“The curriculum isn’t built for me.” Ethan gave her a warning look. “It’s built for . . . eligible people.”

“Who says you aren’t eligible?” his mother said sharply.

He mouthed Change the subject at Leah.

She tilted her head and pretended she couldn’t understand him.

They both thought it was so simple. That he could just meet someone he liked and date like anyone else. But tonight was a perfect example of how uncomfortable it was to have people he cared about go through the motions of religion for his sake. He didn’t want to put any of his romantic prospects in that position.

As for dating someone who wasn’t a practicing Jew, was he really ready to test the limits of his faith before he’d firmly secured the synagogue’s foundation?

“No, Mom. No one said that, I simply mean . . .”

“Ethan’s afraid of dating,” Leah announced. “He’s worried no one will ever understand him now that he’s a rabbi.”

It was a shame that he was going to have to shun his sister so soon after she’d come back from filming.

“The next module,” he declared before his mother could dig into that proclamation, “covers initiating physical intimacy—or the lack of it, I suppose, depending on your and your partner’s preferences.”

“That sounds very healthy,” his mother said, suitably distracted by allusions to procreation. “I’m sure Ms. Grant will provide valuable perspective given her work.”

Ethan nodded, trying not to think too hard about Naomi’s professional history because he was certain, though he hadn’t personally verified, she’d been naked for at least parts of it.

“What comes after the sex session?”

Leave it to Leah to cut to the chase.

“That’s where things get really interesting, in my opinion.”

Leah smirked. “You would think the parts after sex were the fascinating bits.”

Ethan made a mental note to refuse to let her borrow his car when she inevitably came asking.

“Module six is about opening up about your past and discussing your future together.”

“There’s some lovely symmetry there.” His mother nodded happily. Apparently sibling bickering did nothing to dampen her enjoyment of an evening of family time. Either that or she’d had more wine than he’d realized. “More kugel?”

“Yes, thanks.” Ethan took a few more slices. Despite being out of practice, his mom was a surprisingly good cook.

Leah counted on her fingers. “What’s the last one?”

“How to break up.”

“What?” Leah and his mother said in unison.

Ethan lowered the gravy boat. “Naomi says breakups are inevitable, and the kindest thing we can do is give people tools to survive them.”

“Well,” said his mother as she wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Naomi certainly sounds fun.”

“I don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world,” Ethan said carefully. “No one ever teaches us how to let go. How to rebuild. How to move on.”

His mom cleared her throat. “No. You’re right.” She tore her challah into pieces as she stared at the mantelpiece. “Though I’m not sure how much it’ll help prepare them.”

Ethan knew without turning that she’d zeroed in on the black-and-white snapshot of his dad, laughing over a tiny fish he’d caught on a family trip to the lake, his head thrown back and his skin tan from days in the sun.

“The tricky thing about grief,” his mom said, “is that even when we know it’s coming, we underestimate our own capacity for suffering.”

Guilt ate away at Ethan’s insides, as corrosive as lighter fluid. He realized that in his mom’s eyes, he’d run to religion the same way Leah had run to adventure. They’d both found places to fill their time that weren’t here, with her.

He’d been relieved that providing service to his community meant carving off parts of himself. The more time he spent thinking about God, the less he spent thinking about what he’d lost.

How could he offer anyone his heart, when already there wasn’t enough of him to go around?

“Mom?” Leah got up and wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders.

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Renee forced out a laugh as she patted Leah’s hands. “I’ll just pop into Ethan’s seminar. Take a few notes from Naomi Grant.”

“Oh no.” Ethan groaned. “Please don’t.”

“Well,” Leah scolded, “that’s not a very generous attitude. I thought you were trying to appeal to new members.”

Minor disaster, as it turned out, may have been an understatement.

Chapter Five

    MODERN INTIMACY—LECTURE 1:

   Get out of your own way, asshole

NAOMI NORMALLY DEALT with imposter syndrome through stoic teeth-grinding and angry-girl music. But standing behind a shoddy lectern on wheels, with the eyes of her first live educational audience upon her, neither of her go-to coping mechanisms was viable. She fought to control her breathing, to make the rise and fall of her chest less obvious. No small task when her chest was one of the most recognizable in the country.