Mom Rachel nodded.
Miss Lucy barked.
“You, too, Miss Lucy.” Mama Dee bent and gave her a scratch behind the ears.
Mom Rachel looked over at Paul. “Ready for this, bud?”
Paul, long and lanky, stood taller than both of his moms. “Nah. Definitely not ready for this.” He faced Abby. “Leave some matzo balls for me, Six-Pack.”
“I’ll try,” Abby said. “You know I love me some matzo balls.”
“I do.” Paul winked at Abby before they left.
As soon as the front door closed, Mama Dee turned to Abby, cracked her knuckles, and then went into full panic mode. “Okay, Abs. I’ll need your help.”
Miss Lucy looked out the window beside the door and whined.
“Don’t need your help, Miss Lucy.” Then in a deep voice, she said, “Go to your bed.”
Miss Lucy trotted over to her bed in the great room and plopped down with a huff.
Abby knew Miss Lucy would have never listened to her if she had told her to go to her bed. Mama Dee had a voice you paid attention to.
“Your grandparents will be here before we know it. Set up the table with the extra leaf in the middle. Pull out the good plates from the cabinet. And get a salad ready with the things your mom left in the vegetable bin in the fridge.”
Abby nodded. “Got it.”
“Good. I’m going to get some pots going on the stove, put a couple things in the oven, and finish up my desserts. Go, team!” Mama Dee extended her fist.
They fist-bumped and got to work.
There was no time to worry about what might happen with Paul at the specialist’s office.
* * *
“Abigail, get the door!” Mama Dee yelled from her bedroom. “I’m almost finished getting ready.”
Abby skidded to the foyer and yanked open the door.
“Bubbelah!” Bubbe Marcia squeezed Abby’s cheeks between her warm palms. “Look at this shayna punim!”
Abby allowed her grandmother’s loving words to fill her up. She hugged her petite, gray-haired bubbe until Zeyde Jordan gently moved Bubbe Marcia aside. “You’re blocking the way. Let me get to the world’s best granddaughter.” He hugged Abby and rocked her back and forth, then dug into his pocket and handed Abby a twenty-dollar bill. “There’s one for your brother, too. Where’s my Paulie?”
“Marcia! Jordan!” Mama Dee came out to the living room wearing navy slacks with a plaid, short-sleeved button-down shirt she was tucking into the waistband, and the hug-fest started over. “Please sit,” Mama Dee said. “Can I get you some water? Seltzer?”
When Mama Dee went into the kitchen to get drinks, Abby dashed in and whispered, “Do they know what’s going on with Paul?”
Mama Dee nodded. “Here. Bring these out and entertain them. I have to finish getting things ready. Was hoping your mom and Paul would be back by now. Guess they got stuck waiting for that specialist.”
Bubbe Marcia reached into a bag and pulled out her crochet project—a scarf she was going to send to her friend Adele, who lived in New Jersey. “I hope I get this done and sent before the weather gets cold up there. How’s your endless afghan coming along, Abigail?”
“I can’t wait to show you!” Abby ran to her bedroom, dove under her bed, and grabbed the huge afghan. Back in the living room, she held it up so her bubbe could see how much it had grown.
“Oh my word, Abigail. You’ve been busy. And look at all those colors!”
Abby beamed. “We can crochet together now.”
Bubbe patted the seat beside her on the couch. “Sounds perfect, bubbelah.”
“And I’ll twiddle my thumbs over here,” Zeyde complained.
Bubbe Marcia playfully slapped Zeyde’s knee. “Jordan, behave yourself. We don’t have to entertain you.”
“Pfft. Entertain, shmentertain. I’m hungry, Marcia.” He hollered into the kitchen, “When are we going to eat, Dee? I skipped lunch so I’d have a big appetite for dinner.”
Bubbe Marcia patted his belly. “You can afford to skip lunch.”
He turned away from her. “Who asked you?”
Bubbe Marcia grinned and went back to crocheting.
“I can bring you a snack, Jordan,” Mama Dee called. “While we wait for Rach and Paul.”
Bubbe Marcia piped up. “He doesn’t need a snack. It will ruin his appetite for dinner.”
