Dating Kosher

by Greene, Michaela

  Once they assured me at the vet’s office that he would be well taken care of, I returned home to get ready for work. I had called Rita to let her know of my predicament and that I was going to be late, so she didn’t say anything about my tardiness when I bolted into the staff room to throw my purse into my locker. She was sitting at the table, eating her daily lunch of a salmon sandwich (keeps the skin supple, she told us regularly) washed down with an extra-large black coffee.

  She looked up and smiled, “How was the wedding?”

  “Crazy,” I managed, out of breath due to my six block jog from the train. Who needs the gym when you can have parking lot sprint Olympics?

  “What happened to your head?” Rita got up from the table and approached me, her face draped in concern.

  I had forgotten the bandage. “Nothing, I tripped, just a few stitches.” I tried to downplay my injury so I could get to my desk and start working: I had already exorbitant vet bills that were increasing by the minute. The sooner I could get on the clock, the better.

  “Well, you’d better go get Bianca off front desk before she has a temper tantrum, but I want to hear all about this later.” She looked at me over the rims of her glasses.

  I nodded and turned to leave.

  “Oh, wait. There’s something there for you.” She was pointing at a cellophane-wrapped basket on the counter in the back corner of the room.

  Squinting to try to see what was inside, I approached and saw that it was filled with cat themed things: catnip toys, fish flavored treats, a fluffy bed. How strange.

  I opened the attached card.

  For Armany

  Get well soon,

  From: a secret admirer.

  Meow

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  * * *

  Monday was Bev’s day off from the spa so I had known I wouldn’t run into her there, but I did expect her to have called at some point during the day. By the time I got home that night and still hadn’t heard from her, I began to worry. She must really be pissed to not call me, especially after having hooked up. Although, the way I had called Jacob a loser…

  A knot appeared from nowhere and lodged in my throat when I realized just what my problem was: I really was a spoiled bitch.

  Dropping heavily to the couch, I began to cry.

  Phil was right.

  Dad was right.

  And now my best friend on the planet, Bev, was right.

  I looked around for comfort, but Armani was in the hospital. A throw pillow was no substitute, but I grabbed one anyway, clutching it tight to my chest as I sobbed. Was I destined to be alone? Even my cat was gone.

  There was only one thing to do.

  Pulling a Kleenex from the box on my coffee table, I wiped at my eyes and blew my nose. Willing myself to stop crying, I picked up the phone.

  “Hello?” Bev’s voice was strained and harsh.

  “Bev, I’m a bitch, I’m so sorry about what I said,” I blurted out, afraid she would hang up on me again if I didn’t start groveling immediately.

  Silence.

  I continued, “I had no right to make fun of Jacob, and I do hope that you hooked up and that he’s nice and what you’re looking for in a guy and that maybe you’ll get married and have babies and if you do, I guess you’ll be my stepsister, which would be cool and I—”

  “He’s gone,” she said, interrupting me

  “What?” I’d kill him: no one treats my friends like shit.

  “He had to go back to Portland.” Bev’s voice was drier than a martini.

  “Oh. Well, I’m really sorry about what I said. I never meant to make you feel bad…I really didn’t, Bev,” I hiccupped, cursing my very unsuccessful attempt at not crying.

  There was a loud sigh and then, “I’m sorry I called you a spoiled bitch.” Bev’s voice was mostly back to normal.

  “It’s okay, you were right. I am a spoiled bitch.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be a bitch, Bev,” I whined, sounding exactly like every Jewish princess I’d ever known. Ugh.

  “Aw Shosh, don’t be so hard on yourself, really. It’s not your fault, you inherited it from your mom.”

  “No shit. And look where she is! A psycho divorcee in a sweat suit from Wal-Mart! Is that my future? No thanks.”

  “Well you’re not crazy and you’re not even married yet, so you’re a long way off.”

  “But I’m definitely heading that way…” I sniffed.

  “Just stay out of Wal-Mart.”

