Playing With Matches
Page 20
Dahlia was gaping at the computer. Leah and I peered over her shoulder where MazelTovNation was open.
News of the most recent announcements was on the top of the home page.
Ben was engaged. Leah’s ex-fiancé.
“Mazel tov, Ben and Gila. You two were obviously so in love when I saw you at the Fourth of July barbecue at the Steins’ house in San Diego. May you have a lifetime of joy.”
Leah gasped.
Ben was dating Gila when he was still engaged to Leah.
No one said a word. Leah’s face was white.
“You were right about him disappearing for the barbecue, Rain,” she said in a shaking voice. “It was all just an excuse. Ben used it as an excuse to break up with me.”
“I hate that I was right,” I said.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her lips quivering.
I wrapped her in a hug.
“I feel like I should apologize to you,” she said. “Ben wasn’t honest with me and I shut you out. It was easier to blame you than to face the truth about him and our relationship.”
“I just missed you so much,” I said. “I would have done anything to win you back.”
She let out a laugh through her tears. “Anything can be pretty scary with you, sis, so I’m glad you’ve been outed.”
She yanked a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “You never trusted Ben, did you?”
“No. And Jake too — although I did hope.”
“You’re pretty smart,” Leah said. The reality of her love life must have suddenly hit her. “My makeup’s running,” she said, then fled to the bathroom.
“What a jerk that Ben is,” Dahlia said, still gazing at the computer. “You know how to spot them.”
“It’s a gift.”
But I felt a flash of anger because being right felt pretty awful. I seemed to be able to sniff out untrustworthy men the way Bronx could smell chocolate.
“I went to camp with him,” a man’s voice said. I spun around. It was Ari — Professor K.’s grandson. He peered over my other shoulder at the Ben–Gila announcement.
“He was … engaged to my sister then,” I said as I pointed to the posting about the Fourth of July weekend.
“Hmmm.” Ari nodded. “I guess your sister’s better off.”
“Definitely,” Dahlia mumbled.
Ari held up his hands like he would say no more. He was obviously that kind of guy.
“Thank you so much for bringing my grandfather happiness,” he said. “I’m very, very impressed with what you’ve done. You have spunk!”
“I’ve overdosed on spunk — I think that’s my problem.”
“Hey, here’s my card,” he said with a shy smile. “It sounds like you did a great job with my grandfather. Maybe you’ll have me in mind too?”
“I do, already,” I said with a smile. “I think I might have someone right here, as a matter of fact.”
“Already?”
“Yup.” I glanced at the powder room door that was still closed. I turned to Ari. “Can you come back in exactly ten minutes?”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll be here!” He drifted back to his grandfather just as my phone rang — with an unrecognizable area code.
I answered it after the first ring. “It’s Mr. Sack’s great-nephew,” I whispered to Dahlia.
“Put it on speaker,” she said, gesturing to the phone.
“Is this Rain?” he asked. “It’s Simon Sacks, Mordechai’s great nephew. I found the letter.”
Dear Raina,
I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your letters earlier.I haven’t been feeling too well.
I appreciate that you took the effort to write me twice. Please don’t worry yourself about what happened last June. I have to admit, I wasn’t in top form in my last year of teaching and yes, my memory is going. My health had deteriorated so badly, and nothing’s been the same for me since my wife died.
We all knew that you have natural leadership skills and it was clear that you enjoyed being the centre of attention. But you’re also bright, and if you would have applied yourself even a tiny bit you would have achieved more in school.
About that email, I realize that it was meant as a joke for your friends Maya and Danielle. But you can imagine how embarrassing it was when Rabbi Singer received a letter stating that due to increasing memory loss and depression I would no longer be able to teach and would use my time to travel to Reno and take up blackjack and cake decorating. I knew that I was becoming more absent-minded and that’s why I wanted to retire, but I have to admit that it was painful to read the email and how you pointed out my lapses.
Nonetheless, I felt that it was wrong that you were asked to leave the school. I argued with Rabbi Singer that it was too drastic a measure, especially because we had heard from your family that you’d have to leave New York. I felt that rather than counselling you out, more could have been accomplished by working with you and supporting you. Judging by your letters, however, it sounds like you’ve done a lot of growing up in Toronto. I’m really glad to know that things worked out for you there and that it ended up being a positive opportunity for growth and change.
Raina, I’ve also made mistakes in my life and I’ve hurt people too. That’s why I’m completely forgiving you. It sounds like you’ve really turned yourself around.
Raina, I wish you all the success and happiness that life can offer. And I hope that all of those tremendous talents that you have will be used to help other people.
Yours truly,
Mordechai Sacks
I thanked Mr. Sacks’s nephew and said goodbye.
I swallowed and bit my lip. Dahlia hugged me. Heat scalded the inside of my head and neck. My self-serving apology had not really earned this kindness. How could I have not recognized the man’s generosity? I should have gotten to know him.
