Dating Kosher

by Greene, Michaela

  “What? Nothing.” He instantly turned his back on Bev and me.

  Classic. Bev looked surprised. I wasn’t; just upset that we hadn’t squeezed another round out of him before his girlfriend showed up. Who goes to bars with their girlfriend and ditches them, anyway?

  “This is Cindy and Anne-Marie. Cindy’s on our softball team at work. Her brother works in my IT department. She’s one of our best hitters.” He winked at me to keep his secret.

  I looked at his girlfriend. “He’s lying,” I said, deadpan.

  Steve sucked in a breath. I could see the blood begin to boil in the girlfriend, threatening to spill over.

  I smiled. “I’m not very good at hitting, he’s totally exaggerating.”

  Over the girlfriend’s shoulder, Steve mouthed the words thank you and winked again before he said to her, “C’mon babe, let’s go dance.” He took her by the elbow and led her out to the dance floor.

  “Wow, what a creep, why’d you let him get away with that?” Bev was stunned.

  I shrugged. “No need to cause a cat fight. It’s not like I was interested.” I turned and looked at the dance floor. Steve was trying to catch my eye. Pivoting in the bar stool, I turned my back on him, refocusing my energies on the gaggle of men surrounding the bar.

  “So much for being nice,” I said.

  “No, I think you did good. You didn’t bite his head off or get him into more trouble. That’s a first for you,” she chuckled.

  It was true. Normally I would have freaked and totally busted the guy in front of his girlfriend. I didn’t take kindly to two-timing. Brought up as an only child, I’d never learned to share and wasn’t about to learn how on a slimy loser like that. Plus, there was that whole cheating thing that had broken up my parents’ marriage.

  Not long after the Steve incident, a slimy guy slithered up to our table and kept telling me my dress would look better crumpled up on his bedroom floor. Yeah, as if I’d never heard that one before. Not only was he crass, but he dressed badly and smelled like he had doused himself in a vat of cheap cologne. No thanks. He didn’t even offer to buy us drinks, but even if he had, I probably would have refused, not wanting to even talk to the guy long enough to tell him what we were drinking. We left soon after.

  Bev dropped me off in front of my building. “That was fun,” she lied, probably more out of habit than anything else.

  “Hmm, ya think?” I asked, my eyebrows rising.

  “No, I guess it did suck.”

  “Yeah, it did. See you at work tomorrow.” I got out of the car and was about to shut the door behind me when Bev called my name. I leaned over to look back at her. “Yeah?”

  “We need boyfriends. Good boyfriends.”

  I nodded and slammed the door.

  She wasn’t kidding.

  Chapter 14

  “I’m so glad that you and Susan are getting along so famously,” Dad said for about the third time during breakfast. Or I guess brunch since it was almost noon. He was scooping his eggs onto his toast and for some reason watching him was making me nauseous. Oh, maybe it was all the booze I’d consumed the night before when Bev came over and we polished off three pitchers of pina coladas, lamenting over the fact that both of us were miserably single. Our misery ended only when we both passed out on my bed.

  I woke up with my glass beside my face, my hair a sticky tropical mess. Not only was my stomach protesting the booze, but my intestines were severely unhappy about the sudden injection of coconut and pineapple juice in massive quantities. I had been in the can for most of the morning, groaning in agony and praying for death until Bev awoke to the same unfortunate fate. After that we took shifts in my one overused bathroom. Wishing she would just go home and use her own bathroom, I had snapped at Bev until she had cried. Of course, I felt bad when she admitted that she was afraid she wouldn’t make it home without having to use the bathroom again.

  Needless to say, it was not a good morning.

  I had tried to cancel with Dad but he had no part of it, saying if I was adult enough to drink, I was adult enough to keep my commitments. So there I sat, taking microscopic nibbles of dry rye toast, washed down with sips of black coffee. I wore sunglasses to protect my sensitive retinas, not even caring that the best I could do for an outfit was an oversized sweatshirt, ratty gym shorts and flip flops. I couldn’t even remember if I’d put on underwear.