“It’s a big dinner!” Mama Dee yelled. “Lots of courses. Including desserts!”
Zeyde Jordan loosened his belt.
“What’re you doing?” Bubbe Marcia asked.
“I’m preparing for the big meal. And desserts.”
“You’re meshuga, you know that? And you drive me meshuga too!”
Zeyde Jordan leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. “I do know that.”
Bubbe Marcia shook her head, but her fingers kept moving along the rows of the scarf she was creating.
Abby smiled at her grandparents’ banter. They’d been married fifty years, and Abby wanted to be like them if she got married—always able to poke fun at each other and laugh about things.
“So, Abigail, who are you making your endless afghan for?” Bubbe Marcia asked. “Your friend who moved to Israel?”
Abby hadn’t thought of sending it to Cat. She hadn’t thought about finishing it at all. She just planned to keep working on it. “I don’t know yet who it’ll be for.”
“She’s making it for a giant, that’s who,” Zeyde said.
Bubbe Marcia poked him in the side. “Nobody asked you.”
Mama Dee made a lot of noise in the kitchen—the fridge door kept opening and closing, plates were being put on the counter, and the water was running in the sink.
Bubbe Marcia called, “Can I help, Dee?”
“All good in here,” Mama Dee responded. “Miss Lucy is my faithful, if not slightly annoying, assistant. You all relax out there.”
Bubbe kept crocheting, her chin bobbing slightly with each new stitch.
“Did you hear the one about the pencil?” Zeyde asked.
Abby shook her head. Her fingers moved fast and furious with the crochet hook, but not nearly as fast as Bubbe’s fingers with their swollen knuckles.
“Never mind. There’s no point.” Zeyde waited. “Get it? No point? Pencil?”
Abby stopped crocheting. “Your jokes are getting worse, Zeyde.”
Bubbe Marcia laughed. “She’s a smart kid, that one.”
“Eh!” Zeyde waved a hand. “Everybody’s a critic. I’ll stop telling jokes if you tell me how school’s going and if there’s anyone special you like in your classes.”
“Zeyde!” Abby felt her cheeks redden because she immediately thought of Conrad, who unfortunately wasn’t in any of her classes.
Bubbe Marcia nudged him. “You’re too nosy, Jordan.”
“What? A zeyde shouldn’t care about his granddaughter?”
“A zeyde should mind his own business.” Bubbe sat up straighter.
Mama Dee came into the living room, wearing an apron over her nice clothes, sweat beading on her forehead. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Bubbe Marcia looked concerned. “Where are Rach and Paul? So late? I can’t believe the only day they could get an appointment with that specialist was on Rosh Hashanah. It’s a shanda.”
“Soonest appointment Rach could get for him.” Mama Dee sat heavily on the couch and fanned herself with her hand. “Rachel texted and said they haven’t even been called into the office yet. She wants us to start eating without them.”
“Oh, I’d hate to do that,” Bubbe Marcia said. “We can wait.”
“Speak for yourself,” Zeyde Jordan said. “This old goat is hungry. Let’s eat!”
Bubbe glared at him, and he zipped it.
Abby crocheted and worried, worried and crocheted. What’s taking them so long? Mom Rachel never does anything on Rosh Hashanah that doesn’t have to do with the holiday, so whatever’s going on with Paul has to be really serious.
After another ten minutes and Zeyde’s stomach letting out a loud growl, Bubbe said, “Maybe we can get started and have some soup.” She patted Zeyde’s knee and stood with a groan.
“First,” Mama Dee said, “you have to feast your eyes on the desserts.”
She led everyone into the kitchen, where the apple cake, rugelach, and challah bread pudding sat on the counter. Their sweet smells mingled with the onion and dill scent coming from the soup bubbling in a pot on the stove.
Zeyde patted his stomach. “Forget the soup. Let’s go right to dessert.”
Mama Dee smiled.
Bubbe Marcia steered him to his place at the table. “I wish Jeanne and Steve and the kids could be here.”
Abby wished that, too. Her Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Steve—Mom Rachel’s brother—and her cousins Jared, Elyssa, and Cara came to their house every other Rosh Hashanah. This year, they were celebrating at Aunt Jeanne’s sister’s house.