  I laughed as I wiped at my tears. “Okay.”

  “Listen, I’m going to come over tomorrow night. I got a new book…I think that it will help.”

  “Can’t, tomorrow’s sushi with Mom,” I groaned.

  “Okay, Wednesday then. I’d come tonight, but I’ve got my book club.”

  “Okay, Wednesday. We’ll get dinner.”

  “Great. How’s Armani?”

  My eyes automatically darted to the basket Nate had sent for the cat. “He had surgery today. They said it went okay, but he’ll be there for a few days. I don’t even want to tell you what this is costing me, but I’m just glad he’s going to be all right.”

  “That’s good. Um, now can I please tell you what happened with Jacob before I explode?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said.

  “Well, we didn’t do it, in case that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Really? “So what’s the news?”

  “It just wasn’t about sex, you know. We stayed up all night talking. Okay, so we did fool around a little, but it was more like…I don’t know. We just clicked, you know?”

  I didn’t, but um hummed anyway.

  “I’m so bummed that he’s going back out to Portland, though. Why does the one guy I like and who seems to like me, have to live on the other side of the country?”

  I sighed. “I think it’s our luck, Bev. We’re just not meant to have good boyfriends.”

  “This sucks, Shosh. I really think I could have something with Jacob. He made me laugh so hard last night my Diet Coke came out of my nose. Do you know how much that hurts?” She laughed.

  No one had ever made pop come out of my nose. Even though Bev’s new relationship was doomed thanks to a huge span of geography between her and Jacob, I still felt a pang of jealousy.

  “I’m sorry it’s not going to work out. That really sucks, Bev.”

  “Yeah well, maybe once he’s done with school…”

  We talked for a while longer until I realized how late it was getting. “Listen, I’ve gotta go call my mother before she has an aneurysm. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

  I dialed my mother and confirmed our dinner plans for Tuesday night and got rid of her as quickly as I could, citing a dinging oven timer as my reason for having to get off the phone (I was actually shocked she believed I was cooking for myself).

  Free of any more responsibilities, I got up from the couch and walked over to where I had put the basket from Nate. I untied the ribbon and opened it up, smiling at his thoughtfulness.

  Armani was going to love everything, from the catnip mouse to the treats and even the big plastic toy that looked like a donut with a ball embedded in it.

  I just wished he was home and well; I really missed the way he’d cuddle up with me on the couch while I watched TV.

  But in his absence, I returned to my couch and turned on the television, hoping a dose of reality TV shows would help to take my mind off the insanity my life had become in just a few short days.

  Although I was finally able to relax, I couldn’t help but feel the void in my lap where my beloved Armani should be.

  Chapter 26

  Tuesday turned into such a busy day at the spa (what with the high holy days coming up and people scrambling to get in top shape to be seen at synagogue) that time flew by faster than I realized. It was only the rumble in my stomach that told me it was lunchtime.

  As I looked up at the clock on the wall to confirm the actual time, I noticed a w
oman walking up to the spa doors. She opened the door slowly and walked into the lobby, wearing anxiety like a mask covering her face. I could tell right away that she was probably not in the right place; she wore faded jeans and a t-shirt with a Guinness beer logo on it.

  Forget about the t-shirt, when our regular clients wore jeans (which wasn’t very often) they were always, always Armani or another label.

  “Can I help you?” I asked the woman, wondering if she had gotten off at the wrong subway stop.

  She approached the counter and leaned over, practically whispering her business. “Hi, um I’m here for a massage. I’m Caroline McKay.” By the look on her face, she may as well have asked for an extra painful Brazilian wax.

  I stared at her dumbly for a second before it occurred to me that what I was doing was very rude. Looking down at the appointment book, I saw her name written in under Bev’s name. I hadn’t booked her appointment, but when I had seen the name on the schedule, I had assumed she was some WASPy wife of a lawyer who had his office in the neighborhood. I couldn’t have been more wrong. This woman was married, gauging by the wedding band on her finger, but not likely to a lawyer. As far as her age, her ponytail would have thrown off the average person, but as a trained professional, I could tell by the beginnings of crows’ feet at her eyes that she was likely early thirties. Her skin looked not bad, but it was obvious she didn’t follow a stringent skin care regime. This all went through my head in the time it took to blink twice.

