When she has read the last word of her chapter, Honey looks up and our eyes catch. She grins and gives me a thumbs-up, and the room laughs and lots of women turn back to me or strain forward to see who Honey was signaling. Everyone starts singing and clapping for Honey. As she makes her way back to her seat, I feel so proud of her and proud that she is really my best friend, even if I don’t get to make a best friend’s speech for her. I scratch my cheek again. At Natalie’s bat mitzvah, Natalie was a princess. But even in a cheap plastic kid’s crown, Honey is a queen. It’s not v’nahafoch hu—that things have been turned around—it’s just simply revealed what was there all along. I guess Tali, Sophie, Rivkie, Natalie, and Honey—even Tammy—all had the right bat mitzvah for them.
After the megillah reading ends, I hang back to hug Honey, but she is surrounded in an impenetrable circle of family, including the big-hatted ladies. So I head to the back of the room, where a partition has been pulled aside to reveal a kiddush-type spread sponsored by the Wines, with tables swarmed by kids grabbing pastries and adults pouring themselves shots of liquor. I see Josh already holding two full plates aloft and making his way toward Aaron, who has climbed onto a stack of chairs in the corner. Before I reach the tables though, a finger taps my shoulder from behind. I turn around to see Aginéni looking at me keenly.
“So, nu, are you going to do this too?” she says without saying hello, and sweeps her arm around the room to the lectern. “Is this for you?”
I scratch my cheek. “Um—”
“What?” she says, leaning forward on her cane.
“Probably not,” I say, shuffling my feet.
“Hmm. Well, just because you haven’t done something yet doesn’t mean you never will.”
“I guess,” I say.
“You haven’t come to see me.”
“Oh. Um—” I look helplessly at the end of the room, where Aunty Steph and Shmuel Yosef are sharing a plate of hamantaschen. I notice Aginéni is wearing a butterfly pin with pink sparkling jewels in the wings. “Yeah,” I say, before turning my attention to the floor. My face is burning. I rub my cheek again, still keeping my eyes down.
“Yes, well, that’s not to say you never will. Or that you’ll never want to,” she says, and I feel her gaze on me, its energy forcing me to look directly at her. Reluctantly I raise my eyes and realize with a start that she’s holding in a smile.
“I see you like my brooch.” She points to her butterfly pin, and I nod shyly. “My dear Imre-batchi had a costume jewelry business. So you see, this is my costume for Purim. It’s my little joke with myself.”
I let out a squeaky laugh. Her eyes are twinkling. “I have boxes and boxes of the dreck,” she says. “My dear Imre-batchi was a terrible businessman. If you ever want something for yourself, to complement an outfit or give yourself a little sparkle, be my guest. But it means you have to come over.”