“Gorgeous,” Mr. Naeem agrees. “Amir, you should take a picture.”
“Dad, stop,” Rasha says. “Leave him alone about the photography.”
Mr. Naeem tsks. “I’m simply saying it’s a beautiful table. I understand Amir here is going to be a fine doctor. Right, Amir?”
His eyes shine with pure happiness. “Right, Dad.”
As the conversation moves on, I nudge Amir and whisper, “When did that happen?”
“During the disappearance of Ariel Stone.” He raises an eyebrow. “I was…frustrated. And I let out that frustration by finally telling my parents to stop pushing photography. And by telling them, I mean, yelling at them. Loudly.”
“Very loudly,” Rasha chimes in. She kisses his cheek. “You fit right into the family now.”
Rasha pops a piece of challah in her mouth, and Sara grabs the rest of her slice. “Hey,” she says. “There’s enough to go around, you know!”
“Yeah, but I wanted yours!”
Sara giggles and Rachel laughs, too. They’re funny that way. One usually can’t laugh without the other. Rachel’s eyes are bright. While we were preparing dinner, she wouldn’t stop talking about a new pirate she discovered. A girl in her class did a presentation on her, and Rachel was so interested that she demanded we go to the bookstore so she could find out more about her. My parents said yes after confirming it was for fun and not an assignment.
They’ve been watching us both carefully, and they’re also trying to make changes. Next week, they’re going to petition the school board with a bunch of other parents to try and get back fifth-grade recess. Maybe the next generation of kids will get to stay kids a little longer.
I’m making changes, too. In addition to dropping AP Spanish lit, I promised Rabbi Solomon I’d visit twice a month to chat. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, and I’m enjoying the stories in the Talmud. My school stress isn’t going to disappear, but I can look for more ways to dial it back.
“Want some challah?” Amir asks.
Sitting next to him at a table with our families feels wonderfully normal. “Yes, please.” Amir passes me a slice, fingers brushing against mine. He gives me that half smile I love so much, and I can’t bite back my own goofy grin. The table is full of munching and laughter, and a feeling of contentment settles over me.
“So.” Mom unties her hair, her curls falling around her shoulders. “Bloopers and highlights. Who’s going first?”
* * *
“This was the perfect suggestion,” Amir says as we walk down the block to Elaine’s. I’m all nerves. I want to take his hand, but mine is probably clammy, and he might get suspicious. “I haven’t been here for a couple weeks. I miss it.”
“Good,” I say.
“I’m surprised your parents let you out of your grounding for the night. That was nice of them. The soup was delicious, by the way, but I think the matzo balls could’ve used more time to soften.”
I laugh. “What? Suddenly you’re an expert?”
“Look, I now know what heaven tastes like. Also, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m coming over for Shabbat dinner every week.”
“Only if I can come over whenever your dad cooks chicken karahi.”
“Deal,” Amir says.
We make it to the gallery doors. My heart tries to beat its way out of my rib cage. I swear I can actually feel it pounding against the bones. Sook was originally going to do a guest spot on a podcast tonight, but she volunteered to finish set up instead. I felt bad about her missing the opportunity, but she squeezed my hand and said, hey, best friend tops music career.
“Before we go in,” I say, turning to Amir. “I want to apologize again. I know your photography show was important to you, and I’m sorry I missed it. School had me—” I give a short sigh.
Amir takes my hand. “You know, Ariel, you’re not the only one stressed about school. I struggle in AP Chem and Bio, and I want to be a doctor. I should be passing those courses with flying colors. But I shouldn’t have to rethink my entire future because AP classes force us to rush through the material.” He sighs. “They make us think the grade is more important than the learning, and that’s messed up. We’re all overwhelmed. You’re not alone.”
I think of all my classmates, bent over textbooks, shoulders strained under heavy backpacks, eyes hooded from lack of sleep. We’re all in it together, whether we want to be or not.
