Jack With a Twist

childhood. Tales of braces and first kisses and awkward haircuts and hijinks at various family bar mitzvahs. Isn’t that what siblings are for? Being an only child myself, I really had no idea, but I could imagine. Growing up, the closest I’d ever come to a sibling was the life-sized Barbie head that my mother bought me when I was five. But I thought that Jack’s sisters and I would be immediately on our way to being best friends forever and sisters for life.

Instead, Jack’s sisters came in and greeted me with firm handshakes, clipped smiles and formal introductions to their respective husbands. It was as if I was on a job interview at a law firm, except at most of the firms I’d interviewed at, the partners were much warmer or, at the very least, pretended to be.

Meeting all of Jack’s sisters and brothers-in-law was such a blur that I didn’t quite catch all of the brothers- in-laws’ names, and not just because the names are all nearly identical: Adam, Alan and Aaron. This was because, just as I was being introduced to the various brothers-in-law, Jack’s father poured champagne for a toast with my parents, and I was panicked at the mere thought of my mother drinking the happy juice. I didn’t want her to embarrass me in any way (more so than usual, I mean), and I especially didn’t want her to start bragging about my new big case. In addition to the fact that the case was highly super secret, I hadn’t even had a chance yet to tell Jack about it or about the fact that because of it, I now needed a new wedding dress. Although maybe my mother wouldn’t spill the beans because she was too embarrassed to admit even to her mah- jongg friends that Monique wouldn’t be designing my dress anymore. (Me: “Just tell them that we didn’t want to spend so much.” My mom: “I will do no such thing!” Prompt hang-up of the phone for effect.)

Also, the three brothers-in-law all bear an uncanny resemblance to each other, from their receding hairlines to their pastel Loro Piana cable sweaters to their black Gucci loafers, so I really can’t be held responsible for remembering who’s who. Now, I know what you’re thinking—why didn’t I simply study some pictures before I came here? See, that’s the thing. I did study pictures of all of the siblings, or siblings-in- law, as the case may be, but all Jack really had were the various wedding photos of each couple. The eldest, Patricia, is now forty-five years old and got married seventeen years ago, so you can only imagine how different her husband looks now. The middle sister, Elizabeth (not Liz, mind you, it’s Elizabeth), is forty-two years old, and got married ten years ago. Lisa, the youngest at thirty-nine, got married three years ago, but by that time, all of the guys were already beginning to morph into each other. Lisa’s husband did have more hair on his wedding day, but by now, he just looks like the other two. Apparently, being married to a Solomon sister makes all of your hair…well, you know where I’m going with this one. Don’t make me say it.

And don’t think that I could identify them by their various married names. As I was informed by Jack’s mother one night during dinner at Park Avenue Café, the Solomon sisters do not change their names.

I did manage to work out a positively brilliant system for identifying them, though: I numbered them according to the birth order of the sister they were married to and then memorized what color sweater they were each wearing. So: brother-in-law #1—Adam, in the pale yellow Loro Piana, belongs with Patricia, Jack’s eldest sister; brother-in-law #2—Alan, in the light pink Loro Piana, belongs with Elizabeth, the middle sis; and brother- in-law #3—Aaron, in the baby blue Loro Piana, goes with Lisa, the youngest.

“So, have you two given any thought to a wedding date?” brother-in-law #1 asks. He’s Adam, and he goes with Patricia. It makes sense that Adam is #1 since Adam and Eve were the first man and woman. See how well my system works? Although, he looks closer to his late thirties than his mid-forties. Was it that #1 goes with the youngest sister and #3 goes with the eldest? Now that I think about it, maybe Aaron was supposed to be #1 since Hank Aaron holds the all-time Major League Baseball record for home runs. (And I know you’re thinking that Barry Bonds is now #1 in terms of home runs, but Jack says that for real baseball fans, that doesn’t count.)