Leah returned from the bathroom, her mascara freshly applied. “I need you to know that Mr. Sacks sent me a letter,” I said. “He said I wasn’t to blame for his troubles. It’s going to be mailed to me. I’ll show it to you when I get it.”
“No more apologizing, Rain,” she said. “You’re the one who deserves the apologies now.”
“Let’s call it even,” I said.
“Now will you find me a guy?”
“Actually, Leah, I think I found him right here,” I said. “And my gut trusts this one.”
“Really?!” she said.
“Really.”
She grinned at me. “Does this one like heels and makeup or no heels and makeup?”
“This one,” I said, “doesn’t care.”
chapter 31
100 Times Higher and 1,000 Times Lighter
The band was on fire.
We danced until our feet ached and our dresses clung to our bodies with sweat. Professor K. and Mrs. Levine had been married for a month now and couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. They were as newlywedy as it comes. Mrs. Levine glowed with joy. She even let me help her choose a new wardrobe, which included shoes that didn’t have a buckle or laces, and a looser hairstyle that she admitted made her feel more youthful. The only downside was something I’m not going to make a big deal about, but I’ll just say two words and you’ll understand.
Shoulder pads.
But today was Leah and Ari’s day. She wore an elegant gown inspired by an Alexander McQueen design. With her hair pinned up, framing her bright blue eyes, she was breathtaking. The truth is, though, that it was hard to notice anything but the happiness that charged through her body, loosened her limbs, and lit up her face.
Leah and Ari were bouncing on chairs raised in the air, as circles of revellers surrounded them. They were a cloth napkin away from each other, clutching each end of it, their eyes locked in a visual embrace. The men finally lowered the chairs to the ground and
the women grabbed Leah.
She was immediately surrounded by concentric circles of dancers. Tamara, my mother, Aunt Mira, Mrs. Levine, Dahlia, and me joined together with clasped hands, driven by the music of the band. Even Bubby joined the circle, grasping my hand like she was never going to let go.
Leah pivoted until she saw me. She held out her hands and beckoned for me to join her at the centre. We locked arms, swayed from side to side, and grinned at each other. We were surrounded by members of my newly enlarged team of matchmakers. Mira, my mother, Leah, Bubby, and I were now all partners in the reformulated Matchmavens, Inc. — a group effort that would also be receiving extensive tech support from our webmaster Dahlia, who had almost completed construction of the official Matchmavens website.
The next few months would be busy ones. Deb was getting married and the Matchmaven Team — man, how I loved that word “team” — had a lot of follow-up work to do with our singles. Mira and Mom entered our circle and we gripped each other with laughter and song. It felt like I was bouncing on the bed in matchmaking flight, but a hundred times higher and a thousand times lighter.
acknowledgements
I am deeply grateful to Jack David who made this all happen, and in the most supportive way possible. The entire ECW Press team has been nothing short of awesome: Crissy Calhoun, Erin Creasey, Rachel Ironstone, Jenna Illies, and Michelle Melski. Special thanks to Jack for the gift of Kathy Lowinger. I am very, very fortunate to have worked with Crissy and Kathy, editorial goddesses, both.
Many thanks to my readers for their significant insight, feedback, and encouragement: Rowan Greene, Sharon Hart-Green, Natalie Hyde, Deborah Kerbel, Deena Nataf, Joseph Palumbo, and Sarah Zinman. Thanks to Marsha Skrypuch for her wisdom and for making the ultimate match. Thank you to the Ontario Arts Council for its generous support. Special thanks also go to my agent Claire Gerus, to my dear friend Allan Robbins, and to my father; I truly appreciate all their help, ideas, and support. And for their inspiration: David, Orit, Michael, Merav, Techiya, Kaylee, Shalvi, and Aliza. And thank you thank you (yes, I wrote that twice) Marty. Rain would never have been born without you.
about the author
Suri Rosen dabbles in many arts, but excels in daydreaming. She has worked as an artist, filmmaker, journalist, and TV producer. Playing with Matches is her first novel. She lives with her family in Toronto, Ontario.
Copyright © Suri Rosen, 2014
Published by ECW Press
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any process — electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise — without the prior written permission of the copyright owners and ECW Press. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Rosen, Suri, author
Playing with matches: a novel / Suri Rosen.
ISBN 978-1-77041-182-1
Also issued as 978-1-77090-594-8 (PDF) and 978-1-77090-593-1 (ePUB)
I. Title.
PS8635.O6495P53 2014 jC813’.6 C2014-902545-9
C2014-902546-7
Cover design: Jessica Sullivan
Cover photograph: © anas tonish/Photocase
Type: Rachel Ironstone
The publication of Playing with Matches has been generously supported by the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $157 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. We acknowledge the support of the Ontario Arts Council (OAC), an agency of the Government of Ontario, which last year funded 1,793 individual artists and 1,076 organizations in 232 communities across Ontario, for a total of $52.1 million. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities, and the contribution of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.