  Glamorous I was not. But really, what did it matter; I was in a greasy spoon with my bacon-eating, coffee-swilling, babbling father, wishing to die.

  “She’s really taken a shine to you. And I can tell you that your support has been a relief to both of us, honey.”

  “Huh?” I looked up. A tiny part of my mind nagged at me, telling me I should pay attention, but the rest of my brain was thick and dumb, trying desperately to heal from my alcoholic assault from the night before.

  “I said that we’re thankful for your support, Susan and me.”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re welcome Dad. Susan’s great.” I shouldn’t have gotten the rye bread toasted, crunching it was too loud, I thought as I endured the auditory hell.

  “Something wrong, honey?”

  “Dad, I’m severely hanging. I told you that already.” I felt bad losing my patience, but maybe if he listened…

  “No, I mean besides that.”

  “I’m fine.” I took another sip of the coffee, cringing at the bitter aftertaste.

  “No really, Shoshanna…”

  Oh for Christ’s sake. “I’m just a bit bent that I don’t have a date for your wedding, okay?” I blurted out.

  “Oh.” He looked back down at his eggs. “Well, you know Susan’s son, Jacob…”

  “Don’t even think of finishing that sentence.”

  “He’s not that bad.” He waved at the waitress for more coffee.

  “That’s your opinion. My opinion is that he’s heinous and disgusting. If you thought Max was a putz, I can’t believe you think Jacob is anything less.”

  “He’s a very bright boy, Shoshanna.”

  I took my glasses off, blinking at the brightness, and looked up at my dad. He seemed to be serious.

  “Dad, he’s gross. He’s always hitting on me and those glasses and the goop in the corners of his mouth. Ugh.” I shivered.

  “Not everyone is smooth when it comes to letting on that they like someone. Maybe he deserves a chance.”

  I held up my hand toward him. “Spare me, Dad.”

  “I’m not sure I like this attitude on you.”

  I shoved my glasses back on. “Get used to it.”

  “Shoshanna.”

  I gnawed at the toast, hoping it would stay down.

  “Look at me, young lady.” Dad’s voice was very low, but his tone forced my head up. “Take those glasses off.”

  Doing as I was told, I folded the glasses and placed them beside my plate, resisting the urge to sigh, knowing that would set him off in a big way.

  “You are acting like a spoiled brat. I never raised you to be like this.”

  “No, you raised me to never be home and then cheat on my spouse.” I didn’t even realize what I was saying until the words had fallen from my mouth.

  Dad looked like he wanted to strangle me. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had, I probably deserved it. But he had never hit my mother or me, had always prided himself on his ability to remain calm no matter what me or Mom could throw at him. It was probably a skill he had garnered back in law school.

  His hands stayed on the table, his eyes revealing his anger which was quickly replaced by hurt and guilt.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said after a long moment.

  “Well, you shouldn’t try to force men like Jacob on me.” I pretended to gag; a dangerous feat considering my unsettled insides.

  “No, I mean I’m sorry I raised such a spoiled brat.”

  My stomach turned, this time not due to my hangover. Staring at my dad, I tried to see if he was serious. “What?”

&nbs
p; “You heard me, you’re being a spoiled brat. I was serious when I said that I was glad you and Susan are getting along, but I also know that she paid for lunch, the dress, and the shoes. Did you even say thank you? Or did you just expect her to dole out for everything?”

  I blinked at him, trying to remember back to only two days before. Of course I didn’t offer to buy lunch; I never paid for my own meals when my parents were involved and Susan was going to be my stepmother. And anyway, she was loaded, she could afford it. What was he even saying? My brain was beginning to pound even harder against my skull.

  “Well, your silence and stunned look answers my question.”

  He pushed his plate away from him and drained his cup of coffee. I’d never seen him act like this. “Dad, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you growing up, Shoshanna.”