This would be so much easier with name tags. Or if the proper brother-in-law was seated next to the appropriate sister. The Solomons do this strange table seating thing where you don’t actually sit with the person you came with. Jack and I are the only couple seated next to each other, and that’s just because this dinner is meant to celebrate our engagement. Everyone else is scattered about, with no regard whatsoever as to who goes with who. Jack’s mother said something about us all talking to each other and not to the same person we talk to every day, or some such nonsense like that.

“Mimi and I were just discussing the wedding date before we sat down to dinner,” my father says. Yes, my mother’s name is Miriam, but my father calls her Mimi. How embarrassing.

“Edward’s docket generally is lightest in winter,” Jack’s mother says.

“Jack and I were thinking spring,” I say, looking at Jack and squeezing his leg under the table. “Maybe April?”

“Lots of new appeals in spring,” Patricia says, “not the best time of year for a wedding in this family. Adam and I got married in February.” I wait for Patricia to look to her husband as she mentions him, thus putting my system back on track, but she doesn’t.

“That sounds beautiful,” my mother says, ever the people pleaser, “but since so much of my family will be flying in from Miami for the wedding, we really can’t take the risk that there’d be snow and they won’t be able to get here for the big day.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Jack’s mother says. Unfortunate? My mother looks immediately at me and I look at Jack. Jack looks down into his halibut and pretends he didn’t just hear his mother say that. Or that it didn’t really mean anything. Before meeting me, Jack had been engaged to a woman for three and a half years without ever having set a wedding date. You’d think his parents would be more appreciative of the fact that I’ve at least nailed their son down to a season.

“March could work,” brother-in-law #3 says, mouth full of salmon, “March is part spring, part winter.”

“Sometimes there’s still snow in March,” brother-in-law #1 says, as he motions to a servant for more wine to be poured.

“No, there’s not, Adam,” Elizabeth says, looking at light-blue Loro Piana. My system would be back on track, but for the fact that I’m not a hundred percent sure whether she actually just said Adam, or if she may have said Aaron instead. Or Alan, for that matter.

“Sometimes there is, Elizabeth,” Lisa says. “April sounds great, Brooke.”

“How is he going to have a wedding in April,” brother-in-law #2 says, nodding his head in the direction of Jack’s father, “when he’s working like an animal on his caseload?”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to work like an animal,” Elizabeth says, looking at her father. Edward clears his throat loudly.

“No, Adam’s right,” I say, trying to be diplomatic, “we can do March if that would work best.”

“I’m Aaron,” brother-in-law #1 says.

“Didn’t I say that?” I say, taking a huge gulp of wine.

“Yes,” Jack says, putting his arm around the back of my chair and brushing his fingers against my shoulder, “that’s what she said.”

“Anyway,” brother-in-law # 3 interjects, “the date is usually influenced by the venue. You have to pick from the dates that your venue has available.”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” my father says.

“It’s not?” Joan asks, taking a sip of wine.

“Our rabbi is so happy to see our BB getting married that they’ll do anything we ask. They’re even going to give us a huge discount on the reception room at the temple,” my father proudly tells Jack’s dad. Bragging about the discounts he brokers is one of my father’s greatest pleasures in life. “And, of course, I’ll be supplying all of the meat—my best cuts, of course—so we’ve got the venue and the catering covered.”

“A temple?” Jack’s father says. His voice is big and strong and everyone seems to notice at the same time that this is the first word he’s uttered during this entire debate. Which only makes his few words that much more powerful and scary. I can tell that this is a strategy he uses with attorneys in his courtroom—lying in wait until you’re ready to pounce and make your word gospel. Which, if you’re an appellate court judge, is pretty much any time you speak. I look at Jack and he’s still got his head down in his plate. Man, he must really love his halibut. “Joan and I were thinking about a New York City hotel wedding. Weren’t we, dear?”

“We love the Pierre,” Joan says softly. I look at my mother and she is trying to maintain a gracious smile with her mouth frozen in place and teeth gritted together.

“Jackie?” I say.