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Maxwell didn’t think that attending a Fine family reunion in Niagara Falls would offer him anything positive. He hadn’t exactly been kind about her offer for him and the children to join her.
I'll tell you what. You all could come to the Fine family reunion in Niagara Falls.”
“Or I could eat a bowl of leeches, and slowly bleed to death from the inside out.”
But in her usual Fran way, she had convinced him, and despite her wacky family, he had loved every second of being with her…or at least, every second that he remembered, after getting knocked out by a rogue wave straight under the falls.
What he couldn’t shake was the overwhelming feeling of gratitude towards Fran and her family. For five years, they had been welcoming him and his children into their lives, their events, with nothing more than an easy wave of the hand and an offer of lox on rye. Just last year, they had attended their first ever Passover Seder at Sylvia and Morty’s house and Gracie had been invited to read The Four Questions, which he understood to be quite the honour. What he didn’t tell anybody about that night was that he wasn’t really listening to his daughter reading from the Haggadah-he was too busy watching Fran and how she was watching Gracie and glowing with barely concealed pride. It was the first time that Maxwell had considered how important it was for her to share her culture with his family, who were now her family, too. Hell, even he could admit that Grace was basically her baby at this point. Things had been complicated since Paris, even more so since London, but there was no point denying it much longer.
It was 2am on a random Saturday morning just weeks prior when he had confessed to Niles that he was in love with her. If only he could tell Fran how he felt.
As he sat in his office, pondering his next move, an idea slowly came to him: The holidays were coming up, her parents were still travelling following the family reunion and it would be the first time that she wouldn’t have anywhere to go for her favourite Jewish holiday. They had celebrated the last four Christmases together and although he knew that she’d always had a wonderful time, he felt a sudden sense of shame that he’d never paid much attention to what she did for Hanukkah and how much those eight days meant to her. If he couldn’t tell her yet that he loved her, then he would just have to throw her the best Hanukkah celebration she’d ever had.
If only he hadn’t gotten everything wrong.
————————————
It was a weekday breakfast like any other. Maxwell sat at the head of the table and she sat next to him in one of her decorative robes, completely oblivious to just how attractive he found her in fluffy bathware. It was time to put Phase One of his plan into action.
“Say, Miss Fine, what are you doing Sunday night?”
She buttered her roll without even looking up. “Sunday night is the first night of Hanukkah, why?”
“Well, with your parents still away this year, I thought it might be nice if you joined us for a quiet family gathering here at home.”
“You’re doing Hanukkah?” Her tone was a little more incredulous than he liked the sound of.
“Well, no, not exactly. I just thought, if you had nothing better to do, perhaps a spot of dinner and some home movies with the children might be in order?” He tried not to look hopeful. Or even particularly interested. Couldn’t be giving the game away too early.
Across the table, Fran arched an eyebrow, ready to shoot back something sarcastic. She was about to get mad at him for not caring about her favourite holiday, when the mention of ‘home movies’ stopped her in her tracks. Instantly, she softened. Even after all these years, he still got nostalgic around the holidays. She knew it was when he missed Sara the most. So what if he was a little insensitive to her heritage? She could give up Hanukkah for one year.
She plastered on her most winning smile. “Sure, Mr. Sheffield. That sounds great!”
Behind his cup of tea, Maxwell fought to suppress a mischievous smile. She hadn’t suspected a thing.
————————————
The Ralph Lauren Homewares catalogue had three modes: expensive, insanely expensive and eye-wateringly expensive. Which was exactly what Maxwell was going for when shopping for a menorah. Granted, Ralph Lauren didn’t sell menorahs, per say, but they did sell candelabras that held a large amount of candles and he figured that was pretty much the same. The only difference was the price tag, but she deserved something luxurious. He pored over the glossy pages, finally settling on a candelabra in a delicate rose gold setting that curled up and out in decorative tendrils. Just like her hair, he thought. Perfect. Phase Two of his plan was now firmly in progress.
Niles, ever the household gossip, had naturally discovered his intentions within minutes of finding the catalogue and was now fluffing around the office, being far more invested than Maxwell was willing to entertain. He was also pouting over not being allowed to see the final choice.
“But, Sir. Ralph Lauren doesn't even make menorahs. I read the whole catalogue. What if you choose the wrong thing? I think you should show me. For quality assurance purposes.”
“Niles, I am a grown man. I think I am perfectly capable of choosing something that holds candles, for God's sake. I daresay it’ll probably be the nicest one she’s ever owned.”
From the green couch, C.C. shot up in indignation. “Oh Maxwell, would you come off it? Why are you always so obsessed with Nanny Fine? She is the help and we have plays to produce. Now could you please focus on some actual work because I am NOT doing this on my own.”
“Top ten things she says on a first date, Sir.”
“Look, would the two of you both stop acting like children? I’ve made my selection, it will be perfect for Sunday night and I expect BOTH of you to be there. Oh, and not a word of this to Miss Fine from either of you, understood?”
Maxwell glowered as Niles and C.C. sulked their way out of the office, various mutterings of, well he started it, Can no one have a little whimsy anymore, and, I know something else he can do with a candlestick. But he didn’t care. He had found the perfect menorah and that was all that mattered.
