Work Text:
She’s been on a plane for what seems like an entire day, going nowhere fast as the hours crawl by. The impact of wheels on tarmac is only momentarily jarring. Other passengers around her ready their carry-ons, yammer into cell phones as they taxi into the gate, hunch under the overhead bins like standing will make everyone deplane faster. Aliya turns her phone on and texts briefly. She waits, concentrating on her breathing, deliberately contained. Her phone vibrates in answer, a silent reassurance.
Aly will be waiting for her.
Boston Logan is noisy and American, which are the same thing. Aliya stands in the endless line to get her passport inspected and tries to ignore wailing children and loud business travelers. She nearly falls asleep on her feet waiting for her bags. She won’t let herself believe she’s really here. Not until she’s gotten through customs and out, finally, to wait at the curb and breathe exhaust-fume air.
But she doesn’t make it that far. Because after she passes through customs and heads toward the door, she sees a small figure searching the crowd. Aliya approaches slowly, as if sleepwalking, as if any sudden movement could puncture the dream and send her back to Russia.
Aly turns her head, and the spell is broken. Aly’s mouth moves, saying her name, and now she’s sprinting toward Aliya and Aliya’s running to meet her, heavy baggage be damned, and Aly catches Aliya, spins her around and kisses her and kisses her, and it’s real, it’s finally real.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Aly says when they can both speak again. Aliya folds her arms tightly around her American and squeezes her eyes shut. If a few tears leak out, well, she’s had a long couple of months.
Aly insists on carrying her bags. Outside, a giant SUV is parked at a rakish angle. Aliya says wryly, “You didn’t tell me you drive tank.”
Aly holds the passenger-side door for her. “Gotta keep you in one piece or your coach will kill me.”
Aliya steals a kiss before she hops in. “My life is on your hands.”
“In your hands,” Aly corrects her fondly. She pops up for another kiss and slings Aliya’s suitcases into the car, then darts around to the driver’s side. She leans over to Aliya again once the door is closed. Aliya closes her eyes and basks in the feeling of Aly’s lips against hers. At least, until a horn blares behind them. Aliya misses Aly’s touch as soon as she pulls away, but she has to chuckle at the look Aly gives the rearview mirror.
Once she’s navigated the airport exit, Aly holds the wheel with one hand. She reaches out with the other. Aliya interlocks their fingers and lets her head loll back against the headrest. She’s exhausted but content.
“How was your flight?”
Aliya looks over at the girl she loves. “Not so bad. Because I fly to you.”
Aly squeezes her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here, baby. You know, everyone in my family is really excited to meet you.”
“Me too,” Aliya says. There’s a strong undercurrent of trepidation in her excitement, but Aly keeps assuring her that the Raismans are open and accepting people, that they already want her to be part of the family. Aliya tries not to doubt for her sake.
“Don’t worry, moya lyubov,” Aly says, getting the pronunciation almost perfect. “They’ll fall in love with you at first sight, just like I did.”
* * *
“We’re home!” Aly yells. The whole place smells faintly of oil from the latkes they’d made earlier. She drops the suitcases in the entryway and says to Aliya, “You can just leave your shoes anywhere, and don’t worry about the bags for now. I want you to meet my family first.”
The Raisman residence must seem a palace to Aliya, who’s used to living in dorms and her family’s flat. Which is why Aly’s chosen to bring her girlfriend in by the side entrance. Besides, no one really uses the front entryway; it’s giant and kind of ridiculous.
The dogs come bounding around their ankles and herd them into the living room where Aly’s sisters are watching a movie. Lynn pops in from the kitchen. Rick thumps his way downstairs, yelling for Brett to pause his Xbox. Aly puts her arm around Aliya and says to the assembly, “Everyone … this is Aliya. Aliya, this is my family.”
Her parents come forward first and Aly introduces them. “We’re so glad you could come visit Aly,” Lynn says, hugging her briefly.
Rick gives her a hearty handshake. “Welcome, welcome,” he says. “Kids, come say hi.”