On the years her extended family came, they set up an extra table in the living room, and Abby lit the candles with Elyssa and Cara. But today, Abby lit the candles by herself and said the blessing.
“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech ha-olam asher kideshanu bemitzvotav vetzivanu lehadlik ner shel Yom Hazikaron.
“Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with Your commandments and has commanded us to light the candle of the Day of Remembrance.”
Zeyde poured dark purple wine into the adults’ fancy crystal glasses. Abby got grape juice, which she thought was ridiculous. She was twelve now, and a tiny bit of wine wouldn’t hurt her. Plus she thought it would be fun to see how it made her feel.
Mama Dee brought out a wicker basket and lifted a cloth napkin to reveal a raisin challah.
“Oooh, that’s a beautiful challah, Dee,” Bubbe Marcia said.
Mama Dee beamed.
Abby thought about how delicious it was to eat Mama Dee’s challah on Rosh Hashanah rather than boring matzo on Passover. Rosh Hashanah was Abby’s second-favorite Jewish holiday. Hanukkah was her first. Halloween was her favorite nonreligious holiday.
Zeyde ripped off a piece of the bread and dipped it into a small bowl of agave nectar to symbolize a sweet new year. Mom Rachel switched from honey to agave nectar after she saw a video about how some bees were crushed during the harvesting of honey.
Then Zeyde said the prayer over the bread.
“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech ha-olam, haMotzi lechem min ha-aretz. Blessed are You, Adonai our G-d, Sovereign of all, who brings forth bread from the earth.”
Abby got a funny feeling in her stomach when Mama Dee brought out the bowls of matzo ball soup and her mom and brother still weren’t home.
“These matzo balls are delish!” Bubbe Marcia declared.
Abby sat a little straighter, as though she’d made them, not just rolled them.
Everyone was spooning up the last of the soup from their bowls when the key turned in the lock and the front door swung open.
Zeyde raised his arms. “Hooray! They’re here!”
Bubbe Marcia put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he quieted.
Mama Dee’s whole body tensed.
Mom Rachel walked in first, her face a blank slate.
Abby swallowed a bite of cooked carrot from the soup. It felt like a rock going down her throat.
Paul strode past his mom, stood in front of everyone, and put his palms flat on the table. “Happy New Year, everyone! I have cancer!”
Then he walked to his bedroom and slammed the door.
Everyone turned to Mom Rachel.
She stood, shaking her head, a hand over her mouth.
Mama Dee nearly knocked her chair over, getting up to guide Mom Rachel to the couch.
Bubbe Marcia hurried over and sat on the other side of Mom Rachel, pressed against her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders.
Mom Rachel kept shaking her head. “I can’t believe… I thought maybe… I hoped…”
Abby turned to her grandfather.
His head was down, a hand over his eyes, and his shoulders bobbed as he sobbed.
That scared Abby most of all. She’d never seen her zeyde cry.
Slipping away from the table, from the adults, Abby quietly knocked on Paul’s door. “Paul?”
He didn’t answer, but she pushed his door open anyway.
Paul sat slumped at his desk chair with his back to her.
Abby stood in the doorway, trembling.
Paul turned around. “Come in, Six-Pack.”
Abby walked a couple steps closer.
“You can come all the way in. It’s not contagious.”
Abby sat at the edge of Paul’s bed, facing him. Her hands were balled into fists of determination. “Tell me everything.”
Paul let out a breath. “Good news or bad news?”
“All the news, please.”
Paul stretched his arms over his head. “Oh, man, this has been such a lousy day.”
Abby bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Not your fault. Here goes. Bad news first. Turns out I have cancer. The second night of camp, I found a lump on my testicle. When it didn’t go away, I googled what it could be and scared myself. Knew I had to tell the moms when I got home.”
Abby nodded.
“Ready for the good news part?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Paul moved his chair a bit closer. “The urologist said it’s a really curable kind of cancer.”
Abby bit her thumbnail. “That’s good. Right?”
Paul leaned back. “Yeah, it’s good, Six-Pack. But I’ll need surgery.”