————————————
It had been a slippery slope between luxury homewares and finding himself in Flushing, Queens. He stared down at the instructions scribbled on the piece of torn paper, before glancing back up to survey his surroundings. He was fairly sure that Val Torriello wasn’t part of a mob family, so he had no idea why she had given him instructions as though she knew a guy who knew a guy.
Follow the line of fire hydrants until you pass the old basketball court, then take a left at
Cousin’s Bakery. You’ll see the blue van on the corner. Look for the guy in the red baseball cap. Tell him it’s for Fran. He’ll have what you need.
Sure enough, half a block and one peculiar looking bakery later, a beaten-up blue van came into view. In front of the side panel stood a shady looking guy wearing a red baseball cap and open flannelette shirt with a t-shirt underneath that read, ‘Honk if you’re Corny’ with a corn husk underneath.
Maxwell approached nervously, glancing back to his driver down the street and wondering why they hadn’t organised a signal in advance, in the event he was about to get kidnapped. The man followed his gaze to where the limousine was parked, before clocking the Rolex on his wrist. An amused smile spread across his face. This was going to be an easy sale. He beckoned Maxwell closer.
“Lookin’ for somethin’ special? Whatever ya want, I got it right here for ya.”
Maxwell approached him nervously. “Um, yes, hello. I’m here because a friend sent me. I need a tablecloth.”
“You don’t look like you got many friends from this part of town.”
“Well actually. She’s my nanny. Well, she’s more than my nanny really. I’d say we’ve been something more for quite some time. We aren’t exactly together yet, though. Well, we are, but not in the way you’re probably thinking. But she isn’t with anyone else. I’m not either. But lots of men want her. Who wouldn’t. She’s beautiful and she’s vivacious and she’s Jewish…”
Red cap cut him off mid-ramble. “Lemme guess. You want a special tablecloth for this special Jewish lady in your life.”
“Uh, essentially, yes.”
“Say no more. I got Passover, I got Rosh Hashanah, I got Yom Kippur, I got Hanukkah…”
“I uh...Just the Hanukkah one, today. But I was looking for something very special. Her grandmother speaks Yiddish, so I was hoping you had one of those?”
The man paused, faltering briefly. “Do you speak Yiddish, Mister Upper East Side?”
“No, of course not.”
“In that case, I got exactly what ya need.” He reached inside the van behind him and plucked out a sparkly, pale gold woven tablecloth, embroidered with Yiddish letters in a deeper gold. The bordered edge was trimmed with leopard-print accents. It was the most Fran thing Maxwell had ever seen. “Look at this! Finest quality from Europe. An original. This baby has seen Ellis Island, if ya know what I mean.” The man handed it to him to inspect and he grasped it gingerly, admiring the delicate weave. “So it’s an antique…Maxwell smiled to himself. “It’s perfect. What do the letters say?”
“Are you a cop?”
“No?”
“Then it says Happy Hanukkah.”
“I’ll take it! How much?” He handed it back to the man for wrapping, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket.
“It’s uh…” He subtly peeled off the three dollar price tag from the edge of the fabric, tucking it quickly into his pocket.
“….fifty dollars?”
Maxwell was positively gleeful. Bargain.
“You have yourself a deal.” He peeled a fifty off the stack and handed it to the man, smiling broadly. His first back-alley deal. He had never felt more ‘hip’ in his life. No wonder Fran always returned to Queens for the sales. He should really consider buying a leather jacket to complete his new street-savvy look.
As he walked away clutching his tablecloth, he suddenly realised that he hadn’t mentioned that it was for Fran. Oh well. He didn’t think it would’ve made much of a difference. He’d already gotten what he needed, all by himself.
————————————
It had been a long day by the time he’d finally gotten home. Not only did he take the limo all the way to Queens for the special table covering, but he had also stopped off at a kosher candy store on the way home to pick up a bag of fifty chocolate coins, wrapped in decorative gold foil. Not that Fran kept kosher, but he figured it was his best chance of getting the right coins for playing Dreidel. Exhausted, Maxwell trudged up to his room, dropping his briefcase and coat on the armchair by the heater. He carefully hid the gold tablecloth away inside his closet, before getting changed into his pyjamas and tucking himself into bed.
Maxwell had never felt more ready in his life. With less than 24 hours to go, everything up to this point had come together seamlessly. He laid back on the pillow, scrunching his eyes shut in excitement. He was quietly confident that after tomorrow, Fran would finally understand exactly how much she meant to him. He slowly drifted off to sleep, dreaming of candles, tablecloths and the woman he loved.
Inside his briefcase, fifty gold coins in a netted bag began to soften under the warmth of the nearby heater. As the night progressed, whispers of gold foil intermingled with the smooth milk chocolate, combining together in a hug of confectionery. As the cold morning air settled, the now-united chocolate blob began to re-solidify, hardening into a singular large ball, taut against the netting.
