Playing With Matches

by Suri Rosen

  chapter 3

  If You Have an Older Sister

  Uncle Eli pulled his black Volvo onto Edward Street. “Why don’t I wait in the car and you can go into the terminal and find her,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll want to spend a few minutes alone together.”

  “Sure,” I said as I sprang out of the passenger seat into the muggy September night. There was lightness in my gait — Leah was back! When I was younger we moved between so many cities, but the one constant was Leah. How many older sisters would let you tag along with their friends and cling to them in public? Or take you to museums, and share their secrets? If you have an older sister, you really do want one like Leah.

  I kind of lost Leah after she met Ben last October, but everything changed over the summer. And after bonding again, we would have two glorious months to prepare for the wedding together.

  I scooted between two parked Greyhound buses and sprinted into a hangar with buses lined up in a row, each one belching competing levels of exhaust. Scanning for the arrivals, I caught sight of a familiar head of crimped curls.

  “Hey, Shira!” I called.

  She swerved around and stared blankly.

  “Hi. I’m Rain Resnick?” I said with my finger on my chest. “I’m at Moriah this year. We’re in a bunch of classes together?”

  “Right,” she said with a slight nod. “Hi.”

  “I’m waiting for my sister to come in from New York,” I said. “You?”

  “My cousin’s coming in from New York too,” she said as she watched a bus glide into the bay. The front door burst open, and an elderly Asian man hobbled down the stairs, followed by a string of haggard passengers.

  Leah finally descended the steps of the bus, the twelve-hour journey written on her face. Strands of hair from a makeshift ponytail straggled past mascara-smeared eyes. I flew at her and wrapped her in a hug.

  “We’re blocking people,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Let me take your bag,” I said as I grabbed her suitcase. “I’m so excited you’re here! Where’s the gown?”

  “I don’t have it,” she said. She craned her neck in search of the exit.

  I stopped. “What?” That was the whole purpose of the trip.

  “Where’s Uncle Eli?”

  I pointed to the waiting car. “Is everything okay?”

  Leah charged out of the station without saying a word. Shira’s arms were crossed as she watched us. My cheeks tingled as I scrambled after Leah.

  Out on the street Uncle Eli waved at us.

  “Hi, Uncle Eli, thanks so much for getting me,” Leah said as she slid into the passenger seat. Eli popped the trunk open and dropped in her bag.

  “Did she tell you?” he murmured to me.

  An angry wind whooshed past us, slamming his door closed. “What’s going on?” I said, as I gathered my hair.

  He clapped the trunk shut and sighed.

  “Uncle Eli, please,” I said.

  He turned to me, his face marked by uncle-type pain. “Rain, there’s something you need to know.”

  I braced myself.

  “Leah’s engagement is off. Leah and Ben aren’t getting married.”

  chapter 4

  Queen of the Nobodies

  Leah’s heartbreak coated the Bernstein household in a thick layer of sadness. In good times her joy could radiate across a room and fill every nook and crevice with sunlight. But now she was a tiny flame that had been doused with a thousand buckets of pain. And I couldn’t get any answers.

  Rain, she doesn’t want to talk about it.

  Rain, just let her be. She’s hurting.

  She hadn’t said a word to me since her return from New York. When we passed each other in the house, I may as well have been a ghost. She spent more time chatting with Bubby Bayla than me, her best friend. (Sorry, former best friend.) And considering that Leah’s conversation with Bubby averaged less than twenty seconds, you can get an idea of where I stood with her.

  On Sunday, I stepped into the kitchen on a mandarin orange mission and found Leah seated at the computer desk. She looked up briefly. Her side-swept bangs and straight hair contoured pale skin with ocean blue eyes that darkened when they saw me.

  “Hey,” I said as I opened the fridge.

  She continued typing. I turned around and glanced at the computer screen.

