Sarah ached for her mother’s cooking: gefilte fish (cue the stories of her father’s parents making it in their bathtub), matzoh ball soup (which she loved helping her mother make—the secret ingredient in the matzoh balls was the seltzer water), stuffed cabbage (Sarah refused to eat it, but still loved watching her mother meticulously fold each piece). But at Chef Michael’s Passover table, there was not a kugel or a farfel or a babka to be found.
There was, however, wine. Sarah helped herself to another glass.
“We’re just delighted that Becca is such a good influence on our Henry,” Ursella was saying.
Sylvia beamed back at Ursella, while motioning to Sarah to take off the fur vest. Sarah ignored her.
“She’s accomplished so much,” Edmond chimed in. “We’re hoping she’ll rub off on Henry a bit.” He let out a fake laugh in Henry’s direction. Henry pretended not to hear any of it.
“Our Becca really is amazing,” Sylvia said. Was she being sincere—did she truly feel that Becca was amazing?—or was this her way of trying to guilt her daughter into taking the internship? Becca couldn’t tell. Her father hadn’t had time to talk to her mother privately, but still, Sylvia knew everything. Or so it seemed to Becca. “Before we turn around, we’ll have another doctor in the family,” Alan said, smiling. “Malika, I bet you have a lot of stories to share with Becca.”
“I do,” Malika said. She then took an enormous bite of brisket, hoping the conversation would turn to someone else.
“It would be wonderful for Becca to have such an accomplished female doctor as her mentor,” Alan continued. “I know it seems like it shouldn’t matter, but even today it’s important for a girl to have a woman in her field to look up to. Someone she can go to for advice.”
Malika smiled and took a sip of wine. She didn’t know how to tell Gideon, let alone Alan, that she wouldn’t be around long enough to serve as Becca’s mentor. She shoveled a huge bite of sweet potatoes into her mouth.
“Where did you go to medical school?” Valentina asked. “England?”
Malika nodded, her mouth still full of food.
“So you can’t practice here, then?” Valentina asked.
“She can practice here,” Gideon said. “In fact, after we fulfill our obligation to Doctors Without Borders, we plan to get married and live here.”
“You do?” Sylvia asked. She clapped her hands together, like a little girl. “How wonderful!”
“Yes, it is,” Gideon said. He looked to Malika, who gave him a tight-lipped smile in return.
“I’m delighted that my whole family will be here,” Alan said. “And I’m just so happy that Gideon’s found Malika, and Becca’s found Henry. We are all so very lucky.”
“Hear, hear,” Sylvia said, and raised her wineglass, as if Alan had just given a toast.
“Hear, hear,” Edmond said, and smiled at Ursella.
“Hear, hear,” Henry and Gideon said in unison.
Everyone began clanging their wineglasses together, celebrating, smiling. No one seemed to have noticed that Sarah and Joe were left out of the merriment. Except for Sarah. And Joe. And Valentina.
“And that Sarah’s found Joe,” Valentina said, and raised her glass.
“Yes, of course,” Alan said, his glass still in the air. “That Sarah’s found Joe. Hear, hear.”
“Hear, hear,” Edmond said. “Those two have actually been together the longest. How wonderful.”
“You know what’s so funny, Valentina?” Sylvia said. Sarah couldn’t be sure, but was her mother slurring her words?
“What’s funny?” Valentina asked.
“Alan and I didn’t think they’d last past junior high!” Sylvia joked.
“Sylvia,” Alan chastised.
“I’m sure you don’t mean that,” Ursella said. “Joe is lovely. And what a beautiful couple they make together.”
“He is a very impressive young man,” Edmond said.
Sylvia sat up a bit straighter in her seat. Sarah could tell that she was about to say something, something about how she was so proud of her Joe, like she’d said before, but Valentina spoke before Sylvia had a chance to.
“Well,” Valentina said, “I, for one, feel lucky that Sarah is a part of our family now. I wish you felt the same way about our Joey.”
“They’re not married!” Sylvia trilled. “Not part of the family just yet!”
“I really wish you’d stop saying that,” Sarah said.
“Well, I’m just stating a fact, sweetheart,” Sylvia said. “I didn’t mean any offense by it.”
“I just really wish you’d stop saying it,” Sarah said again. She put her wineglass down. It was empty. She struggled to recall exactly how many glasses she’d had so far.
“I’m only saying what’s true,” Sylvia said. “Why is there anything wrong with that?”
“Because we are married,” Sarah said. She couldn’t believe she’d said it. She’d actually said it out loud. She’d imagined this moment so differently—the moment when she told her mother the truth. There wouldn’t be a crowd watching them, for one, and she wouldn’t be telling her mother out of spite. To get back at her. She’d be telling her so that they could both be happy.