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6:59am
Maxwell’s eyes shot open before the alarm even went off. The day had finally arrived and all he had to do was sit back and let all his preparations unfold. Hanukkah would start at sundown, a little under twelve hours away, and although he had asked Fran to be home for a small family gathering, he had, up until this point, remained tight-lipped about the finer details. He couldn’t wait to see her face when she came downstairs to the Jewish holiday wonderland that he’d created just for her. And he had done it all on his own.
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4:23pm
She waltzed into his office with a stack of takeaway fliers in her hand and a determined look on her face.
“Okay Mr. Sheffield. If we’re doing family dinner and movie night, then we gotta do it right. What are you in the mood for? I got Tony Roma’s, Fung Lum’s, that little brisket place on the corner?”
Maxwell bit his lip to stop himself from laughing and put down the contract he was holding. Phase Three of his plan had presented itself all on its own.
“Well actually, Miss Fine, there’s been a change of plans.”
“Oh? …well, I guess we could order Greek if ya wanted to try something different…”
He shook his head. “No, no, I mean, a change of plans for this evening. I was hoping you could go and get ready and meet me downstairs at 6pm?”
“Ohhhh, Mr. Sheffield! Are we going out? Where are we going?!” Her excitement threw him off and he hesitated. He’d have to be a bit more specific than initially intended.
“No, Miss Fine, what I mean to say is. Well.” A look of pride spread across his face as he readied to tell her the news. “Actually. Neither of those things.” He stood up, stepping out from behind the desk and tracing his finger along it slowly, letting the mystery build. “I’m not so predictable, you know. Mr. Spontaneity is back.”
Fran laughed nervously. “Wha-what are you saying? I thought I threw that shirt away a year ago?”
“I’m saying that I’ve organised to throw you a first night of Hanukkah bash right here at the house. Tonight. I wanted to do something to surpr—“
Before he could finish his sentence, she shrieked in excitement, throwing herself onto him and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He couldn’t have imagined a more perfect response.
“Oh, Mr. Sheffield! You didn’t forget! Oh, you have no idea how much this means to me!! It’s my favourite holiday!”
“I know, I know!” He couldn’t hold back the grin this time.
She pulled away to look at him, eyes shining with happiness. “Oh you know, it’s such a special time. It’s the holiday of miracles, Mr. Sheffield! The oil was only supposed to last one day and all hope was lost! But then it lasted EIGHT! That’s why we have eight candles for the menorah.”
“….eight candles, Miss Fine?” His mind flicked back to the candelabra hidden under his desk. He was sure he counted only five slots, maybe six.
“Yeah! Well actually, nine. Because you need the candle in the middle that lights them all. We call it the shamash.”
“And…and is the number of candles really that important?”
She poked him lightly on the arms. “Well of course, silly! Each candle represents one of the nights and each night was a miracle. Less candles, less miracles.” She must’ve noticed the look of absolute horror on his face because she added, “But don’t worry, Mr. Sheffield! All standard menorahs have the right number of spots. Anything you got me will be just fine.”
He nodded numbly, attempting a weak smile. A cold dread started to twist tightly inside his chest.
“Oh, I gotta go get ready!! I can’t wait to call Val and tell her!” She stopped herself, doubling back. “Oh, what am I saying, of course ya would’ve already invited her! I’ll see her tonight!”
“…yes, of course….Val…”
She turned back to him one last time, looking genuinely touched. “Thank you, Mr. Sheffield. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
She swanned off out the doorway, leaving Maxwell standing there, frozen to the spot, unsure if he would ever move again.
————————————
4:44pm
“Hello, Mrs Toriello? Is Val there?”
The heavy Italian accent echoed down the line so loudly that Maxwell had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“….what do you mean she has a date? No…be serious! Wait, really? You were as surprised as I am? Yes well, I suppose there is a shoe for every foot….no…no it’s okay. Just tell her I said hello. Alright, thank you Mrs Toriello. Bye bye now.”
He hung up the phone and slumped against the desk in defeat.
“No luck, Sir?”
“Her first date in two years and it had to be tonight”
“So you forgot to invite her oldest and best friend to her special event…” Maxwell shot him a glare. “What’s one little blip in your planning? I’m quite sure everything else will go off without a hitch.”
“I hope you’re right, Niles. I’m counting on it.”
He walked out of the room, off to fix his bigger problem: the menorah.
————————————
5:02pm
Maxwell was upstairs busily switching out his business tie for his party tie, when he suddenly remembered the bag of chocolate gelt that he’d left inside his briefcase. His plan was to scatter it across the coffee table and arrange neat little piles around the menorah. Maybe Fran would be so distracted by the splashes of gold that she wouldn’t notice the missing candles.
And maybe she’d also forgotten that time you took back The Thing, you absolute British moron. Even his brain wasn’t convinced.
He walked over to the armchair, reaching into his briefcase to feel around for the netted bag of loose coins. Instead, his hand hit something that felt closer to a baseball. In confusion, he retracted his arm, pulling out the melted chocolate mass with it. His eyes grew wide.
No. Nooooooo.
Jerking his head around madly, his eyes caught the proximity to the heater, where his briefcase had spent the night. He stared helplessly at the lump in his hands, panic rising higher in his throat. There was only 58 minutes left until she was due downstairs.
On a Sunday evening.