  Leah was on her all-time favourite site, MazelTovNation. She clicked on New York and scrolled through the listing of couples engaged in the last week. When she’d exhausted the New York announcements, she tapped on the Canada icon and began searching though the local engagement notices.

  MazelTovNation was Leah’s crack cocaine.

  “Leah?” I ached to grab her and wrap her in a hug. I needed to cry with her and Leah needed to cry with me. “Can I do anything for you?”

  Her hands froze on top of the keyboard.

  “Please, Leah. Can we talk?”

  She released a bitter laugh, exited the website, and rose from the chair. “It’s too late, Rain. You got what you wanted anyway.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Forget it.” She strode past me, leaving a cold blast in her wake. I crumpled into a kitchen chair. Was Leah blaming me for the breakup? I’ll admit I never totally trusted Ben. But maybe to me no one was good enough for Leah.

  On paper Ben was perfect. He was cute and confident and a successful hedge-fund manager. When they weren’t busy flying back and forth between Toronto and New York, they were either calling, texting, or Skypeing each other. He was a bit too smooth though; the way he constantly complimented my mother, or praised my father. Or himself. Leah was a beautiful ornament, but one that he didn’t really take proper care of. He never seemed to be there for Leah. I knew that his boss was a nasty and controlling piece of work. Still, Ben cancelled plans and stood Leah up far too often.

  And then there was the argument.

  It was on the Sunday of the Fourth of July weekend, a week before I left for Hong Kong to spend the rest of the summer with Mom and Dad. Leah had planned a barbecue to introduce Ben to some of her friends at Aunt Naomi’s house in Brooklyn. The yard was decorated with red, white, and blue streamers. The chicken and hot dogs were ready to grill and a huge bowl of punch sat on the aluminum table. The guests had all arrived.

  But Ben never did.

  He called later Sunday night to apologize for a last minute business trip out to San Diego and to curse his boss for being such a despot and threatening him with his job. Leah forgave him.

  I did not.

  The following weekend Leah finally offered me a release from my misery. “Okay, Rain,” she said. “What’s wrong? Let’s talk.”

  “I’m still furious,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Why?”

  “The barbecue.”

  She sighed. “Still? You know Ben’s boss is a misery.”

  “He could have called first. What, there’s no phone on the way to the airport? He had to wait until later that night? And you know it’s not the first time either. He cancels and doesn’t show up all the time. I don’t trust him.”

  And so I went on. Ben was self-centred. Ben was inconsiderate. Ben was shallow. Ben was manipulative.

  Ben was a lot of things, but worst of all Ben was there.

  And I mean literally there. Standing at the door, listening to my rant. Ben and I exchanged words but then I noticed Leah’s pleading eyes.

  “She’s a nightmare,” he muttered under his breath to Leah as I stormed upstairs.

  If that argument opened a rift between them that cascaded into a breakup then frankly, Ben was an idiot. What did their relationship have to do with me? Even if my words highlighted their problems, they were their problems. Ben was supposed to be marrying Leah — not me.

  Leah had no right whatsoever to blam
e me, but living with this tension in the Bernsteins’ house was unbearable. There was no escape, nowhere to go, and no one to hang out with.

  If I thought I’d get any relief at my new high school, I was sadly mistaken. It felt as if Mrs. Levine’s hostility to me had somehow leaked down into the student body and I had developed a case of terminal cooties. Beyond the polite smiles from Dahlia and the impolite glares from Shira, I wandered the halls of Moriah alone. I was the Queen of Nobodies.

  Nice to see you again, elementary school!

  My loneliness sprouted an idea.

  If I could contact the person who had introduced Leah and Ben, then maybe we could figure out a way to patch up their relationship. I’m sure my mom had the phone number.

  So on Thursday, with my cell phone in hand, I plopped onto the bed of my new bedroom. It was actually my cousin Asher’s old bedroom, before he got married and moved to New Jersey, which would be the only explanation for the fact that I was lying on a navy plaid comforter in a room wallpapered with faded Toronto Maple Leafs posters that were curling at the corners.

