#two candles

“So we should light candles.”

He didn’t answer. Their aunt Penelope (Lupita to her friends) had always led them in lighting candles, despite not being Jewish herself. She’d always said that it wasn’t fair to deprive the twins of their mother’s culture just because she had abandoned them. Tía Penelope had learned how to fry latkes, had wrapped her tongue around the unfamiliar sounds in the bruchas, and had bought the Herschel and the Channukah Goblins book and read it to them every year (though she didn’t like it as much as Mrs. Katz and Tush, which always made her cry).

And now Tía Penelope was dead.

Taako had never really cared for the candle-lighting or the prayers. The food was nice, and the chocolate gelt was great. He’d learned to cheat at dreidel when he was six years old. But Channukah had never meant much to him besides being time to spend with their aunt and each other. He didn’t know if he even wanted to celebrate it this year, their first year without her.

“Taako, please?”

“Light them yourself.”

He heard Lup sniffle quietly. “There’s no point in doing it by myself,” she murmured.

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Do we even have candles?” he deflected.

“...I can make something work.”

“Don’t light the house on fire,” Taako said flatly.

“I won’t! I think I know where the birthday candles are, anyway.” Lup came over and nudged Taako’s shoulder through the blanket. “Taako, please.”

Taako was glad that he was underneath a blanket, because his eyes were full of tears. “I just don’t want to do it without her,” he whispered, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if she could even hear him.

She could. “Me neither. But I think--” Her voice wavered. “I think she would want us to keep doing it. Sh-she always said she wanted us to know our culture, from both sides, and...and I think she’d be really sad if we gave it up because she wasn’t here.”

“It doesn’t matter what she would want. She’s dead,” Taako said, and regretted it when he heard Lup burst into tears. He poked his head up from the blankets again in time to see her collapse to the ground and start sobbing. “No--I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“I miss her every day,” Lup wailed. “A-and I wanted...I just w-wanted…”

He rolled off the couch and put his arms around her.

“I just wanted to k-keep her m-memory alive!”

“Fine, okay. Okay. I’ll light candles with you,” Taako told her.

Lup looked at him through her tears. "Really?"

He glanced away. He could never stand it when she cried. It always made him want to cry, too, and he hated that. "Yeah, if you find candles and something to stick them in."

She wiped her eyes quickly and swallowed her sobs. "I took the menorah from Tía's house when...when they said to pack up our stuff. I know it wasn't mine to take, but I don't care." Lup stood up, still sniffling. "Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes?"

"Sure." Taako stared out the window as she went to get the menorah. Snow had fallen last night. A dusting of powder still clung to the ground in the fading afternoon light. He didn't like the snow. It was too cold, and it made the world too quiet. The world was quiet enough these days.

He made his way into the kitchen a little while later. Lup was standing at the counter with a box of birthday candles, a silver menorah, and a lighter. She passed the bottom end of one candle over the lighter flame to melt it and stuck it quickly in the right-most candle holder, which was built for much thicker candles. Then she placed the second candle precariously in the middle holder, glanced over her shoulder at Taako, and flicked the lighter on. "Will you hold it with me?" she asked quietly before she lit the shamash.

He nodded and stepped up behind her.

The shamash was lit. "Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-Olam," Lup began to sing. Her voice faltered as she forgot the rest of the prayer. Taako didn't remember it either, but he hummed the tune along with her as they reached the end of the first prayer, began the second one, and took hold of the shamash together to light the lonely candle on the right.

"There's a special one for the first night," Lup whispered, holding the bottom of the shamash over the other candle's flame so it could be stuck securely in the menorah as well. "The shehekyanu. But I don't know any of it."

Taako shrugged and hummed the tune again with her as she put the shamash back into its holder. He stood there silently. The pink and yellow and white striped birthday candles seemed so tiny and out of place in the stately silver chanukiah, with its ornate details and delicate Star of David on the shamash holder. It was an...unconventional look. But then again, Taako and Lup had never been very conventional.