With all the Jewish stores closed early for Hanukkah.
Maxwell sighed, strolling resignedly to the doorway of his room and poking his head out into the hall. “Margaret, darling? Do you have a minute…?”
————————————
5:09pm
“Sir, there’s a gentleman on the line for you. I believe he asked to speak to “Mr Sheffran”...Something about a hamster?
“Not now, Niles…unless-can he bring me a menorah within the hour?”
Niles spoke quietly into the phone, his occasional muttering punctuating the stressed silence. No, I don’t wish to rehome a pregnant one. Yes, I am concerned about the plight of the hamster but he says he needs a menorah! No, I don’t…I don’t think that’s his hamster's name. Niles clicked the line shut with an exasperated sigh, before turning back to Maxwell with a deadpan expression.
“He said, and I quote, ‘what you name your hamster is your business, buddy-o’.”
Maxwell sighed. “I take it that’s a no, then.”
————————————
5:16pm
He accosted his youngest child as soon as she walked into the living room.
“Oh good, there you are, Grace. Did you manage to find anything?”
She nodded enthusiastically, her arms overflowing with a jumble of random assortments from around the house. She dropped down to the floor where Maxwell had hastily shoved the candelabra behind the couch and carefully pulled it back out, holding it up questioningly.
“Daddy, didn’t you count how many candles you needed before buying this?”
“...No, darling.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t it have made this easier? Did you check with Niles first?”
He gritted his teeth. “Yes it would have but I-it looked like there were enough spaces. I wanted to try and do it myself.” He sighed and sat down wearily on the couch. “I was trying to show Miss Fine that I could give her something nice without needing anyone’s help.”
“Don’t you think Fran would just be happy that you tried?” Gracie reached up to nudge her father with a pink birthday candle between her fingers. He dropped his head down to meet hers, eyeing her tenderly.
“Oh Grace…When did my little girl become so wise?”
She taped two tea lights together and smiled brightly at him, the picture of childlike sincerity. “Fran taught me.”
“Of course she did, darling.” Her words echoed somewhere deep inside of him, nudging open a dusty door to his subconscious.
“She’s going to love it, daddy. You’ll see.”
Maxwell reached down to kiss his youngest daughter on the head. Since Fran had come along, Grace had transformed from an anxious, shy little girl into a happy, clever young woman and he would be grateful to her for the rest of his life for what she had done for his children. A barely-suppressed memory suddenly lodged itself at the back of his brain, determined to push its way to the surface. It was from the first year that Fran had been in the house-when he was still trying to pretend that she was just another ordinary nanny.
————————————
“Daddy, I made something for Fran. But it’s a secret.”
“A secret? You know we don’t keep secrets, Grace. But if it’s a surprise, well that’s different. What did you make?”
“It’s a card. For Hanukkah. She doesn’t celebrate Christmas, did you know that? But she said she would, with us. She loves us, daddy.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, Grace.”
“It’s true. She said so. She told me she doesn’t get paid extra for loving us and she does love us.”
His tiny daughter handed him a homemade card with ‘Happee Hunukah Fran’ written across the front in sparkly blue letters. “See the bubble letters? Fran taught me!”
He opened the card and his breath caught in his throat.
“Do you think she’ll like it, daddy?”
He had needed to swallow hard before answering. “She’ll love it, sweetheart. Why don’t you let me give it to her when she gets home tonight? You’ll already be asleep.”
“Okay, thanks daddy.” Gracie had kissed him and ran off to play.
That night, with the card in his hand, Maxwell had made it as far as her bedroom door. He wanted to give it to her. To thank her. To ask her if she’d stay on forever so that his precious baby girl wouldn’t ever have to have her heart broken again.
But he didn’t. The timing wasn’t right. He kept the card, buried in the bottom of his bedside drawer, and Fran had continued on, completely unaware of its existence.
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5:27pm
With Grace busy assembling the makeshift menorah, he turned his attention back to Maggie, who was unsuccessfully trying to pry apart blobs of melted chocolate and gold foil.
“How’s it going, sweetheart?”
Maggie smiled up at him pityingly. “Don’t worry about the gold coins sticking together, daddy. We can still play with them. Or without them. It’s not like you forgot to buy the dreidel, right?”
At the same time, Gracie held up her creation: The candelabra, one lonely birthday candle and several tea lights of different colours and designs, all taped together on a tray lined with confetti-covered tinfoil. “What do you think, daddy?”
Maxwell didn’t answer. He was too busy burying his face back into his hands, the only noise escaping him sounding suspiciously like a soft whimper.
————————————
5:51pm
Maxwell stood in his office, sleeves rolled up, glitter in his hair, muttering quietly to himself as he analysed a printed picture in his hand. So engrossed in his task, that he failed to register the knock on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but the delivery man is here with your coffees. He says, “be careful, they’re hot”.”
He barely looked up from the monstrosity of glue and cardboard assembled on his desk. “He must have the wrong house, Niles. I didn’t order any coffees and I didn’t ask you to order any either.” He held up the doomed craft project. “Tell me, does this look like a dreidel, to you?”