I step forward and kiss Amir’s cheek, hesitant about the show of affection in our mending relationship. But he smiles and squeezes my hand. “C’mon. Let’s go in.”
We pull open the gallery doors. At first, everything looks normal. There are photographs on the walls. Music plays from the speakers. People in skinny jeans and glasses drink wine and beer.
“Where should we start?” Amir asks.
“Hmm.” I hope my voice sounds level. “Maybe the spotlight corner? I loved that artist last time.”
“All right.” We walk toward the back of the gallery, and when we’re close enough to see the photos, Amir freezes. “Ariel, what’s going on?”
I turn to him, heart pounding. “I know how much Elaine’s means to you,” I say. “And I know how much you mean to me. And I wanted to make sure you knew it, too.”
“Ariel…” His eyes are wide as he stares at the wall of photos.
“C’mon,” I say. “Let’s look.”
We step closer. On the wall, in black decal lettering is his name: Amir Naeem. It took a lot to make this happen, but thankfully Amir is well-loved. The owner, Elaine, said she’d be honored to showcase his work.
There’s my favorite, the photo of his parents laughing in the kitchen. There’s a photo of Sara and Rachel, their hands clasped as they meet Disney’s Jasmine at a birthday party, joy in their eyes.
And I’ve added something special. On the walls, there are cursive decals with quotes from Harry Potter books. Earlier this week, I was freaking out they wouldn’t print in time, but it all came together.
Next to a picture of Sara playing piano, sun streaming in through the window, it says: “Ah, music… A magic beyond all we do here!”
Amir turns to me. “Isn’t that from Sorcerer’s Stone?”
I smile. “Yes.”
There’s a photo of Rasha, microphone in front of her, with a look so serene it’s startling. The quote next to it reads: “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic.”
Amir turns to me, eyes shining. “Ariel, I can’t…how…my work is in Elaine’s.” His grin is so big, it breaks my heart open. He rubs a hand against his neck. “How did you do this? Why did you do this?”
“Well, I had a little help.” I nod behind us, and Amir turns to find Sook and Malka waving. There are other friends here, too—Pari and Isaac and Amir’s older friends from their art scene.
“As for why,” I say, Amir turning back to me. “It’s because I’m so truly, deeply sorry that I missed your show. You’ve been so forgiving. So amazing. More than I deserve. And I needed to show you how much I care.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You must care a lot. I can’t believe I have an exhibit in Elaine’s. I have an exhibit in Elaine’s, and it’s Harry Potter–themed.”
I grin. “Oh, that reminds me!” I pull an envelope from my back pocket and pass it to him.
“There’s more?” he asks. “What is it?”
“Open it!”
He does, and his eyes widen in excitement. Two tickets to the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra’s presentation of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. “They’re going to play the score while showing the first movie,” I say.
“This is going to be the most epic thing ever!”
“Really? You’re excited? I wanted to get us tickets to Harry Potter World, but my parents weren’t thrilled at the idea of us having an overnight together.”
Amir laughs. “I don’t think mine would’ve been okay with that, either. Though, maybe after graduation we could…”
My stomach flips. He’s thinking of a we after graduation.
“Ariel, you’re the best boyfriend in the world.”
“Boyfriend?” I ask.
“Will you be the Harry to my Cedric?”
“Okay, but they never actually—”
“Shh!” Amir says. “Will you?”
I smile and take his hand, our fingers threading together. His skin is warm and his eyes are warmer.
“I will,” I say.
“I know I’ve said it before, but Ariel—” He takes a deep breath, looking solemn. “I’m really glad you’re bad at calculus.”
I snort, and Amir laughs, too. “You’re the worst,” I say.
He grins and steps forward. Our feet bump together, then our chests. My heart skips. “You’re the best,” he says.
And then he kisses me.
* * *
“What are we doing?” Rachel asks again. It’s Saturday night. We just picked up frozen yogurt to go and are pulling up to the church’s soccer field. The JCC field is locked down at night, but this one is closer to home anyways, and a giant floodlight keeps the dark away.