“Oh.”
“And the urologist consulted with an oncologist.”
Abby tilted her head.
“Cancer doctor.”
Abby nodded.
“Turns out, I’ll need a combination of chemotherapies that will keep me in the hospital a week at a time for each of four treatments.”
Abby wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want her brother in the hospital. The last time Abby was in a hospital was after her bubbe had a fall, and she visited with Mom Rachel. Abby remembered how bad the hospital smelled—like overcooked cabbage, cleaning fluids, and pee—and how she couldn’t wait till they left. “What is that word you said?”
“Chemotherapy?”
“Yes.” Abby twisted her hair around a finger.
“It’s a medicine that’s supposed to kill cancer cells, but it will make me really sick because it attacks healthy cells too. Or at least that’s what I think the urologist said. I kind of tuned out after he said the word ‘cancer.’ ”
Abby thought hard for a few moments. “What if you don’t get surgery… or chemotherapy? What if you don’t do anything?”
“Then the cancer will grow. And spread. And I’ll die.”
“Paul!”
“What? It’s true. The sooner they get this out of me, the better. I kind of wish I could have the surgery tomorrow instead of waiting two weeks.” He squirmed in his chair.
Abby looked at her brother and knew he didn’t deserve this. “I’m really sorry.”
“You’re sweet, Abs. You know that?”
She didn’t know. Abby knew she was sensitive. Mom Rachel told her that. And the kids at school told her she was quiet and antisocial. It was nice her brother thought she was sweet. “Paul?”
“Yeah?” He picked at a splinter of wood at the edge of his desk.
“Are you… scared?”
He looked right at her. “What do you think?”
Dumb question. “Yeah. I’d be scared.”
“I’m totally freaked—”
The bedroom door opened.
Abby looked up, expecting to see the moms and her grandparents.
Ethan walked in, a baseball cap in his hand. He sat next to Abby on the bed. “Hey, Abs.”
“Hey.” She wished Ethan hadn’t interrupted their conversation. Abby had more questions for her brot
her.
Ethan squeezed the cap in his hands, like he was wringing out a wet washcloth. “I came as soon as I got your text. I’m so… sorry, man.”
Paul nodded.
“This sucks,” Ethan said.
“Totally,” Paul agreed. “Hey, you know where Jake is? He never answered my text.”
Ethan was quiet, looking up at Paul and then back at his lap. “Said he had homework or something.”
Paul leaned back. “Seriously? Homework? That’s… whatever.”
“I’m going back out there,” Abby said, because she realized Ethan might have questions for Paul too, and she should leave them alone.
Paul looked up as Abby walked out. “Hey!”
She turned back.
He touched his palm to his heart. “Love you, Six-Pack.”
Abby wanted to say she loved him too, but knew she’d cry if she opened her mouth. So she nodded and quietly scooted out and shut the door behind her.
Mom Rachel was right.
She was too sensitive.
* * *
A little while later, Paul, Ethan, Abby, Bubbe, Zeyde, and the moms crowded around the table in the dining room.
Mama Dee put a piece of each dessert on every person’s plate. “This situation calls for desserts,” she said. “Lots of desserts.”
No one argued.
Everyone ate without talking—there was only the sound of forks clinking against plates and teeth—until Bubbe Marcia looked up and said, “These are absolutely delicious, Dee.” But she immediately started crying and excused herself to rush off to the bathroom.
Mom Rachel reached over and squeezed Paul’s hand.
He pushed his plate away. “Not hungry.”
Ethan stood. “I’d better get home.”
Everyone got up from the table, and Bubbe returned from the bathroom, wiping her nose with a long length of toilet paper.
Ethan hugged the moms. “Thanks for having me.”
Mama Dee held him an extra few moments. “Thank you for coming over. It means a lot to Paul.”
“To all of us,” Mom Rachel said.
“Bye, Abs.” Ethan waved.
Abby waved back as Ethan hugged Paul and then left.
Mom Rachel scooped Miss Lucy into her arms and kissed her three times on the head. “It’ll be okay,” she said to the dog. “Our boy will be okay.”
Abby, Tried and True Page 6