“Nice to meet you,” Brett says, shaking her hand too.
“I liked your makeup during the Olympics!” Chloe says. “Did you do it yourself?”
“Yes,” Aliya says, smiling shyly.
“Will you show us how?” Madison asks.
Lynn laughs. “Girls! Let’s give our guest some space. Aliya, are you hungry? We ate already but there’s plenty left over.”
“Thank you, I ate during flight.”
“All right, sweetie, but you let us know if you change your mind, OK? And feel free to look around in the fridge any time.”
Aly takes over. “Alka, we’re going to light the candles before everyone goes to bed and do a game—did you want to go freshen up or rest instead? I know you’re tired.”
“No, I wait for after,” Aliya says. Aly’s told her a little about the holiday, and she’s happy to hear that Aliya wants to participate.
Rick says, “How about we take your bags upstairs while you girls get the hanukkiah set up, huh? Brett, give me a hand with these, will ya.”
As Aly ushers Aliya over to the table, she feels a surge of pride in her family. Telling them she’d liked girls had been one thing. It had taken a while for them to become accustomed to the idea that she liked a girl who lived on the other side of the world. But they’ve responded beautifully tonight, and she’s happy that her assurances to Aliya have proven true. She can tell that her girlfriend feels less nervous than when they’d first walked inside. The next eight days are going to be amazing.
* * *
“Aly, will you say the blessings?” Lynn asks. Aly obliges, leaning forward with the shammash to light the lone candle. Aliya likes the way the words fall from Aly’s lips. Hebrew seems a proper language, like Russian, with its harsh consonants. There’s a moment of silence after Aly concludes as they watch the candles flicker. Then Lynn says, “Time for presents and dreidel!”
“Yay!” the younger girls chorus.
Rick dumps a handful of tops and bags of foil-wrapped chocolate coins on the table while Lynn hands out small gifts to her family and one to Aliya. “Thank you,” Aliya says, surprised.
“Of course, dear,” Lynn says, smiling.
The others are already opening their gifts, so Aliya opens hers. Inside is an “I heart Boston” fitted T-shirt in her size. She grins as she holds it up. She’s always liked shirts with English on them. She’ll be proud to wear this one.
“Time to gamble, kiddos!” Rick says. Aly passes Aliya a bag of coins and a top. Aliya examines the top’s painted wood. The gilt letters are Hebrew, she assumes. ”They each stand for something,” Brett says on her other side. “You spin the dreidel and you do what the letter tells you.”
“This letter means you win it all!” Madison pipes up.
“Win what?”
“Everybody puts some gelt in at the beginning,” Chloe explains, sliding a few coins forward. “Then we take turns trying to win the pot.”
The rules are simple: win all of the pot, win half, win nothing, or put in a coin. Aliya picks it up quickly. They play a few rounds, but the game rapidly degenerates into chaos as everyone tries to spin their dreidel at once. Aliya can’t help laughing as the younger kids start blatantly stealing and eating each other’s gelt. Lynn and Rick roll their eyes indulgently before leaving them to their fun.
“It’s terrible chocolate,” Aly says over the noise. “I don’t know why we even eat it. Anyway, I think we’re pretty much done. You want to go upstairs?”
“Sure,” Aliya says. She slides her chocolate coins over to Aly’s sisters, who pounce on them gratefully.
Brett’s ahead of them, heading toward the upstairs den. He turns on the landing and says diffidently, “Hey, I don’t know if you like Xbox, but I have some games and stuff if you want to play.”
“Thank you,” Aliya says, surprised again. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“He likes you,” Aly confides. “He wouldn’t offer that to just anyone. And my sisters will love you forever for giving them your gelt.”
Aly’s bedroom is huge. Aliya tries not to gawk at the ensuite bathroom or the closet that’s nearly the size of her and Nailya’s bedroom in Moscow. A towel, washcloth, bathrobe, and bar of scented soap sit on the spare bed. It’s like a really nice hotel, except this is where Aly lives. “My mom put this together for you,” Aly says, fingering the bundle’s ribbon. “That’s like really good soap, all-natural stuff. And here … I got something for you too.” She hands Aliya a package. “Go ahead, open it!”
