Chapter Twenty #2
Sadie rolls her eyes. “That one needs some work, Zayde.” She turns to me and explains, “The cat litter balances out the smell of . . .”
“Rotting corpses!” His raucous laughter is contagious and inappropriate, and I can’t stop myself from joining in.
“I got another one,” he says, slowly sitting down on one of the armchairs flanking the fireplace.
“Oh my gawd,” Sadie says in a flat voice.
“Why can’t you cremate a clown?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sitting down on the couch. “Why?”
“Because they burn funny!”
“Hilarious,” Sadie says, as Lenny and I dissolve into another round of giggles.
“Wait, I got another one. Whaddya call—”
“Zayde,” the girl cuts in. “Did you know that Ashira is a matchmaker?”
“A matchmaker?” He turns to me, looking surprised. “What happened? Did you not get accepted into college?”
I shake my head and laugh. “I didn’t apply to any.”
“Eh, don’t worry about it,” he says, with a wave. “You’re not missing much.”
“How would you know, Zayde? You never went to college.”
“So?” He shrugs. “I’ve never eaten pork, but I’m not missing that either.”
“I’ve eaten pork,” she replies, “and trust me, you’re missing out.”
“That reminds me of a new joke about Hell I heard recently. You ready for this, it’s a good one—”
“Ashira,” Sadie quickly interrupts. “Tell us about your very single, very attractive neighbor.”
“Uh, right, yes.” I sit up straight and smile. “So, I have a lovely next-door neighbor whose husband died earlier this year. She has a great personality,” I say, even if it is a bit of stretch. “She’s seventy-eight and in amazing shape. And sharp as a tack.”
Lenny takes it all in, looking a little uncertain. “I don’t know, Ashira. The last time I went out on a date was around the time of the Civil Rights Act.”
“That is a really long time,” I say, nodding. “I can see why that would be daunting. But if it makes you feel better, Bernice hasn’t been on a date in about that long too.”
“Bernice, did you say?” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes.
I nod and wonder if he knows her. “She’s about this tall,” I say, and gesture to my shoulder. “Unless she’s not in her heels, and then she’s about half a foot shorter. She loves sequins and leather. Pretty quirky—”
He barks a laugh. “You’re trying to set me up with Bernice Rubin? Or whatever the hell her last name is now?”
I exchange a glance with the granddaughter as the uneasy feeling doubles in size. “Yes?”
“And you said she has a good personality!” he scoffs. “That’s the lie of the century.”
Hopes deflates out of me like a sad, old balloon. “Sure, she can be a bit much, but she’s a good person. She shows up for people. When my mom was sick, she helped me in a lot of ways.” I cross my arms. “How do you know her?”
“I dated her in high school.”
“No!” My jaw drops. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it, all right. We went from lovers to enemies overnight.”
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend before Bubbe,” the granddaughter says.
“Girlfriends,” Lenny corrects with an arched eyebrow. “But Bernice was my first love.”
“Wow,” I whisper, shaking my head. Goosebumps are on my arms. “You have to admit that this sounds a lot like fate.”
“It sounds like a worse fate than having a colonoscopy without anesthesia,” he replies.
“Ewww, Zayde. The visual,” Sadie groans.
“What happened between you two?” I ask. “How did it end so badly?”
“I’ll tell you how—I caught her shtupping Ernie Schlossinger! On my birthday, no less!” he exclaims.
I watch the emotion play across his face and I’m struck by the intensity and the length of time that he’s held onto his hurt. In my eight years of matchmaking, I’ve reunited old flames before, but never had a case quite like this.
In the early days of my career, I once saw my mother patiently counsel a couple who had come to her for marital guidance.
I remember the hours of shouting, accusations, and the periods of tense silence.
I don’t recall what the result was, but I remember asking my mother why bother spending all that effort when the couple clearly hated each other’s guts.
“Because’ Ashiraleh,” she had said with a smile, “sometimes love is like a flame. As long as there’s still a spark, you can rekindle the fire.”
Looking at Lenny now, all fired up and red in the face, I wonder if that’s true. Could Lenny, deep down, want a second chance with Bernice? It’s possible, isn’t it?
“And one more thing,” Lenny says, getting up from his seat. “You tell that woman that I’ve got a special casket with her name on it, and I’ll make sure it takes a shortcut to Hell.”
On second thought, maybe my mother had no idea what she was talking about. She did tend to see love through rose-tinted glasses. Sometimes I wonder whether she reasoned away any warning signs of her own marriage.
“It was nice seeing you again, Lenny.” I smile and stand up. “I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you for opening your home up to me. This funeral home holds some of my best childhood memories.”
“Said no child ever,” the granddaughter murmurs.
“Eh.” He shrugs, a small grin tugging at his lips. “You were a good kid. And unlike your neighbor,” he adds, “you are always welcome to come here and visit.”
They walk me to the door, and as I step outside into the cold, Lenny calls out, “Don’t be strange!”
I laugh, suddenly recalling the familiar dialogue we used to have when my grandmother would come get me. And luckily, I still remember my line. “You mean, don’t be a stranger.”
He winks. “That too.”
I smile. Despite the frigid temperature, a warm glow travels throughout my body. Although the matchmaking expedition didn’t work out, I’m still happy I came.
But do I plan on delivering Lenny’s message to Bernice? Hell no.