Chapter Text
Ace took a deep breath as he stared at the front door of his parents’ house. He was just starting to get used to calling it theirs and not his own. The key sat heavily in his pocket, weighing him down. For an instant, he considered turning around, climbing back into Florence and driving away.
Instead, as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, he turned the knob and let himself in for the first time since his argument with the Captain. The house smelled of oil, and he could hear it sizzling as he walked toward the kitchen.
“Smells delicious,” Ace said. From her spot in front of the stove, Rebecca turned, already smiling.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Would you mind getting your father? Dinner is just about ready.” Ace nodded silently. From the quick way his mother turned back to the stove, he guessed she was trying to push them closer together, to force them to interact.
Ace found Thom in his office, exactly where he expected. He flicked the light switch by the door to get his father’s attention. “Dinner,” he signed. Thom nodded, rising from his desk.
“Your friends didn’t want to come with you?” he signed as he walked toward Ace.
Ace thought back to the night he had moved into Nick’s loft, his meager possessions packed in a single box. He struggled to wrap his head around all the ways his life had changed since then, between the liminal space and Charity’s soul and the tsunami that miraculously didn’t destroy their town. He thought about Nancy, the impossible choices she had had to make in recent days. The chaos of their recent battle with Temperance still hung over them, and he couldn’t help wondering where she was.
“Not tonight,” he said. Thom shrugged.
“More leftovers for us,” he replied. “You know your mother cooks enough for-”
“For an army,” Ace joined in, his hands moving in sync with his father’s as they reentered the kitchen.
“I saw that,” Rebecca signed. They apologized, hands still matching their movements as they sat at the table. Ace reached for the serving spoon beside the kugel, but Rebecca held up a hand to stop him.
“Candles first,” she said.
“Thom struck a match, lighting the shamash. Ace’s hands were stiff as they signed the prayers, out of practice with the Israeli Sign Language he had learned after the Captain’s accident. His spoken words were clumsy as well, distracted by the realization that his parents had purchased a new menorah.
“Would you pass the applesauce?” Rebecca asked, gesturing to the bowl beside Ace.
“We’re not going to talk about this?” Ace replied, looking between his parents. They waited expectantly for him to elaborate. “You bought a new menorah.”
“We’ve had that for a few years, actually,” Rebecca replied cryptically.
“Where have you been hiding it?” Ace asked. “And where’s Zeyde’s?” Thom pointed behind him. Ace twisted, relieved to see the old menorah sitting on the breakfront. It was tarnished from years of use and stained by wax drippings, but it still shone with the memories of his childhood.
Conversation during dinner was perfunctory, as though they needed time to find a new rhythm together. Ace was relieved that his hands were busy while they ate, and as soon as they finished, he stood, helping his mother clear the table and taking his usual place in front of the sink. He rolled up his sleeves and began scrubbing the grease off the pan his mother had used to fry the latkes.
“Will you be back tomorrow night?” Rebecca asked as she repacked the kugel in a smaller casserole. Her movements were casual, but Ace could hear the tentative tone in her voice.
“I thought I might do something with my friends,” he said. “None of them have ever played dreidel, and I feel like I should fix that.”
“In that case, you’ll need this,” she replied, pushing the leftover kugel closer to the sink. “I’ll pack up the brisket for you too.” She turned away before he could reply, and even though the leftovers would be much more than they needed, he didn’t argue. When Ace finished with the pan, he turned to see Thom waiting patiently in the doorway.
“If she keeps this up, I’ll never have to learn to cook,” Ace joked, but his hands stilled when the Captain didn’t even smile at his humor. “I’m going to light candles with my friends tomorrow night.”
“You’ll need a menorah,” Thom signed.
“Take your Zeyde’s,” Rebecca said. The steadiness of her hands emphasized the seriousness of her offer. “It was always supposed to be yours.”
“It was?” Ace asked.
“We were going to give it to you when you started college,” Thom signed. “You should take it back to the loft.”
As he drove away that night, the menorah securely in his passenger seat, Ace couldn’t help but imagine its light, shining brightly for another generation.