The earrings are gorgeous: simple amethyst studs, understated in a way that says really expensive to Aliya. “They are beautiful. Solnyshko, I don’t know what to say. I … I can’t—”
“No, you can. Please. I want to see them on you.” Aly’s eyes are sparkling. Aliya can never refuse her anything. She swaps out her earrings and lets Aly admire the effect. “Perfect,” Aly says, grinning. “Happy Hanukkah, my love.”
“I am sorry. I didn’t bring you anything,” Aliya says quietly.
“No, you brought yourself. That’s enough for me. And I know how long that flight was; I’ve been counting the hours.” Aly comes over and kisses her. Aliya’s arms tighten around Aly’s waist. She’s beyond tired, but the bed’s right there and it’s been so long for them both.
But Aly stops them. “You probably want to take a shower, huh? Traveling all day and everything.” Aliya hesitates and Aly sets her at arm’s length with an air of decision. “Go ahead. I can wait.”
“You are too good to me, moya lyubov.”
“Maybe I just think you’re kinda stinky,” Aly says, and laughs when Aliya smacks her on the arm. “Go shower. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
* * *
Aly spends the time lighting more candles. Some are for scent—vanilla and holiday spices—and some are for another purpose. She takes the hanukkiah sent to her by a fan from Israel and sets it on the windowsill. They’ve already observed the first night together as a family, but she takes a moment to reflect by herself, watching the steady flame against the drifting snow outside.
Aliya looks better when she comes out of the bathroom, not that she ever looks less than gorgeous. Aly scoots over on the bed. Aliya comes into her arms easily and kisses her.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
They don’t speak for a while, getting reacquainted. Aly tucks a strand of hair behind Aliya’s ear. “What did you think of the candles and stuff?”
“I liked it,” Aliya says, settling against her. “What is the purpose of the game? The—dreidel?”
Aly strokes her back. “It’s to remember the story I told you about. There was a big version of our candle stand in the temple that had to burn every day, and the priests could only use a special holy oil. But when this guy Yehuda and his fighters took the temple back from the Greeks and cleaned it up, they didn’t have enough oil for more than a day. God did a miracle and the oil lasted for eight days. Which is why we have eight candles. The letters on the dreidel mean more than whether you win or lose. They actually stand for a sentence: ‘a great miracle happened there.’ So we’re supposed to remember God’s miraculous provision every time we play.”
Aliya nuzzles her shoulder. “That is a good story. I’m glad you wanted me to come for this time.”
Aly kisses Aliya’s damp hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. She thinks about how she wants to spend next year in Moscow. That’s a conversation she should have with Aliya soon. An American Reform Jew celebrating Christmas with her Eastern Orthodox Russian girlfriend … the idea goes against the way she’s been raised, and she thinks her parents and her rabbi won’t be overly enthusiastic. But she’s willing to go for it anyway. Aliya is the best thing that’s ever happened to her and she won’t let anything come between them.
“It is a good story,” Aly says. She looks down at the girl in her arms.
“You look like you are thinking.”
Aly shifts her position so she can trace Aliya’s features with her eyes. “Not thinking. Praying.”
“What do you pray?”
The blessings from tonight run through Aly’s mind, the Shehecheyanu in particular. She thinks of the incredulous joy the Maqabim must have felt when the oil did not give out. She thinks of how she and Aliya have been brought to this moment.
“A prayer we say sometimes,” Aly says, lowering her head to touch her lips to Aliya’s forehead. “We say it in times of remembrance.” She brushes kisses along the line of Aliya’s jaw. “And in times of great joy.” She hovers above Aliya’s mouth. “And in times of thankfulness when important things come into our lives.”
Aliya frames Aly’s face between her hands. “We are a miracle to each other, da?” she says softly.
Aly smiles and kisses her in answer. She thinks of the days ahead, how they will be sustained by the memories they make now. And as they move together, the candles burn still on the windowsill.