I knew that Bubby’s real reason for bringing the fish was not so much to take the task off Susan’s hands as much as she didn’t think Susan could make a decent piece of fish. Bubby hadn’t made it in several years since one doesn’t bring their own fish patties to distribute at the Chinese buffet, and I knew she was jittery with excitement over having the opportunity to cook one of her signature dishes.
So, family politics aside, there I was, standing in Goodman’s Kosher Meats with my grandmother late on a Friday afternoon. She had insisted on coming into the city for the fish, claiming that no one else knew how to grind fish properly. So after outfitting Caroline at The Confidence Closet and then tending to my still-ill cat who needed frequent medication, I picked her up and we schlepped all the way into Manhattan to buy ground fish.
I glanced at my watch, silently lamenting that we were going to get stuck in rush-hour on the way home when a nice-looking young man walked in and took a number from the dispenser beside me. He nodded at me and I returned the gesture.
“You just made it Ari, it’s almost shabbos we’re about to close,” the butcher called to the man over the counter.
“I’m going to see if they have any flanken,” Bubby said absently as she sidestepped down the counter toward the beef section.
“Okay, Bubby, I’ll watch your purse.” I put my hand on her bag where it sat in the front section of the shopping cart.
“Gefilte fish?” the man nodded toward the cart. I followed his eyes to the clear plastic bag of ground fish. It looked disgusting.
“Yeah, she’s a brave soul, stinking up her place with that stuff.”
A smile slid onto the man’s face. “I’m sure it’s worth it. My bubby used to make it too. Now that she’s gone there’s no one left who will do it.” He glanced down the case, surveying the prepared foods. “Maybe I’ll get some; talking about it has given me a craving.”
While he looked through the glass of the deli case, I had a good opportunity to give him the once-over. First and foremost there was no wedding band. He was probably a few years older than me, maybe early to mid-thirties, it was hard to tell. He wore a stylish black suit and good shoes: loafers, black. His brown and black striped tie had been loosened and his shirt unbuttoned three buttons from the top, revealing a few dark chest hairs and a large gold Chai hanging from a chain around his neck. No surprise there, considering where we were; the neighborhood was known for its mostly Jewish demographic. And the name was a dead giveaway. I was pretty sure there was no such thing as a Christian Ari.
“Did your wife ask you to grab dinner?” I asked innocently; he didn’t know I’d already looked at his ring finger.
He shook his head as he looked over the ready-made dinners. “Not married. If I had a wife, I wouldn’t be here scrounging for my dinner.”
You would be if I was your wife, I thought, remembering the last time I had tried to cook a meal for myself and Bev; an innocent brisket had died a terrible, charred death courtesy of my lack of culinary skills and my oven with the broken temperature knob. The evening had only been salvaged when we ordered in lasagna from the Italian place on the corner and had opened a bottle of cabernet.
Suddenly the man turned and looked at me. “Want to have dinner with me?”
I was caught completely off-guard and my stomach lurched. He was definitely datable. I nodded toward the meat case. “You offering me this? No thanks, I can buy my own.”
He chuckled. “No, a real dinner. Out. Tonight.”
I looked over to where my grandmother was watching the young butcher weigh out her flanken. “I can’t, I have shabbos dinner with my bubby at her senior’s center.” I wasn’t sure if we were going to actually make it back to her center on time to make it for dinner, but I couldn’t exactly ditch her to go on a date with some stranger.
“Don’t you worry about me, Shoshanna,” Bubby said, still down at the end of the counter, her hearing aid apparently turned up to supersonic. “Sidney Finkel is back from Florida and told me he wants to show me his pictures. You’d be a fifth wheel anyway.” She winked at me. Ew.
I turned back to the man standing in front of me. “Well, I guess I’m free after all. My name’s Shoshanna, by the way. Shoshanna Rosenblatt.”
He took my outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you, Shoshanna. I’m Ari Solomon.”
“I still am going to have to take her back to Brooklyn. Any chance you want to take me out there? It’s where I live too.”
