Chapter 11 This Is Not about Us
This Is Not About Us
You don’t have to be with someone every minute of the day.
Richard was eating dinner at his desk when it came to him.
Obvious, but true. Everyone had left, even the janitors, and he was peaceful, borderline happy with his computer and red curry.
In the aftermath of his divorce, he had been frantic for companionship, affection, even conversation, and now suddenly he remembered that he enjoyed his own company.
He didn’t feel desperate at all. It was also true that he was dating his daughter’s Bat Mitzvah tutor—but that wasn’t what it seemed.
Lily’s tutor was thirty-four, not a college kid like you might think.
Heather had dual degrees in Jewish education and art therapy.
She was a certified adult. The temple youth director!
And Richard’s ex approved of her. Debra had hired her, after all, and she said, quote unquote, “Heather is amazing for Lily.” Debra did not know that Heather was amazing for Richard too—but in due course he would tell her, and she would be…
okay. Probably. Meanwhile, they were not going public because they were focusing on the Bat Mitzvah, which Heather said is not about us.
Richard had never been with anyone so sane.
It was strange, after so many years of crazy.
How had it begun? Their family and their house and their two cars and even their dog required more attention than anybody had anticipated.
Their older daughter, Sophie, had dyslexia, and Lily suffered from anxiety.
Debra gave up her career to manage everyone at home, and the girls started ice-skating, piano, cello, ballet, and gymnastics.
He got exhausted, and Debra got angry. It was the old story, only worse, because it was happening to them.
Richard worked more; they fought more. He started smoking again, which Debra took as a betrayal.
She chopped off her hair, and he gained weight.
She said he was not around. He said how could he be if he had to pay for everything?
Short version—their lawyers fought it out, her lawyers won, and Richard could hardly remember those starry nights at Palmer.
Well, that was thirty years ago, as Heather pointed out. She was so wise.
And she was calm. This was the first thing Richard had noticed—apart from her sea-green eyes and her long legs and lovely neck. Sane and calm, she tutored Lily who had balked early on, and now learned eagerly.
He loved to watch when Lily had her lesson at his house. Lily sat with Heather to practice her Torah portion, the story of Noah, and even after Heather left, Lily would walk around murmuring and humming her parsha in Hebrew.
“She’s into it,” Richard told Heather when Lily was at her mother’s house.
Heather said, “Yes. It’s beautiful.”
The Bat Mitzvah’s less spiritual aspects were a source of stress.
The caterer, the décor, the temple and its rules, one of which was that if your child wanted to chant that week’s excerpt from the Prophets as well as the Torah portion, she had to speed through in under ten minutes.
Rabbi Zlotnick explained, “Remember, we’re doing two Bat Mitzvahs that day, so we have to keep the haftarah moving. ”
But what if your daughter felt a deep connection to Isaiah? What if she read slowly, but the haftarah was her favorite part, and her voice was so sweet she brought tears to your eyes? Still, ten minutes.
“She should just get up there and do it,” Richard told Debra on the phone. “Who’s going to stop her? It’s not like the rabbi will have a stopwatch on the bima.”
“They’ll cut her off,” Debra insisted. “If the rabbi doesn’t, then the cantor will. She’ll be crushed!”
“Have you seen anybody cut off on their Bar Mitzvah?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Rabbi Z. would never let that happen.” Questioningly, Richard looked at Heather, who was sitting with him on the couch, exactly where Lily sat for lessons when she came over.
Meanwhile, he heard Debra on the phone. “Do you want your daughter to be the first?”
“I’ll take out anyone who stops Lily’s haftarah,” he said in all seriousness.
“Wonderful.”
“Why don’t you ask Heather what to do?” Richard suggested.
Heather gestured no, no, even as Debra said, “I can’t call her now. It’s past ten.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“Okay, but what about the party favors? Could you please look at the links I sent?”
After he got off the phone, Richard and Heather studied the links to Lily-branded favors for her school friends and ballet friends.
“Wow,” said Heather.
“Expensive,” said Richard—not objecting, just observing.
After all, this wasn’t his first rodeo. He had paid for Sophie’s three years before, and he knew how much coming-of-age cost. A friend at work likened his son’s Bar Mitzvah to purchasing a Mercedes and driving off a cliff.
“Rabbi Z. wouldn’t cut Lily off, right?”
