“YOU’RE LATE.” MY Bubbie hefts herself into the front seat of my car, tucking her skirts inside so I can close the door without getting grease on her good clothes.
“Nice to see you, too, Bubs.” I climb in my side, grinning, and lean across to give her a kiss before pulling out for the short drive to our temple. It would be faster to walk, by the time I find parking, but Bubbie has been complaining about her hips recently, so here we are.
“No kippah? What is this—Sunday school?” She clucks her tongue at me until I lift the console compartment and pull out the battered old yarmulke I keep there for just this sort of emergency.
“I just forgot, is all. I couldn’t find my keys this morning. I was running a little behind.”
She shakes her head and pats my hand on the gear shift. “You’re never going to find a nice girl in a wrinkled old head covering like that, Adriel.”
“I thought we go to services to find peace. Nobody said anything about ladies.” I wink at her.
Bubbie crosses her arms and studies me for a few minutes until I pull up outside the doors of the synagogue. She waves at the ushers at the door and I run around the car to open her door and help her up the steps. “You gonna wait for me here while I park?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, I’m going down front and talk with Helen. She’s getting a new grand baby this fall.”
I mutter under my breath as I help her up the last step, and hurry back to the car. I have to circle the block a few times before I find a parking space and I just make it inside as the doors are closing and the service begins. Bubbie pats the bench seat next to her and we spend a quiet hour following along with the service.
I say a quick prayer that just this once, we’ll sneak out and immediately leave, but I know full well the morning has just begun. I used to take turns with my sister, Avi, driving Bubbie to services. My parents are somehow exempt from going except for the High Holidays…and to be fair, they do open the clinic on Saturdays to see newborns and their dazed parents.
But, Avi has moved to the suburbs. A few months ago, she got tired of the traffic crossing the river from the south and decided it was against the spirit of the sabbath for her to drive “all this way” to take Bubbie to shul. I close my eyes and listen to the choir and remind myself I like coming here. I like the stillness here, I like the predictability and cyclical nature of the service.
Autumn always means themes of forgiveness, renewal. Maybe this will be the year I feel renewed…
“Adriel!”
I whip my head to the side and realize my grandmother is shouting my name. She stands at the end of the bench with a pair of women, one old, one far too young for me. Oh please don’t let this turn into a setup attempt. Please, oh please, oh please. “Yeah, Bubs? Sorry, I was…contemplating the readings.”
Bubbie rolls her eyes. “Yeah right. Stand up, Adriel, and come see who I have here. You remember Ruthie Cohen? She’s back from university. In Boston!”
The younger woman, Ruthie I guess, waves timidly. “Congratulations on graduating,” I say, standing and making my way out of the seat. “Any job prospects?”
Ruthie opens her mouth to say something and her own grandmother butts in. “She’s got offers from major banks all over the place. All over! But our Ruthie chose to come home here to Pittsburgh, didn’t you, sweetheart? Gonna be working downtown.”
Ruthie nods. I nod. “That’s great,” I say, tapping my fingers along the smooth wood of the bench back. I have nothing further to say to this 22-year-old my sister used to babysit.
Bubbie drapes an arm around my waist, pulling me close against her stout body. “Adriel is up for a major award. Science teacher of the year!”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not it, Bubbie. I told you, it’s a social dinner. Lots of teachers are invited.”
She waves a hand and leans toward her friend. “They’re giving him a cash prize.”
“It’s for the school, Bubs.” I turn to face Ruthie and her grandmother. “The organization is donating funds to a few different public schools for STEM enrichment.”
Ruthie’s eyes go wide. “Are you a teacher? That’s so wonderful. I bet your students love you.”
I’m not sure what I’ve said or done to give her that impression, but I can objectively admit that the Franklin Middle School students do seem to admire me, so I thank her. I look over my shoulder. “Hey, Bubbie, things are thinning out here. You want to go grab coffee and I can get the car?”
She clucks her tongue again. “You’ll come with me for that coffee, young man. And we’ll stay for bagels, too.” She turns to her friend. “Did they order them from the same place this time? I hear she trucks the water in from Manhattan so they taste just like a New York deli bagel.”
I shuffle along as they argue the merits of various bagels. My scientific opinion is that the minerals in the water from New York might contribute toward that perfect taste and texture of the bagels there. But I don’t want to go off on a tangent about the chemistry of bagel production, so I just silently enjoy mine.
I appreciate that my grandmother wants me to be happy. I mean, really she wants me to get married and have babies because that’s what Jewish culture says means she has succeeded as a grandmother. But ultimately, she’d like me to be happy. I can admit that I haven’t been too thrilled with the world since Lara left me. I think again about Leo’s suggestion that I see someone professionally about it.
By the time I dab my mouth with the napkin, finished with my bagel, I see that Ruthie has gone and my grandmother frowns at me slightly as she continues nibbling and chatting. Eventually I tell her I need to get home and prepare for my award speech, a small white lie that gets her to nod so I can trot off to grab the car and take her home.
There’s always a chance I’ll get called upon to say a few words at the dinner. My colleagues insisted I attend the science educator event, as head of my department. They know my background, and know that I know how to talk to rich people. They should also know I’m terrible at schmoozing, though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling my heart race when I saw Samantha Vine is the keynote speaker.
Samantha Vine is everywhere I look these days, except when I draw up the nerve to try to speak with her at her own company. I wonder again whether Leo is right that she seemed interested. Or whether he’s right that I need to get out there and just do something reckless and fun. She’s busy with her company doing…whatever it is that’s going on there.
I’m busy with my students and my empty apartment and my family.
I pull up out front of the synagogue and put my blinkers on, waiting for my grandmother to emerge. I decide to fire off a text to Samantha before I lose my nerve again. Saw your name on the science educators dinner. Hope we can catch up.
Once I send the message, I stare at it in agony, worried it’s the dullest message any man has ever sent a woman. I watch as it shows as “received” and I practically hyperventilate as the three dots appear on the screen. She’s typing something back.
I wondered if you’d be there!
I wait, as three dots appear again, as if she has more to say, but then they stop. Nothing else. Her message conveys absolutely nothing about whether she, too, is interested in reckless fun of the naked variety. Frustrated, I shove my phone back in my pocket and drive my grandmother home.