“Oh?” Niles glanced down at the delivery slip, carefully sidestepping his question. “But it says right here, Sir. A dozen lattes for Maxwell Sheffield with a note to please include a side of sour cream. Bold choice. May I suggest standard clotted cream, next time? Or perhaps just purchasing a dreidel?”
“Well obviously I would buy one if all the bloody shops didn’t close early on a Sunday.” Maxwell suddenly froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. “Wait…did you just say, lattes?”
“Yes, why?”
“Oh no no no. No no no. Oh God, Niles. I did it again.” He hung his head in his hands in despair.
“Calm down, Sir. You don’t have to add the sour cream. Look, why don’t I go to the kitchen and get you some real cream and sugar, hmmm…?” His voice was soothing, but he was staring at his boss as though he was a source of ignition too close to a fire. “Or perhaps Miss Gracie to assist you with your…project?”
“It’s not. I didn’t. It’s…Niles, I was supposed to order a dozen latkes. NOT lattes. What the devil am I going to do with twelve coffees? Oh, she’s going to hate everything.”
Niles stood quietly watching Maxwell, who had given up completely and laid his cheek flat against the cool mahogany desk, sticking to a splotch of glitter glue. A smirk tugged against the corner of his mouth as he noted his boss’s distress at getting such a minor detail wrong. And you say you’re not madly in love with her.
“Sir, if I may propose a solution…”
Maxwell raised his head hopefully. “Yes! Yes, what is it?”
“Perhaps we can start a new Hanukkah tradition of…mashed potatoes?”
He watched his face twist from crestfallen to resigned, nodding silently before slumping back down to continue his inner torment.
“Very well. I’ll go find the peeler…”
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6:03pm
She appeared at the top of the spiral staircase in that same way she always did, poised and graceful, like a Queen waving regally to her loyal subjects. Maxwell reasoned that he should’ve been used to it after five years and for the most part, he was. But there was just something about tonight. The sparkly red sweater glimmered bright and festive, dipping low in a square-neck that stopped just shy of her cleavage, with fitted sleeves that flared out at her wrists. Her black miniskirt clung to her curves like glue, legs glossy in sheer black stockings and her usual statement pair of killer black heels. Between her outfit and her trademark big, bouncy curls, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He knew he was staring. She knew he was staring. The little Italian man at the fruit stand down the street knew that he was staring and yet, he simply couldn’t stop.
“You look…” He swallowed hard. “Simply radiant.”
“Thankyou, I-“ Fran trailed off, her eyes flicking over his shoulder and landing on the organised chaos behind him. He followed her gaze, inwardly suppressing a groan as he saw where her eyes were directed.
On the coffee table stood what looked like a candle display that kindergarteners might have produced, a collection of melted gold coins all stuck together, twelve venti lattes and inexplicably, a pamphlet about hamster rehoming. He looked helplessly at Brighton, who tapped his chin knowingly. “I thought of that one, dad. No need to thank me.”
Maxwell pasted on a shaky smile, willing himself to look confident as he spread his arms open wide to gesture to the display. “Happy Hanukkah from me, Miss Fine.”
————————————
Things were cobbled together worse than her ninth grade science project that ended in an unintentionally-exploding volcano. The chocolate gelt was stuck together in one shiny golden blob, she could see four different candle variations that were apparently supposed to represent a menorah, Maxwell had for some reason ordered takeaway coffee for the adults, Niles was standing in the doorway madly peeling an oversized potato and the decorative tablecloth said something about mourning. Oy.
“This is….” She stepped forward, pretending to carefully inspect the display to delay having to say anything. She could see him in her peripherals, tugging at his tie nervously, looking ready to spontaneously combust.
But she could also see the kids, standing either side of him, their faces shining with excitement at what they had created. Her babies.
Niles wore his same familiar smirk, but his eyes were as warm as they had been the first time she had shown up on their doorstep. Her best friend.
Sitting on the sofa in the corner was C.C, flipping through a christmas catalogue and trying to look wholly disinterested in the spectacle. Except that she made the mistake of glancing up just as Fran looked in her direction, and their eyes met. She gave a brief nod, a smile attempting to escape her lips. Fran grinned back and blew her a kiss. Her…well, her something.
Her eyes flicked back to Maxwell, a look of undeniable disappointment etched on his face. “I know it’s not right, and we forgot to invite Val, and we don’t have a dreidel…”
She held a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “This is the best first night of Hanukkah I’ve ever seen. I love it.”
And she meant it.
She reached up to kiss him softly on the cheek, feeling the heat crawl slowly up his neck and settle at the tips of his ears, his cheeks brushing with a rosy glow. A thin smile stretched across his lips, as he looked away, bashful. “Really?”
“Really.”
He looked back at her, eyes softer than she’d ever seen them. “In that case, Happy Hanukkah, Miss Fine.”
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6:17pm
Niles nodded to her, signalling that dusk had fallen. Fran ran out to the front porch, closely followed by Gracie, and the two stood there, looking up through the leaves and skyscrapers, counting. One, two, three stars in the sky. It was time to gather the family.
Fran stepped forward, matches in hand, ready for the candelighting. She smoothed her skirt, inwardly admonishing herself for the nerves she was feeling. You’ve done this for twenty nine-ish years. Don’t make this into more than it is.
