The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(85)



No one liked change. Ethan understood that, but surely they’d see soon that this new direction was for the best.

Except . . .

“Ethan, we’re getting threats,” Jonathan said from behind his desk, without any attempt at his usual preamble. Every head in the room turned to stare at Ethan, who stopped leaning immediately.

“I’m aware,” he said carefully, hand tightening around his water glass.

“We’re getting threats,” Jonathan said again, this time hitting all the Ts extra hard, “specifically related to your personal relationship with Naomi Grant.”

Ethan knew that too.

“We manage any threat against the synagogue through our security team.” According to his records, the synagogue had seen a four percent uptick in hate mail in the last five weeks. Some of it did call out his private life, though more of it objected to the seminar in concept, and neither of those kinds made up the majority of the correspondence that contained the same censure and objection that any synagogue in the country received on a day-to-day basis, unfortunately.

Jonathan and Ira exchanged a long look. “We believe these specific objections are not wholly unfounded, and they’re not just coming from outside the shul. We’ve received significant complaints from members.”

“Excuse me?” Ethan’s mouth went dry in a way that had nothing to do with the crackers he’d eaten earlier.

Jonathan gave him a look—a Don’t make this harder than it already is look. “It’s not suitable, Ethan. You’re meant to set a model of Jewish values, and you’re out here in tabloids with a woman who doesn’t even attend services, not to mention her background is . . . shall we say . . . less than ideal.”

There was so much wrong with that last sentence. Ethan put down the water glass he’d brought on the windowsill, because his hands had started to shake. “If you’d like me to continue to sit in this room, you’ll refrain from veiled maligning of the woman I love.”

He said it without thinking. Without considering that probably he should have told Naomi how he felt about her before he told this man trying to condemn her—but, well, he’d never had great timing, as it turned out.

“Love?” Ira covered his mouth with his hand. “Ethan, you love this woman?”

He nodded because his throat was too tight to speak, but it wasn’t enough. “Yes,” he managed, and then “yes,” again, but louder. At some point Ethan had put his hands behind him and started gripping the windowsill. He noticed because flecks of paint were coming off against his palms.

Ira shook his head, making his wrinkles stand out sharply in the topography of his face. “Jonathan, who are we to stand in the way of love?”

Jonathan’s mouth remained a thin line. “She’s not Jewish.”

Ethan laughed because it was ridiculous. “Of course she is.”

Why were these people all looking at him with a terrible combination of pity and anger?

Ethan hated it. He wanted to start yelling. He never yelled.

“Her mother is a gentile,” Jonathan said, his voice a bit lower now, perhaps in sympathy. “Cynthia Palmer. A Quaker from Woburn, Massachusetts.”

Ethan shook his head. “What are you talking about?” Naomi had never commented on her religious background specifically. She hardly talked about her parents, and he . . . he hadn’t really asked. “What did you do, get a background check on her?”

Jonathan’s silence was his answer.

“That’s so completely out of line.” An emergency meeting. He’d planned this, to catch Ethan unawares, to present evidence of what he saw as Naomi’s betrayal.

The calculation of it all made another wave of nausea wash over him.

“Was that the best you could do? Her mother’s not Jewish?” He raked his gaze over the board director like coals. “We’re a Reform synagogue, in case you’ve forgotten. If her father is Jewish and she identifies as a Jew, then she is.”

Jonathan pursed his lips like he’d swallowed a spider. “No one here is sure she does identify as a Jew.”

“I can’t believe this.” Ethan began to pace. “Did you ask her?”

“It’s too late,” Jonathan said. “The board has voted six to five that you must terminate any shul-affiliated programming associated with Ms. Grant. And, privately, I think you ought to seriously consider your personal relationship with her as well.”

“The board has no authority over my personal life.” Was it possible to clench your jaw so hard you dislocated it?

Jonathan was standing now, with his desk still between them like a barrier. “The board has the right to ensure that your behavior is ethical and moral and sets a good example for the congregation. If you don’t agree to end your attachment with Ms. Grant, we’ll need to discuss whether you’re still fit to hold your position as rabbi of Beth Elohim.”

A dangerous silence followed. Ethan’s own breathing was so loud in his ears.

Jonathan reached for his arm, and he was too numb to pull away. “Ethan, surely this dalliance isn’t worth the dark shadow it’s casting over your career?”

A sinking started in Ethan’s chest and pulled through his whole body, until he realized he might have to bend over just to stay standing.

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