  Was there anything right about this year?

  I dialled my mother to get the story, because I still couldn’t believe how Leah was blaming me. “Mom, what happened between Leah and Ben?”

  “Sweetie, it’s private. I know you’re frustrated.”

  “But Mom —”

  “How’s school going?” she said in a bright voice.

  “Okay, I guess,” I said. “Mom, I can’t remember who made Leah’s match.”

  She laughed. “Rivky Marmor. She’s the social worker at your new school.”

  I groaned. I had completely forgotten that Mom knew her through social work circles. Mrs. Marmor was the reason why Leah had met a Toronto boy.

  I said goodbye to my mom so I could formulate my plan. This was not going to be fun. But at least now I could take some action.

  At lunchtime the next day I managed to secure an impromptu appointment with Mrs. Marmor. Unlike Mrs. Levine’s office, this was a cluttered girly space with self-esteem slogans plastered across every imaginable surface. It was blanketed with mugs, embroidered pillows, posters, and books that screamed instructions like “Confidence is rooted in conquering challenges!” or “Forget your fears and find your choices!” My favourite was the totally inane “Allow yourself to believe in yourself!” Even the mezuzah looked like it was fashioned from unchewed bubble gum.

  Note to self: Take a Gravol if I ever come back.

  Mrs. Marmor entered her office and slid into the chair next to me, unobstructed by the hostility of a desk. Her straight black hair fell past her shoulders onto a tailored charcoal blazer that perfectly matched her grey pencil skirt. She smiled and stared at me intensely, practically assaulting me with empathy.

  “Raina! I’m so happy you finally came to see me. How are you? Are you finding the girls friendly here? Are you making friends?”

  Let’s see. Answers: Not Good. Girls Not Friendly. No Friends.

  I shrugged.

  “You’ve been through a lot. Moving to yet another city.” She paused for effect. “Leaving your friends behind.” Wrapped in a voice so velvety smooth, that compassion of hers could bore a hole through galvanized steel.

  “Why don’t you share with me how you’re integrating into Moriah? Do you need help processing the incident at Maimonides with Mr. Sacks —”

  “It’s all processed now,” I said. I grew up with the lingo and had pretty much developed psychotherapy-resistant antibodies. Still, you had to feel some sympathy, watching Mrs. Marmor struggling so hard to stir up an emotional response in me.

  “I’m very motivated to succeed,” I said. “And I hope to work on my self-esteem issues with the goal of making emotionally intelligent choices.” Honestly, I could spew this stuff in my sleep.

  Mrs. Marmor still wasn’t saying anything. The silence was unbearable and I was starting to feel crazed by this slow-­motion conversation. I dropped my eyes and noticed her feet. Can someone explain to me why middle-aged women wear Mary Janes?

  “Mrs. Marmor, those shoes are so cute,” I said. “Are they from Walmart?”

  “No, actually. But thank you anyway.”

  I waited.

  “So how can I help you?” she finally said.

  “It’s about my sister Leah, and Ben,” I said.

  That’s when she started nodding. And nodding and nodding. She looked like a bobble-head dog.

  She finally snapped out of the trance. “You know what? I’m so happy you came.” She leaned over and squeezed my wrist. “Everyone will be thrilled. Guilt can be extremely painful, debilitating even. But in the end it’s a very destructive emotion.”

  I blinked.

  “But regret on the other hand? That’s something we can work with.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not sure if I was clear,” I said. “I … was talking about Leah and Ben.”

  “Exactly,” she said.

  “I don’t get it.”

  The friendly smile vanished from her face and she stared at me with a Mrs. Levine–grade gaze. Mrs. Marmor’s Temple of Self-Esteem was feeling a little claustrophobic now. She cocked her head to one side, clasped her hands in her lap, and continued the stare. “Either way, I’m so glad you came today, Rain. We’re going to chart a new course together.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. Even if I did decide to do any charting, it sure wasn’t going to be with Mrs. Marmor. So Ben and I might not have gotten along, but I’m sorry, it was ridiculous to blame me for the breakup. Maybe Mrs. Marmor was just upset because it was her match. “Are you saying that I broke up their relationship?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Nobody spoke to you about what happened?”