She picked up the shamash and turned to survey the little group gathered around her, before placing it in the centre. She added the first candle, assembling it right to left. The menorah was hilariously bad; a shiny 5-arm candelabra, two different coloured tealights, a votive and a birthday candle, all odd and scrambled together on an oversized piece of tinfoil. Maxwell looked at her apologetically and Fran bit her lip. It was the most beautiful menorah she had ever been given. The colours clashed, everything was a different size and completely mismatched-just like her own little family that she’d built right here in the Sheffield household. Over the last five years, the kids, Maxwell, Niles and even C.C. had become her family and she loved each of them dearly. The children felt like her own, Niles was her best friend, C.C. had pulled through when it actually mattered and Maxwell…well. He was her person.
She squeezed Gracie’s hand, closed her eyes, and together they began the blessing:
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Baruch Atah Adonai
Maxwell bit down hard on his lip to keep his emotions in check. He didn’t know what the Hebrew words meant. But he knew that this was the first time their little family was celebrating Hanukkah together.
Eloheinu Melech Ha’olam
Sure, they had celebrated all of their Christmases together over the past five years. But before that, the holiday had carried a weight and a pain that he’d never been able to shake on his own. Hanukkah was new and untarnished, associated only with the happy memories from when Fran first blew into their lives.
Asher Kid’shanu B’mitzvotav
He knew he hadn’t always done the right thing by her over the last five years. It was a wonder he hadn’t lost her completely. She deserved everything good in this world and as much as he wanted to give it to her, it felt like an invisible force was always holding him back. He wasn’t sure if it was grief, or fear, or simply the terror of realising that he had found someone else to love with his whole heart. Who loved him back. Who loved his children even more.
V’tzivanu L’hadlik ner shel Hannukah
Tonight was the first night of celebrating the miracle of the oil lasting for eight days.
Maxwell was celebrating the miracle of Fran.
————————————
Fran picked the shamash back up again, before striking a match and setting it alight.
As she leant forward to light the first candle in the line, she found herself blinking back tears. She didn’t need to ask for anything this year. She decided that her Hanukkah miracle was the day she was sent to knock on the Sheffield’s door.
————————————
In the end, none of Maxwell’s mess-ups actually mattered.
They sipped their lattes, cheering when Niles brought out an oversized pot of buttery mash potatoes and a fork for everyone.
Brighton took photos of the disastrous menorah, telling the group that he could pass it off as his next science project, featuring the title, ‘How far can light travel when thrown by an angry Jewish woman?’
Fran did her best to transform the makeshift dreidel, gluing on hastily made Hebrew letters and attempting to spin it until the whole sticky mess gave up and collapsed on the coffee table. Maggie joined in enthusiastically, until a phone call from a potential suitor sent her running to her room for privacy.
Niles appeared again from the kitchen with a large tray and a carving knife and proceeded to slice up the giant blob of chocolate gelt, all the while fairly sure that at least one of the Sheffield children had consumed gold tinfoil.
C.C. stood by the drinks trolley, mixing random alcohol together until she stood up triumphantly, proudly declaring that she’d just made the world’s first ‘Hanukkocktail’.
Gracie curled up against Fran, taking in the chaos, whispering quietly into her ear as they sat squished up together on the piano bench. She had attempted to play ‘Oh Hanukkah’ on the piano, but Fran’s off-key singing quickly sent the room scrambling for cover.
At some point, Maxwell had quietly slid away upstairs to his bedroom. There was something he needed to get from his bedside drawer.
————————————
C.C. had taken a taxi home and one by one, the kids had drifted upstairs. Niles had excused himself to watch the results of a horserace on the kitchen television and Fran and Maxwell were left alone in the living area, cleaning up the chaos of the night. So, the decorations had been a flop, Maxwell thought. At least the tablecloth looked nice. The one thing that he hadn’t turned into a total disaster.
“Mr. Sheffield, I’m one to chase a bargain myself, but I think maybe leave the tablecloth in the clearance bin next time.”
“What do you mean? You didn’t like it?”
“The pattern is great and all, but I don’t usually have “Day of Mourning” written on my Hanukkah décor.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
Fran held up the tablecloth from the coffee table, pointing to the Yiddish letters. “It says right here. Day of Mourning.”
“Oh my God, I bought that from a shady street vendor in Queens. He assured me it would be a hit.” He hung his head in his hands, before raising them in curiosity. “Hold on. You speak Yiddish, Miss Fine? You mean to tell me you actually learned something at school other than how to get out of gym class?”
“Hey! I’ll have you know that I paid attention…on occasion.”
“Well if this isn’t for Hanukkah then why is there a Jewish star on it?”
“Mr. Sheffield. The tablecloth is for Yom Kippur. Which is odd, because that’s when all the Jewish people fast for 25 hours, so why would they need a tablecloth?” She laughed at her own joke before pausing, pondering. “Well, the Fine’s don’t. So I guess that’s why. Anyway...Wait, did you say you went to Queens for this?”
