me do Around the World, with chocolate passports for favors.
I guess it ended up being sort of cool—in an ironic way, since I’ve only been to one other country. My dad’s been living for years as an expat in Utrecht, so Sophie and I spend a few weeks in the Netherlands each summer. Other than that, we don’t talk to him much. It’s hard to explain, but when he’s physically present, he’s present—he takes off work when we visit and everything. But he’s not really a phone guy or a text guy, and he’s barely an email guy. And he’s only been back to the States a handful of times since the divorce. I doubt he’ll come to Sophie’s bat mitzvah, especially with it scheduled so close to our summer trip. He skipped mine, though he did mail me a congratulatory box of authentic Dutch stroopwafels. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they sell the exact same brand at Kroger.
“—Jamie’s toast,” my mom says.
I jolt upright, startling Boomer. “My what?”
“You’re giving the pre-challah toast at the reception. And the hamotzi, of course.”
“No I’m not.” My stomach drops.
“Come on, it will be good for you.” Mom ruffles my hair. “Great speaking practice, and pretty stress-free, right? It’s just family and Sophie’s friends.”
“You want me to give a speech in front of a room full of middle schoolers.”
“Is that really so intimidating?” asks Mom. “You’re going to be a senior. They’re not even freshmen.”
“Um.” I shake my head. “That sounds like hell.”
“Jamie, don’t gateway cuss,” says Sophie.
Grandma smiles gently. “Why don’t you think about it, bubalah? It’s not all middle schoolers. Drew will be there, Felipe and his fellow will be there, your cousins will be there.”
“No.” Mom rests her hand on my shoulder. “We’re not doing the negotiation thing. Jamie can step out of his comfort zone for Sophie. She’s his sister!”
“Yeah, I’m your sister,” chimes Sophie.
“This isn’t a normal brother thing! Where are you even getting this? If anything, you should be giving the toast.”
“Andrea Jacobs’s sister gave a toast,” Sophie says. “And Michael Gerson’s brother, and Elsie Feinstein’s brother, though I guess he just said mazel tov and then belched into the microphone. Don’t do that. Hey, maybe you could do your toast in verse?”
I stand abruptly. “I’m leaving.”
“Jamie, don’t be dramatic,” says Mom. “This is a good opportunity for you.”
I don’t respond. I don’t even look back.
I can’t. I’m sorry. No offense to Sophie. Trust me, I’d love to be the awesome brother who can get up there and be just the right balance