  Before I could even formulate words, he got up from his chair. I remained seated, staring at him, completely dumbfounded.

  “Give me a call when you do.” He turned to leave.

  “Dad?”

  He turned back toward me. “Brunch is on you, by the way. Goodbye, Shoshanna.”

  Watching him leave, I was suddenly alert and more sober than I had ever felt. What had just happened? One minute I’m sipping coffee with my dad like I do every Sunday, and then the next he’s calling me a spoiled brat and walking out on me, stiffing me with the bill. I swallowed, trying to hold back the tears that were accumulating in my eyes.

  Waving at the waitress for the bill, I tried to make sense of the conversation. Why had he been so mean to me? That wasn’t like Dad. Had Susan said something? Did he really want me to hook up with Jacob so badly?

  Not having any cash, I used my Visa, still fighting tears as I pressed buttons on the machine.

  Grow up? What was he talking about? I had a job and my own place. Sure I rented the condo from him, but I did pay my rent most months and only bummed money from him when I really needed it.

  I thought I knew what lonely meant. But now that my dad had left me, I was completely alone.

  Chapter 15

  I had just gotten over my dad’s inappropriate behavior (what else would you call ditching your daughter in a restaurant?) when it was time to see the other half of my dysfunctional family. Mom. And oh so lucky for me, on this particular Tuesday night, Mom’s fangs were out and dripping with venom.

  “So everyone on the planet has been invited to this catastrophe of the millennium,” was her greeting as I sat down at the table. Have I ever mentioned that Mom tends to exaggerate?

  “Mom, I don’t think everyone on the planet has been invited. I mean, come on.”

  She picked up what I gauged to be her third martini. “That’s right, dear. I wasn’t invited.”

  Thank God, I thought. Dad had no idea the bullet he dodged when he thankfully took my advice. “Mom, do you really think you should be invited to your ex-husband’s wedding?”

  “Yes I do, Shoshanna. I had to work my fingers to the bone while he went to school and got his law degree and then grunt jobs at the law firms. I went to all the law functions and helped him get ahead and move up the ladder. I was on my knees doing the best I could for him. And how do I get repaid? He sleeps around with that tramp and now I’m left with nothing. By rights, that is my wedding. The wedding we couldn’t afford when he knocked me up and neither of us had anything.”

  What? Knocked her up? My mind raced frantically, trying to do the math.

  She was practically spitting, her martini sloshing dangerously around in the shallow glass.

  I drained my own glass. I never knew my parents had to get married.

  “And you think he’d have the decency to invite me to what should have been my wedding? No. All I get is a phone call from the sniveling idiot asking that I be supportive of his new life. Give me a break. Oy, your father is such an asshole.”

  She stopped to take a breath and a swig of her martini.

  But I couldn’t get past what she had said moments before. “Mom, you were pregnant when you got married?” I began to feel dizzy. Which part was the lie? Their anniversary…or my birthday?

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, but I lost it after we got married. Don’t worry, dear, you are not a bastard child.”

  This was a lot to take in. “Really? You had a miscarriage? I didn’t know that, Mom, I’m sorry.”

  “Oh give me a break, Shoshanna it was centuries ago.”

  There was no stopping her. I was at a loss, so I just kept drinking, hoping the sound of my own head buzzing would drown out her ranting. No such luck.

  “So that little slut gets my wedding and I’m the only Jew within a fifty-mile radius who won’t be attending.”

  I wanted to smack her in the face, tell her to stop whining and just get on with her life. I wanted to tell her to just get a grip and grow up…

  Oh my God. It hit me in that second. I was my mother. Maybe that’s why Dad had been so harsh with me. Maybe he didn’t want to see me end up like this.

  I looked across the table, watching my mother’s lips move at Mach four while her hands flailed about. I squinted. Sure: subtract twenty or so years from her and I’d be looking into the mirror. Okay, that did it.

