Playing With Matches

by Suri Rosen

  “But why aren’t you still in New York?” She clasped her hands in her lap, waiting for a good story.

  My stomach tightened. “My parents wanted me to be in a less … distracting environment.”

  I wasn’t exactly keen to share the details with her but the two years since my parents had relocated to Hong Kong were like a big bath of awesome. Aunt Naomi is what you would call the more … defenseless of my mom’s two sisters. After being “counselled” out of Maimonides, I was deported to Aunt Mira’s house with strict instructions to academically excel or else say hello to Hong Kong Homeschool (otherwise known as my parents’ living room) with a high school diploma through correspondence classes. I mean, it’s a nice place and all, but not exactly my natural habitat. How many times can you visit the Pacific Mall? Without your besties?

  My mom had become fond of pointing out that if I blew this year at her second sister’s place, I’d officially run out of Rosenbergs. Mira, Mom, and Naomi were a formidable team of sisters, but this was all that was left.

  “Where did you go to school in New York?” Gingie asked.

  “Maimonides Girls,” I mumbled, shifting in my seat. I guess the School Question was inevitable, but I really would have preferred to leave the embarrassing details of my expulsion behind.

  “No way!” Her eyes widened in recognition. “My friend Aviva went there for her senior year!”

  I felt my face turn crimson. Why do bad coincidences happen to good people?

  You know what the problem is? When you’re trying to move on with your life, Jewish Geography is a blood sport. Imagine a game show where you have seconds to figure out who you know in common.

  The street outside was thick with traffic and the bus slowed to a crawl; the school suddenly seemed hours away. I needed to change the subject fast. “That’s interesting,” I said, and forced a smile. “My name’s Rain, by the way. What’s yours?”

  “Tamara. Here, I’ll give you my card.” She rifled through her handbag, a Fendi style knockoff that somehow worked on her. She plucked out a business card and handed it to me. Tamara Greenberg. Financial Consultant.

  “So you’re a math person?” I said. “But you seem so nice!”

  She laughed. “Not your favourite subject?”

  I slowly shook my head, a motion powered by misery. This whole year was misery, and math was not exactly my priority. She crinkled her eyes in a sympathetic smile. “What are you working on? Maybe I can help.”

  “Some sort of equations? I’m pathetic.”

  “Okay, let’s see it,” she said. I gave her a look. “Come on,” she said, tapping my knapsack. “I insist.”

  I reluctantly pulled out the textbook and dropped it on her lap. For the rest of the twenty-minute ride and every day for the next week Tamara tutored me in math and even wrote out test questions to take home with me. And she was good.

  With Tamara’s help I actually made some progress. By the time we got to the end of the chapter, I actually knew what she was talking about. Sort of.

  On Friday I tackled the math test like a linebacker. I was determined to pass to prove to Tamara that I was worthy of her attention. Miraculously I did, and when I saw Tamara the following Monday, nose buried in a book, I flopped into the seat next to her. I waved my paper with the big “B+” on it in front of her face before smothering her in a hug.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said. You really do feel close to a person when you share that many polynomials.

  “I’m so proud of you, Rain.” She held my embrace. “You worked hard for it.”

  Tamara was pretty awesome. I guess if you’re completely alone in Toronto with only one friend, it might as well be someone older who thinks equations are interesting. Especially since I’d cooled off on Ian the bus driver.

  “I’m here for you,” she said, releasing me. “Really, any time.”

  We leaned back and smiled at each other.

  “What are we reading today?” I said, pointing to the book on her lap.

  She raised the book to show me the cover with a self-­conscious laugh. Turning Lonesome into Twosome: Jewish Lessons in Love and Commitment.

  I fixed my gaze on her. “Not that they aren’t fun, but what’s with all the singles books?”

  She smiled sadly. “I’m single — I’m twenty-eight.”

  “You’re kidding,” I blurted out, my mouth hanging open in shock.

  And since you’re probably wondering why that’s a big deal, let me put it this way. You have to think dog years when you you’re single in a traditional Jewish community. So twenty-eight was the equivalent of … a lot older. Even Leah, at twenty-three, was not going to be happy about being unmarried.

  “It’s not what I wanted,” Tamara said, her voice betraying a tiny wobble. She leaned back in her seat and gazed out the cloudy window. “I’ve just had … a really hard time getting dates. No matchmakers have really taken me under their wing. Even when I do go out, for some reason they never seem to progress past three or four dates.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. Tamara may not have been a supermodel or anything, but she was certainly nice to look at. Her orange ringlets outlined a sweet-natured face with a soft complexion. And she was smart, funny, and kind.

  “But you’re awesome.”

  She shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find someone.”

  Maybe Leah had gotten more dates because New York had a bigger community than Toronto. In fact, it reminded me a lot of the conversation over at the Bernsteins whenever Jeremy was around. “Sounds like Jeremy,” I muttered.

  “Who?”

  “Oh just this guy who practically lives at my aunt’s place. They’re all lawyers. So he’s become like a permanent house guest since he moved from Albany and passed the bar here.”

  “And he’s single?” Tamara twirled a lock of hair around her index finger.