“Ariel…” Rachel says, sliding out of the car. “Tell me!”
“Hold these?” I pass her the yogurts, then open the trunk and grab a soccer ball and worn beach towel. The tacky grip of the ball makes my pulse skip. It’s been months since I’ve laced up cleats and played. I take a quick breath, a smile drawing to my lips, then tell Rachel, “Okay, c’mon.”
We walk in silence to the center of the field. It’s quiet. The night is so still I can hear the grass fold under our feet. We sit on the towel and look up at the dark sky, a smattering of stars dappling the inky black. Rachel passes me a spoon and my yogurt. There are sour gummy bears on mine. “Cheers,” I say.
“Ariel.” Rachel dips her spoon into her cup. “Why are we at a church soccer field?”
“To have fun.”
“Fun?”
“Well, at least I’m going to have fun. When I beat your butt in soccer after finishing this yogurt.”
Rachel giggles. “You can’t beat me!”
“Oh, yes, I can.”
There’s a competitive glint in her eyes. She eats her yogurt faster, as if suddenly ravenous. My phone buzzes, and I check it. A text from Amir: Last night was magical. Thank you.
We stayed at the gallery until midnight, a dozen of us sitting in a circle on the floor, shoes kicked off, talking about photography and art and life. Amir’s hand stayed clasped in mine the entire time. I can still feel the trace of his touch. My cheeks warm, as I think about seeing him tomorrow. And the next day and the next.
“I’m a better player,” Rachel says, drawing my attention back to her.
I raise my eyebrows and put my phone away. “You sure about that?”
We finish eating, taunting each other the entire time. Then we get up and kick the ball around, playing on half the field, blocking each other and dribbling the ball toward the net. Rachel cheers as she sinks a goal soundly into the corner. Her curls bounce as she makes her victory lap, both arms pumped in the air, a giant smile on her face.
And I see it, then, a glimpse of what our lives could be.
Rachel passes me the ball, and I run forward.
Dear Reader,
As you now know from reading You Asked for Perfect, Ariel and I are big fans of matzo ball soup. After all, it is the best food in the world. And I realized it was wrong to talk about its deliciousness so often without sharing a recipe. So, I present to you my nana’s (great-grandmother’s) matzo ball soup.
This is the first time my family is writing down the recipe. It’s possible this recipe came from generations before my nana. We don’t use exact measurements. It’s a Schütteherein, which is a Yiddish word to mean it’s cooked without a recipe, a pinch of this and a bissel of that, so don’t take any measurement too strictly.
I hope you all will enjoy this soup as much as my family has for generations.
Love,
Laura
Yetta “Recht” Eisenman’s Matzo Ball Soup
Makes 12 servings
For the Soup
2 pounds bone-in kosher chicken*
1 large yellow onion
7½ quarts water
6 to 9 Telma chicken stock cubes (to taste)
3 to 4 large carrots
3 to 4 large celery stalks
½ ounce dill
Bissel of pepper
Peel half the skin off the chicken (so it isn’t too greasy). Peel the onion, but keep the onion whole.
Bring the water, Telma cubes, chicken, and onion to a boil in large saucepan, then cook for 90 minutes on medium heat.
Peel the carrots, then chop the carrots (not too small!). Slice the celery stalks lengthwise and then chop each piece about 1/3 inch long.
Remove the chicken from the pot to cool.
Add carrots, celery, dill, and pepper to the pot and continue cooking on low to medium heat.
After the chicken has cooled enough, pull it off the bone, then put the chicken sans bones back into the pot.
Taste after about an hour; and add more Telma cubes, dill, and pepper if needed. Cook for another hour, then remove from heat to let soup cool in the pot. Once it’s cooled, place it in the fridge to store overnight.
In the morning, take the pot out of the fridge and skim off the dill and about 70 percent of the schmaltz (the chicken fat that has risen to the top of the soup). Then heat on low.