He seemed unaffected by the prospect of traveling to Brooklyn, a good sign—some people never left the island. “Happy to.” He looked up at the butcher and beamed. “You’ll not get a penny from me today, Sam. It seems I have a dinner date.”
Sam rolled his eyes and waved Ari off.
Bubby placed her parcel of flanken in the cart and then looked up at me with a twinkle in her eye. “And who is this gentleman you’re having dinner with?”
Before I had the chance, Ari had stuck out his hand and introduced himself.
Bubby blinked a few times the way she did when she was trying to remember if she’d turned off her stove. She turned to me suddenly. “But what about…”
She seemed to have forgotten his name, but I knew she was asking about Nate. There was no Nate. Never again would there be a Nate, I had made very sure of that only hours before. But what could I tell her in front of this new, very promising prospect?
I played dumb. “Don’t worry Bubby, I’m going to get you home first.” She regarded me for a second but I gave her the eye and she kept her mouth shut. Thank God she got the hint. I’d explain more on the train.
“Nice to meet you Ari. Be nice to my Shoshie or I’ll arrange to have your legs broken.”
Nothing like a sweet old lady acting like Tony Soprano. God I loved her.
I rolled my eyes so Ari would know she was kidding and wrote my number on the back of an old gum wrapper I found in my purse. “Give me a call. I’ll be ready by eight, but only if we get going now, Bubby. Are you done shopping?”
“Yes, Shoshanna, I’ll go pay for my things while you make your arrangements with this nice young man.”
Bubby shuffled off to the cashier with her cart.
“She’s harmless really. And I promise she has no connections with the mob,” I said when she was (hopefully) out of earshot.
Ari laughed. “She’s just looking out for you, it’s sweet. Makes me miss my bubby.” He sighed.
Aww, a guy who missed his grandmother; how cute. “Did she pass away recently?”
“No, it’s been about twelve years, but I still think about her every day.”
Okay, that may not be normal. I looked at my grandmother as she fiddled in her purse for her cash. We were very close but if she had passed away over a decade ago, I’m not sure I would still think about her daily. I shrugged it off; if this was his main quirk, I could deal with it as long as the woman wasn’t freeze-dried in his basement like in Psycho.
I gave him directions to my building but told him I would meet him downstairs because my place was a mess. It was true, but more importantly, I knew better than to give a stranger my condo number.
“You have somewhere in mind?”
“Do you like Asian food?”
“Not really. I’m more of a meat and potatoes man. I could go for a good steak.”
Too bad, how unadventurous. I racked my brain, dismissing all of my favorite local restaurants: Thai, Chinese, Indian. “Well there’s always Outback, assuming you’re not kosher out,” I joked, assuming he’d come back with a good place like DeStefano's.
But instead, his eyes lit up. “Perfect!”
Oh my God, this guy’s serious. The Outback? Really? Oy. Well too late to back down now, I thought, glancing at the gum wrapper with my number on it clutched tightly in his hand. What would happen if I grabbed it and ran? I would have to sacrifice my grandmother who would never be able to keep up. Oh well, this date would give me a good chance to put Bev’s plan into action.
; “Okay, so give me a call when you’re on your way and I’ll meet you downstairs at my building.” I gave him a smile as I took Bubby’s bags and followed her out of the butcher shop.
Of course, since he wasn’t buying anything, he followed us out and I had to say goodbye again when we parted ways on the sidewalk. How awkward.
We were barely out of earshot before Bubby blurted out, “What about that young man you brought to the wedding? He was so nice. Wait…are you going to date them both?” Excitement oozed from her at the prospect of me whoring around. Nice.
“No, Bubby…Um…Nate and I broke up.”
“Oh, Shoshi. That’s too bad, he was so nice. What happened?”
The sidewalk in this very Jewish neighborhood couldn’t have been busier; everyone rushing to get home in time for Shabbat dinner. I pondered what to say to my grandmother; do I tell her the truth or just expand on the existing lie? My creative juices had run dry, so after several seconds of awkward silence, I decided just to tell her the truth.