“Yes, to Flushing, actually. I found a man in your old neighbourhood who said he could give me a good deal. He told me it said ‘Happy Hanukkah’ and was authentic from Europe.”
Fran stopped and gave him a look. “Red baseball cap, drives a beaten up blue van?”
“How on earth did you know that?”
“Oh, that's Shmuley. My cousin knows him. The guy thinks he’s Italian, but I went to his Bar Mitzvah. I’ll get your money back, don’t worry about it.”
“I am sorry though, Miss Fine. I wanted to do something special for you. But it seems I got every part of it wrong, right down to the decorations.” Maxwell sat down wearily on the coffee table, sighing heavily. “I seem to get too many things wrong when it comes to you. You deserved things to be perfect tonight.”
“It was perfect. Except we didn’t get to watch the home movies like you wanted to and now the kids have all gone to bed. Boy, I feel like we haven’t watched those in years.”
She stretched back casually along the sofa, completely oblivious to the weight of her words. Inside him, an axis tilted. Maxwell knew it was time.
“Miss Fine, do you remember the first time we watched the home videos?”
“Mhmm. After Gracie and I won second place in that pageant. That was one of the sweetest things you ever did for the kids, Mr. Sheffield.”
“You stroked my arm as we watched.” He ran his own hand up his bicep, reliving the memory.
“I did. Did it help?”
“More than you’ll ever know.”
“We can watch them now if you want?”
“Actually…there was something else I needed to show you. But, to be honest, I messed everything else up so badly tonight that I’m rather afraid to give it to you.”
“Hey, don’t say that! I’m sure I’ll love it. And if I don’t, I can always hide it at ma’s!” She laughed and whacked him on the arm, but he went quiet, suddenly looking nervous.
Fran leaned forward, placing her hand across his. “Hey, I was just joking…I’ll love anything, because it’s from you.”
“That’s the thing, Miss Fine. It’s not from me.”
“Wha? I don’t get it?”
Maxwell reached behind his back and pulled out what looked to be a homemade card, rumpled at the edges with a large crease across the back. He handed it to her wordlessly and she noticed his hands were shaking. She recognised Gracie’s handwriting instantly, but it didn’t look recent. She turned the card over, spotting a faded date on the back. December 1993. A few months after she had moved into the Sheffield mansion. She flipped it back to the front, her breath catching as she took in the words.
Happee Hunukah Fran
She traced her finger along the font. The glittery blue ink had faded with time, but the memory of when she had taught Gracie how to write in bubble letters was still hardwired into her existence.
“I can’t do it, Fran. What if I make a mess?”
“If ya make a mess, then you’re doing it perfectly.”
“What if daddy gets mad?
“Then we’ll blame your brother.”
Her tiny charge had wrapped her sticky glitter fingers around her neck, burrowing into her.
“I love you, Fran.” It was the first time she had said it.
“I love you too, angel.”
Fran looked up at Maxwell, her throat tight. “Mr. Sheffield...where did you get this?”
He didn’t trust himself beyond a whisper. “Look inside.”
She opened the card, tears filling her eyes before she could even fully register the scene. A tiny six year old Gracie had drawn them all as a family, surrounding a little stick menorah. But that wasn’t all. In the drawing, Maxwell had his arms around Maggie and Brighton, all dressed in matching blue Hanukkah t-shirts. But Gracie? She stood wrapped in Fran’s arms, both of them in matching leopard print sweaters. Underneath the picture, she had written in her same perfectly precise handwriting;
Plese stay with us firever Fran?
A tear slipped out and dripped onto the page, smudging one of the crayon candles. Fran shook her head, willing herself to do anything but break down sobbing at the innocence of the request. Why had she never seen this before?
“Grace made this to give to you shortly after you came to live with us. She showed me one night when you were out and asked me to give it to you and I almost did, I swear to you, I was at your bedroom door holding it—“ Maxwell’s voice cracked and he fell silent.
“And why didn’t you?”
When he answered, his voice was thick with emotion, a man just barely keeping it together. “Because…I was so afraid of being happy again, of my family being truly happy again, that I…I kept it instead. I didn’t want Gracie’s heart to break any more than it already had.”
She wanted to be mad that he’d kept the card from her all these years. Kept from her the innocent question that existed within it and the promises it held. But she couldn’t. He had done what any grieving father would do. And so she reached up, like she had that night all those years ago, and stroked comfortingly up and down his arm, leaning into him enough to say, I’ve got you.
“Mr. Sheffield, this is almost five years old. Why are you showing me now?
“Because I’m not afraid anymore…and because I think…that every mother deserves a card from her daughter on the holidays.”
Her smile broke somewhere halfway between a laugh and a sob. She reached forward to where was still sitting on the coffee table and took his hands, pulling him onto the couch beside her. They gazed at each silently for a few moments, before Maxwell leant in, one arm cradling her neck and the other sliding up to tangle in her curls. His lips brushed softly against hers, featherlight, as though pressing any firmer might break the spell surrounding them. She kissed him back, tongues gently entwining, before pulling back enough to nibble against his lower lip.