  “Yes. He’s very single. It’s like he doesn’t have a life. He’s always there,” I said, throwing my hands up.

  “Tell me more,” she said in a soft voice.

  The bus ground to a halt and the engine shut down with a belch, leaving a sound vacuum.

  I lowered my voice. “It’s no joke. I have no space in that house. He’s always watching me get chewed out by my aunt. And when he talks it’s either blah blah law, or blah blah food package deliveries, or blah blah animal shelter.”

  Tamara’s eyes widened. “Food package deliveries? Animal shelter?”

  “Yeah, he does deliveries every Thursday night. He also does volunteer legal work for this shelter that I’ve already heard about a thousand times. Anyways, of course he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” I said. “He’s obviously only comfortable with the elderly and with dogs. In fact I’ll bet he only likes elderly dogs.”

  Tamara was listening raptly, drinking in every word.

  “Anyways, you know what’s the worst thing?” I was unstoppable now. “He’s a Yankees fan.”

  Tamara chuckled. Like that was a joke. “So maybe he just needs someone who doesn’t care about baseball,” she said with wide eyes.

  The engine of the bus finally revved up.

  Tamara cleared her throat and tucked another lock behind her ear. “He sounds interesting.”

  “Please.” I snorted. “You could do so much better than Jeremy Koenig.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Have you tried Rivky Marmor? She fixed up my —”

  I bit my lip. It wasn’t like Tamara could call her up and use me as a reference.

  “I’ve actually been in contact with and even met with her, but she’s never fixed me up.”

  I slumped back into my seat, spent from my rant. “Don’t give up so easily. I really wish I could help you find an amazing guy. You’re so wonderful and you’ve been amazing to m
e.”

  She smiled. “Sometimes we’re just put in unexpected situations where we can help people. I’m always happy to help you.”

  I looked at my only friend in Toronto. “You are so awesome. I actually passed a math test because of you. I really, really would do anything to help you too.”

  She closed her eyes and squeezed her lips together. “Thank you,” she said in a whisper, like she was about to cry.

  “Come again?”

  “It really has been impossible for me to find anyone to date,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “It sounds like Jeremy and I have a lot in common. I mean I really like that he does all that volunteering. You are so sweet.” She grabbed my hand in hers. “I really, really appreciate this.” Even her complexion was the colour of gratitude.

  My mouth fell open.

  Did I just agree to a set-up?

  “I’ve been searching for a really kind man,” she murmured. “This means so much to me.”

  How the heck did this just happen?

  She squeezed my hand and peered at me, her eyes two big pools of heartfelt gratitude.

  Oh. No.

  Now before you think that fixing up a stranger on the bus is completely bizarre, there are more things you need to understand about my Jewish community.

  Rules for Dating in My World

  #1. You’re married with a family by your mid-twenties. That’s because if you know anyone single … you fix them up.

  #2. Even if you met someone five minutes ago, they’re technically no longer a stranger. You fix them up.

  #3. It doesn’t matter how old or young you are yourself. You fix them up.

  See the pattern here?

  I knew that setting her up would be the right thing to do but I wasn’t exactly known for doing the right thing since my expulsion from Maimonides. To be honest, I just didn’t think I had the stomach for matchmaking. My mom’s made her fair share of matches over the years. In fact, she probably found the only two Jews in Hong Kong and had them on a date right now. The problem is, in my community the matchmaker’s job isn’t done until the engagement — or the breakup. She’s there to mediate and advise.

  What if things went bad between Jeremy and Tamara? Did I really want to risk losing the one and only friend I had in Toronto now that Leah had cut me out?

  Nuh-uh.

  I really needed to learn how to think before I blurted. I glanced out the window, willing the bus to arrive at my stop already. How had I got myself into this?

  The only bright side was that it might just be a fantastic opportunity to offload Jeremy. What if Leah considered dating him when she was ready to go out again? Yankees fan brother-in-law?

  No way.

  It didn’t seem to bother Tamara. Everyone’s always looking for perfection, but Tamara was obviously decent enough to overlook that kind of flaw in another human being.

  I twisted my hands together on my lap and sighed. Maybe I needed to do something good and bring two people together. And if it worked, I could give Tamara some happiness.

  I sighed. “I’ll talk to Jeremy next time I see him.”

  She beamed at me.

  “I don’t really know how to ask him,” I said.

  “You’ll be perfect. How about if you and I meet at the library,” she said. “They have a little coffee shop.” She was dangling friendship in front of me like red meat. It was October and I was getting desperate.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Tamara threw her arm around my shoulder and gave me a light squeeze. Me making a match? Pretty crazy, huh? I’m sixteen years old and have never been on a date. So what do I know about fixing anybody up. But you want to know what’s nuttier?

  I did it.

  chapter 6

  matchmaven@gmail.com

  Friday night was the beginning of Shabbos. From sundown to darkness on Saturday, time stands still, and you’re unwired for twenty-five hours of calm. It gave me the chance to approach Jeremy when he came over for dinner. He stood at a stringy six feet, with chestnut eyes and a lock of black hair falling over his forehead. I hadn’t really paid much attention to his appearance before but now that I really looked at him, he didn’t score too badly on the looks scale.