“Well, I guess we didn’t really break up since we weren’t actually ever seeing each other.”
Bubby looked over at me. “What do you mean? Your father said that you’d been dating some time. Although I’d never heard of him, I just thought you were too shy to tell me about him.”
I laughed. “One thing I have never been is shy, Bubby, you know that! That’s why I hadn’t told you about him: because we weren’t dating. I just didn’t want to come to Dad’s wedding all alone. I would have looked like a loser going without a date.” I snorted. “No offense,” I added, glancing over to make sure I didn’t offend her.
She waved me off. “I’m an old widow, Shoshanna. People expect me to be on my own. So who was he? He was so nice.”
We turned down the block toward the train station. “Just some guy that comes into the spa.”
“And he doesn’t turn you on?”
I glanced over at her. “Bubby!”
“Well?”
“It’s not that.” I thought back to the night of the wedding. When I had so easily fallen asleep in his arms. Maybe if I hadn’t been quite so drunk…I shook my head, realizing that she was still waiting for my answer. “He’s just not my type. And…” I lowered my voice to a whisper even though it was unlikely anyone around us was bothering to listen. “He’s not Jewish.”
“And?” Bubby’s eyebrows rose. “This is a problem for you: a girl who eats shrimp at a buffet on the holiest day of the year?”
I glanced at her. “You’re trying to tell me that it wouldn’t bother you if he wasn’t Jewish?”
She sighed. “Oy, Shoshanna, I’ve been on this earth seventy-seven years and in all those years I have learned that there are only two things that really matter. One is love. If you love someone and he loves you, that’s all that matters. Don’t let something silly like religion get in the way if you and he are happy. The rest will fall into place.”
“Do you really think that, Bubby?”
“I do. There will always be someone who doesn’t like who you end up with: whether it’s because he’s not Jewish or because he goes to the wrong shul or has the wrong job or whatever. Don’t ever try to please someone else with your choice of husband. If I had listened to what my mother said about your Zaidy, I would have married Bert Halpern and not only would I not have had the many years of happiness with your grandfather and had my wonderful kids and grandchildren, but I would have ended up the wife of a convicted felon! Pah, go with your heart, Shoshie.”
I glanced over and smiled. “You’re the best, Bubby. But what was the other thing? You said that only two things matter.”
Her brow furrowed and she wagged her finger at me. “One is love, the other is that you cannot have a proper yontiff dinner at a Chinese food buffet!”
I snickered. “You might be right, Bubby.”
We got to the station and onto a train, her taking the window seat, looking out at the people going by. She was silent for several minutes until she turned back to me. “And you know, it’s hard to criticize you dating a shaygetz when your cousin Simon is dating a man.”
I choked on my own saliva. “What?”
“Oh, don’t you tell me, Shoshanna, that you didn’t know he was a faygeleh.”
Not admitting anything, I looked forward, terrified of meeting her eyes. “How do you know he’s gay?”
“I may wear glasses, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.”
She didn’t seem mad about it or even judgy, so I finally turned to look at her. “Why didn’t you say anything? He’s been hiding it from the family…”
She shrugged. “When he’s ready, he’ll tell everyone. It’s not for me to say anything.”
The train began to move, jostling us both, my grandmother’s arm pressing into mine. I wanted to throw my arm around her for some reason. I’d always loved her, but suddenly, I loved her a million times more.
We fell into a silence as we both looked out the window, both lost in our thoughts. I suddenly yawned, exhausted; it had been a long week, between dealing with Mom and the revelation of her affair with my uncle (I wondered if Bubby knew about that—not that I was about to bring it up) to my dating boot camp with Bev to caring for my sick cat to now finding out that my grandmother knew all along that my closeted (and terrified) cousin was gay.
To add to the drama, I was now going on a date with some strange guy I met in a Jewish butcher shop.
