Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
A vi must’ve dozed off because the next thing he knew, Leah was pulling to a stop in a parking lot. It was raining, and Mrs. Horowitz’s coat lay on top of him like a lead blanket.
“We’re just outside of Binghamton,” she said, noticing he was awake. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” He clocked the flags, American and Israeli, flying outside the building. “Why are we in a JCC parking lot?”
“Well, since you helpfully added “ Avi wants pancakes ” to my list, and I saw signs for a Hanukkah festival on the way into town, I thought we’d check it out. Better than fast food and quicker than a sit-down meal. Plus, how much do you want to bet, dollars to donuts, they’re serving latkes?”
“Don’t you mean, gelt to sufganiyot ?” Avi said wryly. “And I didn’t mean potato pancakes.”
Then again, now that Leah had mentioned latkes, he was totally craving them. And a Hanukkah fest was like a Jewish version of the all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast at a fire hall.
Sure enough, as they approached the entrance and followed a happy family through the double doors, Avi spied a large sign. “ Latkepalooza – clever them.”
“Clever us, for scoring cheap dinner.” Leah joined the queue to pay the five-dollar cover charge that got them a plateful of latkes and unlimited access to the toppings bar.
“I’ll do you one better.” Avi steered them into the will-call line. “Taking a page from your book, Queen of the Food Court.”
“We can’t take someone else’s paid spot,” she hissed. “Rules!”
“You’ll see,” he murmured close to the shell of her ear.
“Welcome…?” The woman trailed off quizzically, and Avi prayed she wasn’t a member of his core demographic.
“Julian and Esther.”
“Ah, the Rosenbergs! We’ve got you here…somewhere…Hannah!” She called over. “Do you have the Rosenbergs?”
That woman gave a frantic wave, beckoning them over.
“Did you just name us after the Soviet spies?” Now it was Leah, close in his ear, as they shuffled into the next, much shorter line.
“That would be Julius . And Ethel . And I was going to say Greenberg. They just made assumptions based on familiarity. You know, similar-sounding names in the Zeitgeist. Must be some sort of audio illusion.”
Leah snorted. “Yeah, the Avi Wolfson effect.”
He covered her mouth before she could say anything more to betray them. Her lips grazed his palm, setting off a bottle rocket in his brain. Leah blinked in surprise at the familiarity with which he touched her, but didn’t protest. Unless you could count the tiny hum she made that he felt long after he dropped his hand.
“Thank goodness you’re here. We’re already down a few.” The worker tossed Leah a Sharpie and Avi two name tags. “Esther, you’re on balloon animals. You, my friend, are in the karaoke corner.”
Hannah shifted to grab something else off the table, and that’s when Avi saw the sign behind her. All volunteers get free meal admission after their shift.
Oh, hell. So much for their quick in-and-out meal.
“Looks like we’re working for our supper.” Leah laughed, penning JULIAN onto the name tag he’d slapped defeatedly onto his hoodie. “Although you may be singing for yours if no one comes to karaoke corner.”
“Trade with me,” he begged. “I can’t…” He winced preemptively at the thought of all the kids trying to channel their inner Taylor or Drake. “I have perfect pitch.”
“No way. See you later, Julian.” Leah had affixed her ESTHER name tag and was already making a beeline toward the gym.
“Don’t forget your meal tickets,” Hannah called. “And free swag on the way in.”
Avi mashed a free trucker cap with Just Here for the Latkes emblazoned on the bill over his curls, and pocketed two squishy dreidel-shaped stress toys.
He was going to need them.
Serves him right. Volunteering us. Leah watched with amused satisfaction as Avi meted out the microphone from the flashing sound machine to a group of tweens eager to live out their not-so-Pitch-Perfect dreams.
At least the two of them were coming by their free meal honestly. Truth be told, it was kind of fun to be in such a festive, thoroughly familiar setting after two days of intense Avi Wolfson immersion.
Although balloon sculpture was its own unique form of torture. The tiny inflation pump was fun, but once she was expected to twist the fragile things into a menagerie of animals, phallic-looking swords, and wacky hats…all bets were off. She tried, and failed, to swallow each shriek that slipped out when she over-bent and popped a masterpiece.
Finally, she settled on a hat of her own design that was easy enough – two triangles of opposing colors that she fashioned into a Magen David large enough for a child to push on their head.
“I’d be happy to be your assistant.” An older gentleman had joined her line, bowing low. “Rinkles the Clown, at your service.”
“Otherwise known as Sam Winkler, the jeweler.” The woman with him shook her head, chiding fondly. She held the shoulders of a young boy. “He can’t resist coming out of retirement to impress his grandson.”
Leah watched in amazement as the Artist Formerly Known as Rinkles modeled not only a parrot but a trapeze for it to dangle on inside a balloon hat. “You’re hired!”
For the next half hour, he called out colors and sizes to Leah with the importance and precision of a surgeon, holding out a hand as she palmed over the goods.
“Esther!” Hannah beckoned. “We could use you in the kitchen.”
“Go, I have my lovely bride to assist.” Sam smiled, clearly in his element.
Leah gratefully accepted a baseball cap, gathering her hair in a ponytail to tuck through the hole in the back, and washed her hands before joining the latke assembly line. Bring on the french fry hair.