“What do you mean you’re married?” Sylvia laughed. “You’re not even engaged!”
“I mean that we’re married. We went down to the courthouse on a Tuesday morning and said our vows and got married. I wore a white dress and everything.”
“Did you know about this?” Sylvia asked Alan. But he didn’t need to answer. The color drained from his face and his brows furrowed into two very pronounced squiggly lines. “Did you know?” she asked Valentina.
Valentina looked at Joe, and then she looked at Sarah. She didn’t say a word. In that moment, seeing Valentina speechless, a woman who was never at a loss for words, who never let an opportunity to speak pass her by, Sylvia knew.
Sylvia quietly got up from the table. “Would you all excuse me, please?” Alan followed her out.
All eyes were on Sarah. She didn’t know what to do. Hop up from the table and follow her mother out of the dining room? What could she even say to her?
Sarah hadn’t meant to hurt her mother, after all.
Or had she?
Dessert was never served.
BOOK THREE
The Clean-Up
The fourth question:
On all other nights we eat sitting or reclining, and on this night we only recline.
ONE LITTLE GOAT
(Chad Gadya, translated to “One Little Goat”)
One little goat, one little goat.
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came a cat
and ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came a dog
and bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came a stick
and beat the dog,
that bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came fire
and burnt the stick,
that beat the dog,
that bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came water
and quenched the fire,
that burnt the stick,
that beat the dog,
that bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came the ox
and drank the water,
that quenched the fire,
that burnt the stick,
that beat the dog,
that bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came the slaughterer
and slaughtered the ox,
that drank the water,
that quenched the fire,
that burnt the stick,
that beat the dog,
that bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came the Angel of Death
and killed the slaughterer,
that slaughtered the ox,
that drank the water,
that quenched the fire,
that burnt the stick,
that beat the dog,
that bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came the Holy One,
Blessed be He,
and slew the Angel of Death,
that killed the slaughterer,
that slaughtered the ox,
that drank the water,
that quenched the fire,
that burnt the stick,
that beat the dog,
that bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
that Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Forty-Three
The bank collapsed on a Sunday. It seemed strange to Edmond that the news of it happening should break on a Sunday. When he took over the bank from his father, gentlemen didn’t work on Sundays. They worked during the week, from Monday through Friday. Weekends were reserved for family, for leisure activities. But times had changed. The world had changed.
He was eating his breakfast when he heard the news. The New York Times spread out on the kitchen table, Edmond had switched on MSNBC—background noise while he ate his poached eggs, whole wheat toast, and fresh fruit. It was then that he heard the newscaster announce that his bank, the bank that his family had started in the 1800s and then rebuilt after World War II, was going bankrupt.
As the newscaster passed around blame (it was Edmond’s fault, it was his CFO’s fault, it was Edmond’s father’s fault), Edmond thought about what he would do next. It seemed to him he’d been trying to fix things at the bank for as long as he could remember (even though it had only been fourteen months) and nothing had worked. He had borrowed money, he had used that money to cover other monies that had been lost, he had gotten new investors in. New executives. Young kids who were supposed to have all the answers. (They did not.) Now, Edmond was out of ideas.
“Is there something you should have told me?” Ursella asked as she walked into the kitchen in her nightgown, covered by a silk kimono.
“Well, yes,” Edmond said. “But I could never find the right words. We were worried about Henry and I didn’t want to give you anything else to worry about.”
“But I worry about you,” Ursella said, walking over to Edmond. Then, she did something unexpected. She perched onto his lap and put her arms around his neck. “You should have told me.”
“I know,” Edmond said. Had he brushed his teeth before coming to eat? Ursella’s face was so close to his. “I should have.”
“Whatever the trouble is,” Ursella said, “we’ll be fine.”
“Oh, I don’t think we’ll be fine,” Edmond said. “This is the beginning of the end.”
“Then we’ll start over,” Ursella said. “I could always go back to dancing. I had a very promising career at one point, you know.”
She got up off Edmond’s lap and did a pirouette, the flaps of her kimono flying as she twirled. Edmond remembered the first time he had ever laid eyes on Ursella. A beautiful spinning top. He thought she looked the same now as she had then.
“Beautiful,” Edmond said.
“Thank you,” she said. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could twirl like that,” Edmond said.
“Not to twirl,” Ursella said. “To tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s to tell?” Edmond said. “The bank’s going under. I’m a huge failure. Thousands of lives will be affected, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“There has to be something you can do. You always solve every problem. Let’s brainstorm what can be done.”
“I’ve been brainstorming for over a year now,” Edmond explained. “It’s over.”
Ursella was silent for a moment. Then: “You’ve kept this from me for over a year?”