“Well, I liked that boy…Nate? Or is that even his name?” Bubby chided.
“Yes, that’s his name,” I answered in the same scolding tone. “He’s just not my type, Bubby.” Even though I wasn’t sure what that was anymore. Did I really care that much if the guy I dated was Jewish? How much would my dad freak if the guy I brought home wasn’t? What about his job? Dad had always said he saw me on the arm of a nice Jewish doctor or lawyer. Mechanic or technician, or whatever it was that Nate did had never been mentioned in the Shoshanna Rosenblatt list of acceptable husbandly vocations.
Not that it mattered; I had slammed that door shut.
Maybe Ari would turn out to be the one and then I wouldn’t have to worry about what my dad would say if I brought him home a gentile for a future son-in-law.
As the train rocked me almost to sleep, I began to daydream about Ari Solomon and his obviously very white-collar occupation.
* * *
As I hung up the phone and grabbed my purse, I was suddenly filled with a wave of dread which turned my stomach into a tight knot. Ari had just called to let me know he was downstairs and I was ready for the date physically: hair done, earrings on, purse in hand, but for some reason, I felt off.
“See you soon,” I said to Armani, who lay sleeping on the cool kitchen floor tile. He still wasn’t back to normal and I hated leaving him but was helpless to make him better. He had lost so much weight and hardly noticed me anymore except when I gave him his medication twice a day, and even then he didn’t even have the energy to fight the pills I popped in his mouth. I had tried to console him, lying on the floor and stroking him, telling him that his fur would grow back from where the vet had shaven him for the surgery and that he was still beautiful to me. He did seem to be getting better, but very slowly and it was hard to watch him feeling so lousy while he healed.
I dropped my phone into my purse glancing at the clock on the stove. Bev would be calling me at exactly fourteen minutes after nine just to check in and save me if the date was a disaster. I was smart enough to make sure at least one person knew where I was on a first date with a guy I had just met; a girl couldn’t be too safe.
When I got to the lobby, I saw a car parked out front; a Beemer; black. I looked through the passenger window and there he sat, his hands on the wheel. He smiled at me but made no move to get out of the car and open my door for me.
Hmm, strike one for Ari.
It’s not that I expected a guy to constantly open doors or show up with flowers and candy to every date, but it would be nice to think that he was
trying to impress me at least on the first one…
I opened the door and slid into the car, mindful of my short hem, making sure it didn’t bunch under my butt on the buttery leather seats.
“Hi,” I said, smiling at him.
He smiled back. “You look really hot. I’m so looking forward to the Outback, I almost never go there; most of my friends are kosher and won’t go.”
I thanked him as the butterflies in my stomach took flight. I hoped they’d settle down before they were drowned by a whole load of shrimp from the barbie. Ari’s friends may have been kosher, but Shoshanna ‘Shellfish-Lover Extraordinaire’ Rosenblatt was as far as one could get without renouncing her faith altogether.
“So, tell me about you. What do you do?” I figured it couldn’t hurt to follow the number one rule of dating: get the guy talking about himself.
He pulled away from the building fast enough to make my head snap. I was about to berate him when he turned to look at me, an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry, it’s new and a little bit peppier than I’m used to. Do you like her? She cost me a fortune, but she’s a beauty.”
I just nodded.
Once he was up to a decent, but thankfully not neck-breaking, speed, he addressed my question. “Well, I went to school to be a lawyer.”
Oh, Dad will be so proud…
“But I became a bit disenfranchised with the field. I’m working at an ad firm right now.”
Disenfranchised? What did that mean? “Did you not want to be a lawyer anymore?”
He glanced over at me, blinking a few times before turning his attention back to the road. “Ever hear that joke, ‘what do you call a hundred lawyers at the bottom of a lake?”
I shook my head.
“A good start.”
Unable to help myself, I smiled. “Good one.”
“Lawyers are the scum of the earth, they are more useless than scum, they are disgusting bottom-feeders and I would never want to be one of them.”
Dating Kosher Page 22