  “Oh, okay. Um, please have a seat. Can I get you a beverage?”

  The woman turned her head to look toward the chairs in the waiting area but then looked back at me. “No, I’m okay.” She passed a white leather (yes, I said white leather) purse from her left hand to her right and then took a seat. I barely had time to wonder how she came to make an appointment when the front door opened again. I turned my head to notice Nate walking in and right up to my counter. I was happy to see him, but a little disappointed that he wore his uniform.

  “Hi,” he said, leaning over the counter to loom over me.

  “Hi, what are you doing here?” I asked.

  He nodded toward the woman sitting in the waiting area and smiled at her before turning back to me. “I brought my sister. She’s here to use the gift certificate I bought her.”

  Now it all made sense. I felt like I’d solved a Rubik’s cube; she was his sister.

  “Oh, that’s cool.” I fought the urge to take a better look at her to see if there was a family resemblance.

  “Can you get away for lunch? I have to wait for Caroline anyway.”

  I thought about the alternative to going for lunch with Nate: sitting in the staff room, eating a half a can of tuna with some diet crackers. But how could I go out with him and sit across from him at a restaurant when he was wearing his work clothes?

  He seemed to pick up on my hesitation, though probably not why.

  “Aw come on, Shoshanna. You still owe me for my flawless performance the other night.” He smirked, not taking his eyes off mine.

  How could I resist? Before I had the chance to answer, Bev came up to retrieve her client who of course, just happened to be his sister.

  “Oh hi, Nate,” she said on her way to greet Caroline. “Thanks for getting our resident lush home safely Saturday night.”

  “My pleasure, at least she’s not a rowdy drunk.” Nate’s smile widened.

  “Hilarious, Bev.” I wasn’t thrilled to be reminded about my embarrassing overindulgence.

  Nate winked, reassuring me that he didn’t think any less of me.

  “Go do your magic on my sister, Bev, I’m taking Shoshanna out for lunch.”

  Bev looked over at Caroline, who was still sitting poker-straight in her chair, looking as uncomfortable as I was the first time my mother took me to the gynecologist. Bev walked over and stuck her hand out. “Hi, you’re Nate’s sister? I’m happy to meet you, I’m Bev and I’ll be doing your treatment today. Come on back with me and we’ll get started.”

  Caroline got up out of her chair and cast a glance at her brother before following Bev toward the treatment room.

  Nate reassured her. “Don’t worry, Caro, Bev is the best, you’re definitely in good hands.”

  I smiled at Nate’s sister as she walked past my desk, feeling bad that I had assumed she was in the wrong place.

  “She’s a little nervous,” Nate said, still looking after his sister. “She’s never been to a spa before. She’s not the type to do stuff for herself.”

  It was hard to imagine any woman not having been to a spa in her entire life. “Nice of you to bring her,” I said.

  “Okay, so let’s go. I’m starving.”

  “I never said I’d go for lunch with you.” I looked at Nate and cocked my head. “Do I have a choice?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Giving him a pretend dirty look, I picked up my phone and dialed the extension for the staff room. “Hi Rita, is it okay if I go for lunch now?”

  “Sure Shosh, I’ll be right up to cover the desk.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I just have to wait for Rita,” I said, one millisecond before my boss arrived to relieve me of my post.

  “Oh, hello,” she said to Nate, recognizing him. She sat down in my chair and promptly asked him how he was enjoying his weekly massages while I dug in my desk for my purse.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said, ignoring Rita’s wide-eyed looks. I sighed as I pushed open the door, knowing I was going to have to spill all when I got back from my lunch.