“He’ll time her at the rehearsal,” Heather said, because of course she knew Rabbi Z. well. She worked for him. “She’ll get it up to speed.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Richard hugged Heather around the shoulders as he gazed at travel mugs in dusty rose with A Lil’ Simcha printed in silver script. “Are these kids drinking coffee on their way to middle school?” He squinted at keychains with a frog on a lily pad. “Why does anybody need a Lily keychain?”
“Maybe these kids don’t need anything,” Heather ventured.
Yet another reason Richard loved her, but he had to say, “Debra’s never gonna go for that. She’s by the book.”
“Get them blank books,” said Heather, suddenly inspired. “That’s so Lily.”
“You’re great,” said Richard, which is how he ended up buying two dozen silver journals for Lily’s friends, plus matching silver gel pens—but he didn’t mind. He was at peace with Debra and the world. Living in the moment, driving to work, coming home and cooking dinner when Heather was free.
They walked together on the weekends. They watched movies on the couch, and they did not overplan.
Heather still had her own apartment—at least until the lease was up.
She was a Jewish educator who didn’t preach, a vegetarian who didn’t judge.
With her encouragement, Lily was writing a poem about Noah and the animals for her Bat Mitzvah speech.
“Debra can’t say enough about you,” Richard told Heather, as they strolled to the duck pond where he and Debra used to take the girls.
“No, stop!” Heather covered her ears.
“You’re funny,” he said.
“I’m serious! Whenever you talk about Debra I feel unethical.”
“What are you talking about?” Richard protested. “Unethical is dating your student—not your student’s father.”
“I don’t know.” Heather stared into the murky water. “I feel like it’s a breach of trust.”
“We’re not a breach of anything.”
“I’m not sure Debra would agree.”
“What do you mean?”
“When she finds out.”
“Then we’ll tell her everything!”
“She’ll be—”
“Okay yes, but—”
“Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for the next three weeks.”
“Don’t be silly,” Richard said.
“But it would help.”
With what? he thought. They were adults, and they were free, for all intents and purposes.
Legally, he and Debra were still married, but that was because their paperwork was still in process.
And whose fault was that? Debra’s lawyer who had spent two years demanding, contesting, and refusing everything.
Richard and Heather had done nothing premeditated.
They’d found each other by surprise. One Sunday morning Heather had come by for a lesson and it turned out Lily was at her mom’s that weekend.
“I’m sorry,” Heather kept apologizing. “I messed up the schedule.”
“Come in, come in,” he said, as Heather stood on the threshold calling Debra.
“Let’s just pick it up next week,” Richard heard Debra say, because it would take twenty minutes for Heather to drive over, and Lily had ballet.
Heather apologized again, but Debra cut her off: “It’s really no big deal.
” Clearly Debra adored her! “Not a problem,” Debra insisted. Words she hardly said to anybody.
As soon as Heather ended the call, Richard had asked, “Would you like coffee?”
Heather hesitated. She’d kept him in suspense, and he was nervous, and she was shy—but then she stepped inside.
Even now, months later, he and Heather put Lily and Sophie and everybody else first. Heather was the most ethical person he had ever known, and never skittish—except for the Bat Mitzvah. “I’m just afraid we’ll ruin Lily’s day,” she told Richard.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
—
Two weeks out, the menu, band, flowers, and balloons were set.
They were going ahead with the haftarah, which Lily read confidently in ten minutes twenty seconds.
(The rabbi wouldn’t cut her off if she was that close.
Right?) Lily had her expensive little dress, and Sophie had one too. Still, Heather worried.
At first, Richard thought she was anxious about Lily’s big performance. Lily did have a history of stage fright—but Heather said, “No, that’s not it.”
“What then?” Richard asked. They were lying in his bed, and all was quiet. The girls were with their mom.
Heather said, “I just think…”
His phone rang and he leaned over the bed to find it on the floor. “Debra.”
He was going to let it go to voicemail, but Heather said, “Answer it.”
“Hi,” Debra said.
“Hi.”
Debra said, “We have a situation.”
Overhearing, Heather scrambled out of bed.
She didn’t know that for Debra anything could qualify.
An errant florist, a lost invitation. Just last week they’d learned that all balloons had to be inflated before sundown on Friday, because the synagogue did not allow inflating on Shabbat.
And the balloons were helium, so they might start drooping if they went up too soon!
These were Debra’s situations. Why then was Heather getting dressed?
He reached for her, but she shook her head.
“Okay, what is it?” he asked Debra.