“I thought it best not to involve you in this mess.” Edmond rubbed his temples; a dull ache was taking form behind his eyes.
“How could you keep something from me for over a year?” she asked, breathless. In disbelief.
“I don’t know,” Edmond said. He took a slow sip of his orange juice. “I’m sorry.”
“I couldn’t keep something from you for over an hour,” Ursella said quietly. “A whole year, Edmond?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He couldn’t seem to apologize enough. Which was good practice for what was to come; he’d be apologizing quite a lot during the coming year.
“I’m not asking you to apologize,” Ursella said. “I suppose I’m trying to figure out how you could have done that. How you could keep a secret from me for so long. What other secrets are between us.”
Edmond drew his wife to him. He wrapped his arms around her silky frame and held tight. Ursella buried her face in Edmond’s shoulder and began to quietly cry.
“There’s nothing else,” Edmond said. “I promise you.” But as much as he said that, and as much as he apologized to Ursella, nothing could console her.
Forty-Four
Sylvia and Alan did not take the news well. They somehow felt that Becca’s decision to skip her summer internship was an indictment of them. Of the way they’d raised her, of the way their family valued education, of the way the Golds always strove for the best.
“Is it wrong to want you to live out your potential?” Sylvia asked her daughter.
“I need a break,” Becca said. That was all she ever said in response to the bevy of questions she’d been subjected to. She felt like a prisoner facing a firing squad, blindfold over her eyes, a cigarette dangling from her lips.
What will you do all summer?
Is this because of Henry?
How will this affect your standing at medical school?
No one dared ask the next question, the question that came after all this, the one you asked after all the rest were answered.
Are you even going back to medical school?
Becca knew the questions were coming. Sometimes she thought she achieved so much just to avoid being asked them. She excelled at life only so that her parents wouldn’t bother her. It was actually easier to be at the top of her class in medical school, at her Ivy League undergrad, and her competitive high school than it was to face the scrutiny of Sylvia and Alan Gold. To face the disappointment.
But that was all over now. Her parents may have insisted that being with Henry had “brought her down,” but Becca felt it was quite the opposite. Henry showed her that she could do as she pleased. And she planned to do just that. In fact, this summer she’d be spending a chunk of her Bat Mitzvah money (untouched in a savings account since she was thirteen years old) on a Hamptons summer share with some friends. True, her friends would be in the city working all week and out only on weekends, but that didn’t matter to Becca. She’d be spending the summer on the beach.
She’d never had so much time to herself before. Her life had been a relentless cycle of schoolwork, summer job, internship, schoolwork, internship, part-time job, schoolwork. Becca couldn’t actually remember the last time she’d had more than two weeks off. More than two weeks to herself. Time to do nothing. Time to relax. To rest. And now she had a whole summer t
o look forward to.
“What will you do with your time?” her mother asked.
“You’ll be bored after three days,” her father insisted.
But Becca had big plans to do absolutely nothing for two whole months. She planned to turn boredom into an art form. Maybe she’d take yoga classes on the beach in the mornings. Maybe she’d learn to cook.
Maybe she wouldn’t.
Becca didn’t want to run anymore. Becca didn’t want to work anymore. Becca didn’t want to tear the tiny little hairs out of her head, one by one, anymore. It was time to stop. It was time to take a break.
Forty-Five
It was a yes. The best yes he’d ever gotten in his life. It was a community college, true, but that didn’t matter. The least-prestigious community college (if there was such a thing) in all of New York State. But that didn’t matter, either. What mattered was yes. It was a yes. As in, yes, you can come join us. Yes, we will accept you. Yes, you can start over.
Henry knew he should be striving higher, but this was all he could get on his own for the time being. And it felt good. He’d do the two years at community college and then apply to a four-year program. Maybe if he could do well here, he’d erase the stink of what he’d done at Florida. Maybe he’d get a second chance.
He was too excited to wait until the fall. For once in his life, Henry actually wanted to do something. He would be starting classes over the summer. Becca was disappointed—she’d be taking the summer off, but she was the reason he’d decided to go back, so shouldn’t she be happy for him? After all, he was doing this for them. For their future. Now that he didn’t have his father’s money to fall back on, he had to do something for himself. Do something by himself.
“Don’t you see?” he had told Becca. “This is my chance to step up. To be a man. To be my own man.” She had never seen Henry like this before. So eager. So proud.
Shouldn’t she be proud, too? Wasn’t that what she wanted? That’s what Henry had asked himself as he’d pored over the applications for school. But now that he was in—now that he had gotten in by himself—well, NYC Community College felt like Harvard. And more than that, Henry was slowly realizing that it didn’t matter who was proud. Not his parents, not Becca’s family, not Becca. What mattered was whether or not he was proud of himself. And he was.
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