When they pulled apart, eyes searching each other, Fran did something that Maxwell never expected. She wrapped her upper body around his and hugged him. Really hugged him. A full-force, full body hug; the kind that broke him open and stitched him up in the same movement. He couldn’t remember the last time that anyone had hugged him like that, as though he was the centre of gravity itself. And then, from buried against his shoulder, he heard it. A quiet, almost reverent,
“Thank you.”
He hugged her in return, as the first candle flickered out for the night. Behind them, a different light glowed quietly.
————————————
Niles hovered low on the staircase, his back against the wall, surveying the scene. Next to him, Sara perched daintily on a step, watching Fran and Maxwell with a smile on her face. She tilted her head up to whisper something to Niles, who chuckled quietly under his breath and mouthed something back to her. She feigned outrage, attempting to hit him playfully on the arm, but her hand glided straight through him. He looked down in momentary alarm before clapping a hand over his mouth to silence the giggle threatening to escape.
“Don’t start with me Niles!”
He tilted his head fondly at her. “Now where have I heard that before?”
He gestured over to them hugging on the couch, admiring Gracie’s card. “Does it bother you seeing him with someone else? Seeing her with the children?”
“Oh, Niles. She’s everything I could’ve hoped for.” Sara stared at him thoughtfully, eyes sparkling with warmth. “I always knew you’d let her in that day. Why do you think I sent her to you?”
He raised an eyebrow at her in ill-feigned surprise, as though this was something he had always known. He gestured towards Maxwell, who was clinging on to Fran for dear life, eyes crinkled closed as he stroked her hair.
“Do you think he’ll ever make his move? I’m not getting any younger.”
Sara smiled knowingly. “They’ll be married by next Hanukkah…and if they’re really lucky, I’ll send them their own little miracle, too.”
Niles watched his boss and his best friend fondly, not wanting to imagine how lonely the past five years would’ve been without her presence. After Sara, he didn’t have anyone either, until Fran had come along. His voice dropped to just above a whisper as he spoke again, eyes shimmering with unshed emotion. “It’s been a while since I saw you last. When will you be back again?”
“Oh, Niles. I’m never far away. I’m here every time there’s enough love and intention to summon me.” She gestured over to them. “You know, I sent her for you, too. I couldn’t leave my best friend all alone either.”
He stared at her gratefully as they drifted into a comfortable silence, watching the scene in front of them unfold.
“He loves her, really. Look at those eyes. Look at that smile.” She nudged him again. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“Of course. It’s the same way he looked at you. And Miss Grace took to her almost immediately.”
“I know. I told her who to look out for.”
The silence stretched easily again for a few moments, before Sara spoke. “I should probably get going now. You know, ghost stuff to attend to.”
Niles looked at her sadly as she placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He shivered under her touch. “Oops, sorry. I forgot that happens. I’m always around if you need me, Niles. Or…you could always give C.C. a call.”
He shot her a look and she winked at him.
“Goodnight, Niles.”
“Goodnight, Mrs Sheffield.”
Their eyes met and she let out a sudden amused laugh. “Please, I’ve been gone for eight years. I think it’s time you called me Sara.”
She squeezed his hand, her fingers gliding straight through his, before disappearing, with Niles also taking it as his cue to evaporate up the stairs and off to his room unnoticed.
————————————
10:48pm
The house was silent, basking in only the dimly lit glow of a single lamp and the streetlights outside. Maxwell stood next to his favourite chair, stalled in place. He was meant to be locking up, but he couldn’t help but stare at Fran as she sat there admiring the hideous menorah that he and Grace had created.
She sat perched on the coffee table, watching as the last of the candles flickered out for the night, the hot wax dripping down the sides of the candelabra and falling onto the tinfoil below. He surveyed her curiously as she dipped her finger gently into one of the coloured blobs, smiling as it hardened against her fingernail. She looks so happy.
He spoke into the silence. “I’ll buy you a proper menorah next year, Miss Fine. Or tomorrow. We still have seven more days.”
She glanced up at him, still smiling. “I dunno, Mr. Sheffield. I think I kinda love this one.”
“Well, I’ll get another one anyway. I’ve decided the household needs one. It’ll be nice for the children to have their own next year.”
“But what if I’m not here next year?”
He stepped closer to her, voice lowering. “Is that what you want?”
When she spoke, it was just barely a whisper. “…No. But, I mean…you still haven’t really decided what you want.” She wiggled her left hand at him playfully, raising an eyebrow in question. “Gracie’s the one who asked me to stay forever.”
Maxwell sat down on the couch, tugging her gently to pull her onto his lap. His arm encircled her waist, pulling her closer as his other hand slid up to brush an errant curl from her face. “Fran, if I get my way, we’ll be together as a family every Hanukkah for the rest of our lives.”
She leant in, burrowing her face against his neck as she wrapped both arms around him. “I like the sound of that.”
A sudden flurry of movement outside caught Maxwell’s attention, glancing across to the front door just as the snow began to fall. He watched the tiny translucent flakes blowing gently against the intricate wrought iron of the entryway as she snuggled against him, that same familiar warmth spreading slowly through his chest. It really was the season of miracles. The next miracle, he decided, would be her saying yes.
“Happy Hanukkah, Fran.”
“Happy Hanukkah, Max.”