“Your hubby is great with the kids.” A woman had sidled over, bumping Leah’s hip as they squeezed moisture from handfuls of shredded potatoes. Other women were in charge of thawing bags of the frozen hash browns – a time-saving cheat that even would’ve impressed Mrs. Horowitz. Another group was whisking eggs, and still more were using ice cream scoopers to portion out the latkes for frying.
“Ah…” Leah almost slipped. “ Julian loves the practice. No kids for us yet.”
“Has anyone ever said he looks just like that ‘True Love For Now’ singer?” This came from one of the women plating piping hot latkes. “From that video!”
“The one with the leather pants?” yelled a woman over the hiss of the fryers. “Who does?”
“Esther’s husband!” Hannah needed no karaoke mic. “Splitting image!”
“It’s spitting!” The fryer woman yelled. “ Spitting image.”
“Oh my God, Mom. You’re so embarrassing.” A college-aged girl bustled through the kitchen, grabbing a tray loaded with plates to serve the masses. “Avi Wolfson at a JCC buffet. As if! Plus, that guy out there is not even close to his height.”
Leah held back her laughter at the girl’s adamant assessment.
“I’d swap spit with that guy any day,” said the woman plating. The egg-whisking trio sighed in agreement. “Avi, I mean. Your husband is safe, Esther!”
The women dissolved into laughter, bantering back and forth about the merits of a rock god in leather pants.
“Here, go feed your man.” Leah’s squeeze partner nudged two plates toward her. “Hope we didn’t scare you off with our antics. Just blowing off steam. Or fryer fumes.” She smiled. “Hope to see you again soon. I’m Sarit. Come for yoga! We also have a book club once a month.”
“I’d love that,” Leah said truthfully. If only everything else wasn’t such a lie. In another life, this could be her reality. “Mahjong league?”
Her new friend’s eyes danced. “President.” She slapped her chest, laughing. “You play?”
Oh, Sarit. You have no idea.
Leah held the plates high as she wound through the crowd toward the karaoke area. Avi had a sizable line, but a few dad-types had stepped in to help.
“Looks like you’ve earned these.”
Avi gratefully accepted a steaming plate, and they made their way over to the toppings bar. “Once we laid down some ground rules. No mic hogging, no long songs, no forcing anyone.”
“And none of that godforsaken Sainted S’mores music?” Leah baited, helping herself to a big scoop of sour cream.
“Hmm, that CD seemed to have been misplaced. So no, none of that. Sauce me?”
Avi held his plate steady so she could ladle some applesauce on. “Wow, so this must be the palooza part. Impressive.”
The toppings bar had not just the traditional items but an array of interesting combinations, like pomegranate and honey, orange marmalade and ricotta, yogurt and cucumber, and even tahini and red pepper jelly. They loaded up their plates and found empty seats at the end of one of the long tables lining the gym’s perimeter.
“While you’ve been reliving your beatbox days, I’ve been up to my wrists in frozen potato slush.” Leah held up her palms for Avi to inspect. “And that was after the PTSD from balloon poodles popping in my face. Thank goodness Sam the jeweler slash Rinkles the clown came along.”
“Ah, poor Esther.” Avi ran his thumbs over the pads of her fingers. They were prunes, like she had soaked too long in the bathtub.
He ducked his head and pressed a gentle kiss in the exact center of her left palm, and then her right. It was a bullseye that shot heat straight to her core.
“I feel like that was something Julian would do.” His voice was gravelly. “And something Esther might like.”
The gym was full-on Hanukkah chaos, but Avi found himself enjoying being in the middle of it all, watching as families greeted families, kids moved in excited packs from activity to activity, and food flowed endlessly.
And the sheer randomness of being there with Leah, scarfing down potato pancakes on a Thursday afternoon? More than enjoyable.
She looked damn adorable in her hat, identical to his except for its logo, which read But first…latkes. And those little shrieks that dissolved into peals of laughter after every balloon pop had kept him smiling through even the most cringe-worthy of karaoke songs.
His eyes had sought her out more than once as she’d leaned down to catch each child’s balloon request, tackling even the impossible with gusto. Knowing it wasn’t going to be perfect, but attempting it anyway.
Perhaps that was why, when she offered up her raw and wrinkled hands, he’d claimed them. Their situation, being stuck on a road trip together, wasn’t perfect. The two of them as a couple…pretty impossible. But why not let the moment take a few unexpected twists?
You could brace for it, Avi surmised, or you could embrace it.
He knew he was taking the analogy a balloon too far, but the bubble they’d been in ever since that first mile was just as fragile and thrilling. Bound to pop at some point, but…
Leah’s dark doe eyes flashed up at him from beneath the brim of her trucker cap. “Julian is very observant.”
Watching her, watching him as he continued to trace his thumbs across every delicate line.
“Get a room, you two.”
The dark-haired woman smirked as she brushed by, holding plates of latkes high overhead as she navigated a path to where a smiling man and three young girls sat, eagerly awaiting her arrival.
“That’s Sarit,” Leah explained. “We bonded in the kitchen over latke mush and talk of your leather pants.”
Avi almost choked on his final bite. “My what ?”
“Well, Avi Wolfson’s leather pants. I don’t think Julian Rosenberg would ever be caught dead in such a thing.”
She smirked, that brow quirking adorably. Avi flared his nostrils good-naturedly. Let ‘em poke fun. The big bad Wolf could take it.