  When he and Uncle Eli came home from shul he wandered into the family room while my aunt and Leah puttered around the kitchen putting last-minute touches on the salads. Leah had made a fine chicken soup and the smell wafted through the air, beckoning me to the kitchen, but I held my ground. Jeremy smiled at me and sank into the leather recliner. I positioned myself across from him on the matching couch, watching him leaf through a copy of Jewish Family Life magazine. He glanced up at me with a quizzical smile.

  I swallowed hard and glanced at the hallway. Mira, Eli, and Leah were drifting to the dining room table, where Bubby was already sitting and waiting, spoon in hand.

  I cleared my throat. “Um … how was shul?”

  Jeremy lowered the magazine to his lap. “Well, I guess it was —”

  There didn’t seem to be an elegant way of doing this. “I think … I might have met someone for you,” I blurted out. I could feel my face flush. The words fell out like they were trespassing private property. “A single woman who is just awesome.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You mean your sister?” It felt like my eyeballs were turning red now.

  I cleared my throat. “No.” I shook my head. “There’s no way that she’s dating yet.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering about that,” he said, dropping the magazine back in the rattan basket.

  “This one is really special.”

  Jeremy nodded slowly. “I’m listening.”

  “She’s a financial consultant,” I said. “She’s really pretty. And sweet.”

  “Age?” He was actually considering this.

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “She lives in the city?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “From Toronto?”

  “No, Vancouver.”

  Jeremy grasped his chin and squinted in concentration for a moment. Leah walked past the doorway with a dish towel in her hands, her eyes flicking at me. I squirmed in my seat until Leah returned to Aunt Mira. Her breakup with Ben was fresh enough that she didn’t need to hear about any set-ups going on around her.

  “And you personally recommend her?” Jeremy said.

  “I do,” I said, feeling tension draining from my body. “I really, really like her.”

  “Well, you’re Mira and Eli’s niece and they mean a lot to me.” He leaned back in the recliner chair and gazed at the ceiling. “Give me a day to think about it.”

  I wanted to pump my fists. “You’re open?”

  “I’m open,” he said with a nod. “And thank you.” He sauntered to the dining room, leaving me alone in the den where I leapt to my feet and danced a private jig. Jeremy and Tamara — I might have pulled this off!

  Who knew that matching up two people could be so oddly thrilling?

  After dinner the following Thursday, the smell of Mira’s meatloaf hung in the air like mustard gas. I couldn’t wait to get to the library. In the six days since my conversation with Jeremy, they’d seen each other four times!

  My bus rides with Tamara just weren’t long enough to give me what I craved more than anything.

  Details.

  I needed details.

  “Aunt Mira, can I use your car to go the library?”

  “Why not,” Mira said as she wiped down the granite counter. “Just be back by nine.”

  Uncle Eli wandered over to the dishwasher and tucked his plate inside. “Did you hear that Jeremy is dating someone?” he said.

  I swerved around to him. “I know! It’s so —”

  “What?” Mira yelled.

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Eli said. “Maybe tha
t’s why we haven’t been seeing him all week.”

  Leah’s mouth hung open, and a tiny croak came out. She spun around and fled from the kitchen.

  We stood in silence until Eli spread his hands. “What did I say?”

  Was Leah still that raw from the break-up?

  Mira slammed the dishwasher door shut. “He was supposed to go out with Leah.”

  He was?

  Eli palmed the side of his head. “Me and my big mouth.”

  This was obviously the work of the Jewish grapevine. If I had to describe that grapevine I’d say it was what the internet was dreaming of becoming one day. “Fast” doesn’t even begin to describe it. From the kitchen table, where I thought I detected a slight chortle, Bubby was watching events unfold.

  “Why would Jeremy do that?” Mira said as she flung the dishrag into the sink. “He knew I wanted to fix him up with Leah. She was interested too.”

  She was?

  So is that why the Bernsteins kept inviting him over? How was I supposed to know that Leah was ready to date again? If fixing Jeremy up with Leah had been the Bernstein plan, then I was in some deep trouble here.

  I dropped into Aunt Mira’s Camry with a blend of conflicting emotions brewing in my head. I should have been feeling charged that I finally had my first social outing. But my excitement for Tamara to give me the 411 on her and Jeremy was drowned out by the terror of being exposed as the one who introduced Jeremy and Tamara. I didn’t need to give Leah more reason to be mad at me.

  I drove to the library, or at least I tried to. Whoever designed this neighbourhood apparently didn’t want anyone to leave. I motored through a confusing maze of streets — each one named after somebody’s grandmother — just rows and rows of identical houses, each one hiding behind a big boxy garage. The trees were bare now, having shaken off the last of their dazzling autumn leaves into crunchy mounds along the roads. I finally arrived at the library, entered the building, and sucked in the scent of Java coffee beans and hazelnut. I dug my hand in my purse, dismayed to realize I had forgotten my cell. I padded over to a pay phone on the wall and dialled Jeremy. He picked up right after the first ring, which definitely bumped up his score on the dork-o-meter.