  I sliced the air with my hand. “Nothing. Silence.”

  She started nodding again, but I had no patience to wait for another bobbing period to pass.

  “Don’t you think it’s a stretch to blame me for their split?” I mean, was I supposed to be in love with Ben too?

  Any remnant of empathy seemed to drain from her face, leaving disbelief in its place. I shrank back in my seat.

  “I can’t divulge personal details,” she said. “But I certainly think some personal responsibility on your part would be in order here.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much already. I suggest you speak to your mother.” She shook her head as she rose to her feet and strode to the door. The meeting was over.

  She walked me past the reception area to the threshold of the hallway where throngs of girls sailed by. Apparently she was under the impression that high school students enjoy being viewed publicly with the staff shrink.

  chapter 5

  Running Out of Rosenbergs

  You know things are bad when even the school shrink is mad at you. September had turned out to be one big fail. Rosh Hashanah was a quiet, lonely affair without friends or laughter or most of all — Leah. My annoyance at her blaming me was definitely outweighed by her absence from my life.

  At this point I was down to my bus buddy, Gingie-Locks. Bonded by nothing more than tales of wedded bliss, she was all I had, even though we had barely spoken a word to each other.

  It took us around a week to finish reading Hope and Inspiration for the Single Soul. The second week we covered Jewish Paths to Love and Marriage. I thought I’d read every possible variation of dating stories with happy endings, but then she brought in From Dating Disaster to Happily Ever After: A Jewish Perspective. Who knew that this number of misery-to-marriage stories was even mathematically possible? Every day the trip to school became a harrowing journey that lurched from the depths of despair to the apex of romantic love. I was emotionally exhausted by the time I got off the bus.

  It didn’t replace Leah and her cancelled weddi
ng, but this stranger was all I had. By the beginning of October we finished the rather far-fetched Finally Finding Love: 100 True Tales. She shut it and shook her head with a chuckle, tendrils of hair bouncing on her shoulders.

  “No way, huh?” I said.

  “I’d say ten are true. And the other ninety?” She shrugged and shoved the book back in her handbag. “Tales.”

  “Like who actually falls in love with the man who’s about to remove your gallbladder.”

  “And what’s a municipal hygiene operative, anyways?” she said, wrinkling her nose. We both shuddered. She zipped her bag and turned to me with a broad smile. “So what do you do?”

  A charge of excitement coursed through me. It looked like our relationship was going to go to the next level. The one where people actually speak.

  “Nothing.” I shook my head and threw my palms up in the air. “I’m a student.”

  “Ah, got it.” She pointed at my navy skirt. “That’s the Moriah uniform. But I don’t remember seeing you on this route last year.” The bus came to a stop and a small crowd of people exited. More air for the rest of us.

  “I’m from New York,” I said. “Actually, I moved there from Boston when I was fourteen. My dad was transferred to Hong Kong for his job two years ago and I even spent the summer there but that was as much as I could take, so here I am.”

  “Wouldn’t Hong Kong be kind of interesting?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head.

  She arched her eyebrow.

  I leaned back against the plastic seat. “I was born in Boston but we moved to Baltimore when I was four.” I held up my hand and started counting my fingers. “Then we moved to Providence, then New Haven, and then back to Boston for seventh grade. So when my parents left, I moved in with my mother’s sister, Naomi. She lives in Brooklyn.”

  “Oy,” she said.

  “My dad works for a bank. We call it the City-after-city bank. We had to keep moving for his job,” I said. “The only friend I had until high school was my sister.” An invisible fist socked my stomach when I thought of her. I swallowed hard; the words had just tumbled out of me. I finally had someone to whine to and it felt awesome.