For the Matzo Balls**
6 eggs
6 tablespoons vegetable oil or melted schmaltz
1½ cups matzo meal
6 to 8 quarts water
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
In a large mixing bowl, beat the eggs (this helps make the matzo balls fluffier***). Then, blend beaten eggs with vegetable oil or schmaltz.
Add matzo meal and stir with a fork until evenly mixed. Chill mixture in fridge for about 20 minutes.
In the meantime, pour 6 to 8 quarts water into a pot and bring to a brisk boil.
Remove chilled mix from the fridge, then wet your hands and form the matzo balls, each one about 1 inch round. Mixture should make 18 to 24 matzo balls.
Drop the matzo balls into the boiling water and then cover the pot tightly. Reduce heat to a simmer and cook for about 40 minutes. Drain and add the matzo balls to the soup to finish cooking.
The soup is ready when the house smells like chicken soup! If you’re looking for a number, it should be ready about an hour after you add the matzo balls so they have time to absorb the flavor, but the soup can simmer for hours after that.
*Must use kosher chicken. It has an extra bit of salt flavor that makes all the difference.
**It is acceptable to use matzo ball mix by Manischewitz or Streit’s if you don’t wish to make it from scratch. Just add ½ teaspoon baking powder to make the balls fluffier. No more, or they’ll fall apart.
***If you need help making your matzo balls even fluffier, also add a tablespoon of seltzer water when making the matzo meal mixture.
Acknowledgments
Mom and Dad, this book wouldn’t exist without you. Not only because you gave birth to me but also because of your constant love and support. We were all dealt some really tough hands, but we keep getting through it together. Thank you for always being there for me. And Dad, thank you for all of the dog pictures. And Mom, thank you for all of the matzo ball soup. I love you both so much!
Elise LaPlante, thank you for being my person. I have the best best friend in the world, and everyone is jealous. I love you forever and know there are
so many bright things in your future.
Bubbie and Papa Bobby, thank you for being loving grandparents. I’m so lucky to still have you both in my life. Lauren Sandler Rose and Melissa Sandler, thank you for being such wonderful cousins. I know I can depend on you both, and I’m so grateful for it. Thank you to all of my loving aunts and uncles and cousins.
Katie King and Abbie Blizzard, college was just okay until I found y’all. Thank you for all the bar hopping and game nights and weekend trips. I love you both and hope we’re together again soon.
Anna Meriano, Amanda Saulsberry, and Kiki Chatzopoulou, graduate school brought us together, but it couldn’t break us apart. Over three years later, and we still talk almost every day. Y’all bring me so much comfort and joy, and I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through the last few years without you. I’m so proud to have you as my friends. Words and Thai will never die. I love you all.
Lauren Vassallo, yes, you get your own paragraph, because you are the best damn critique partner a girl could ask for and an incredible friend on top of that. Could I write books without you? Maybe, but they definitely wouldn’t be as good. Thank you for reading so many pages and always providing me with the best insights and advice. I hope 2019 brings you all the happiness!
Jim McCarthy, thank you for being the absolute best agent. I’m more and more grateful each year to have you by my side. Your support and guidance mean so much to me. I don’t know how I would navigate publishing without you, but thankfully, I don’t have to.
Sourcebooks, you are such a kind and supportive publisher. Thank you to my editor, Annette Pollert-Morgan, and thank you to my friend Stefani Sloma. And thank you to the entire team, including but definitely not limited to: Steve Geck, Cassie Gutman, Sarah Kasman, Katy Lynch, Beth Oleniczak, and Kate Prosswimmer.
Thank you to all of my friends, critique partners, sensitivity readers, and people who answered questions to help me write this book. I’m so very grateful for you all: Samira Ahmed, Becky Albertalli, Rachael Allen, Jonathan Goldhirsch, Deborah Kim, Elie Lichtschein, Katie Locke, Katherine Menezes, Christy Michell, Ameema Saeed, Evan Sniderman, Jenny Snoddy, Angie Thomas, Kayla Whaley, and Jason Wien.
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