  I took a deep breath, drinking in the warm early fall air. “So where are you taking me?”

  “What do you feel like?”

  “Well, it’s not really what I feel like as much as I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Deli?”

  What full-blooded Jewish girl could pass up a corned beef on rye with a dill on the side? “Sounds good, there’s one around the corner.”

  As we walked down the block, me in my designer spa uniform (that actually looked like a Chanel suit) and Manolo Blahniks (thank you, Daddy), he in his standard-issue navy work clothes, I noticed a woman walking toward us. It was too late to cross the street to avoid her when I realized I knew her. Worse than that: she was a client at the spa and knew both me and my mother. Desperate, I pushed my sunglasses closer to my face and dropped my head slightly so my hair would cover my face. I turned to Nate, hoping if I started up a conversation, I wouldn’t be noticed. “So thanks for the goodies for Armani.”

  “You’re welcome. How’s he doing?”

  “Shoshanna?”

  Damn, my distraction tactics didn’t work.

  I pulled my sunglasses down slightly. “Mrs. Katz?”

  “How are you, darling?” the fifties-something woman looked stunning, likely thanks to Captain Botox.

  “I’m great, Mrs. Katz. How about you?” I moved in front of Nate, trying to angle for a clean getaway and avoid introducing him at the same time.

  “I’m good. Just going in for a tan to get ready for Europe next week. And your mother?”

  “She’s good, Mrs. Katz, very busy as usual. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run. It was nice to see you.”

  Mrs. Katz looked up at Nate and then back to me, her eyes begging the obvious question. I ignored it, playing dumb. “Bye,” I said turning my back on her and walking away as quickly as I could in the heels.

  “Thanks for the introduction,” Nate said once we were out of earshot.

  I waved him off. “She wasn’t worth introducing you to, she’s just a friend of my mom’s. She’s a busybody, no point starting rumors.”

  Nate stopped walking. “Shoshanna?”

  I turned and looked at him.

  “Are you ashamed to be with me?”

  Avoiding his gaze, I rolled my eyes. “No, it’s like I told you, she’s a busybody. I see her like once a year, she’s wasn’t worth introducing. Now can we please go, I’m short on time.”

  He
looked at me for a second before he took a deep breath and started walking again.

  It was hard to say if he believed my excuse.

  And I felt bad because he was right. I was ashamed though it wasn’t of him personally, but his uniform. I was starting to not even mind so much that he wasn’t Jewish, but the uniform thing, now that was hard to overlook.

  The rest of the walk to the deli was void of conversation, and from his silence, I got the feeling Nate wasn’t impressed with me.

  Mindful of my dinner plans with my mother, knowing that recounting the wedding would necessitate more martinis than usual, I just ordered a half of a corned beef sandwich and two pickles (practically no calories in those) and a Diet Coke. I made a halfhearted attempt to pay for my own meal, but as expected, Nate waved me off, pulling bills from his surprisingly full wallet (what? You think I wouldn’t look?). “Thanks for the lunch,” I said and led him to an empty table for two toward the back, in a less conspicuous section of the restaurant.

  Apparently my thanks broke the slight tension. “My pleasure, maybe next time you can pay me back by cooking me dinner.”

  I almost spit out my mouthful of Diet Coke. “That wouldn’t be paying you back unless I get food poisoning from this.”

  He looked disappointed.

  I picked up my sandwich, gripping it tightly so as not to lose any of the loose meat. “You didn’t really think I could cook, did you?”

  “Hoped maybe.” He shrugged. “What about all the Jewish delicacies? Matzo ball soup, latkes, kugel? You trying to tell me you’re not going to spoil me with great cooking?”

  I swallowed the warm, juicy bite of corned beef before answering. “Hardly. Rosenblatt women are not known for their cooking. Well, at least me and my mom aren’t. My bubby—that you met at the wedding?” I waited for his nod before continuing. “She’s a great cook, but hasn’t done much since she went into the home and we stopped having big family dinners.”