  “Mom, stop it.” I said. She didn’t hear me over her own voice or was just too far gone to put on the brakes.

  “Mom!”

  “What?” she looked around. “What’s going on?”

  “I want you to stop bad mouthing Dad and Susan. No matter what happened between you and them, he’s still my father and I don’t want to listen to your crap anymore. And you know what?”

  She was stunned, mouth agape.

  Jenzo, who served us every week, arrived at the table with our platters of sushi. We waited in silence until he had placed them on the table. I smiled up at him, trying to release some of the tension that I was sure he was sensing. “Thank you, Jenzo, we’ll have a couple more martinis, please.”

  Once he was out of earshot, I continued. “What you are doing is dwelling on something that you can’t change anyway. Stop being so bitter about it and move on with your life.”

  She picked up her chopsticks and very deliberately poured some soy sauce into the little square dish. “I am not the one that ended the marriage, Shoshanna. This was not my choice.”

  “Mother, I realize that. I know you got screwed over, but dwelling on it isn’t doing anyone any good. Do you think that you will ever feel better about it if you keep harassing Dad? Not likely. He does feel bad and I’m sure he’s told you as much, but going on and on about it is mostly just hurting you.”

  With her chopsticks, Mom picked up one of the salmon rolls and dipped it daintily into the soy sauce. She looked at me and opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. When she opened it again, her tone was a little less frantic than it had been only the moment before. “I don’t care what your father tries to get you to do, I need to live my own life the best way I can.” She popped the whole roll into her mouth.

  “I am not saying this for Dad, Mother. I am saying this for your own good.” I dunked my California roll into my own little pool of soy and wasabi before raising it to my lips. “And you know what?” I suspended the chopsticks. “I’m tired of your bullshit and until you get over it, I don’t think I want to meet you on Tuesdays anymore.”

  All the color, save for what was cosmetically applied, drained from Mom’s face. “What are you saying, Shoshi?” her question came out more like a whine.

  “I’m saying that you need to grow up and get over the whole thing about Dad. And until you do and can promise me that you aren’t going to mouth off about him, I’m not interested in hanging out with you.”

  “You are being ridiculous!” she snorted, reaching for her glass. She wasn’t taking me seriously.

  “Perhaps I am.” I calmly finished my drink and placed my chopsticks neatly on top of the sushi dish. In a move echoing my father’s from two days before, I grabbed my purse and left
the restaurant, not even turning around to see the shocked look that surely had appeared on my mother’s face.

  Once out of the restaurant I burst into tears but continued power-walking the few blocks to the train station. I didn’t want to risk Mom leaving the restaurant to find me a slobbering mess just outside.

  As I dabbed at my eyes with a Kleenex I found crumpled up in the bottom of my purse, I wondered if Dad had been this upset when he had left me in the same way on Sunday.

  Probably.

  Chapter 16

  “Why won’t you go out with me?” Mr. Blue Collar—Nate asked, standing at my reception counter. He’d just been for his massage with Bev and looked all sleepy-eyed and beyond relaxed. Bev was a pro; I too had emerged from one of her massages a virtual pleasure zombie.

  “I’ve got a boyfriend,” I said. It was the quickest and easiest excuse, and it rolled off my tongue very convincingly. Or so I thought.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  Pretty cocky. I looked up at him and squinted. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “I just don’t. But I’m right aren’t I?” He turned his head, looking at me out of the corners of his eyes. He sure seemed to love the challenge.

  I buckled. “Okay, fine. Yes, you’re right. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “So tell me why you won’t go out with me.”

  Well, Mr. Blue Collar, the reasons are many, but allow me to brief you (I felt so lawyerly in my own brain):

  You are an air conditioning guy, thus, therefore and ergo, you are blue collar, and as we all know by now, blue is the wrong color for Shoshanna Rosenblatt

  It is unlikely that you could treat me as I need to be treated. i.e. dinners out, theater tickets (no cheap matinees, either), jewelry, etc.

  You are obviously not Jewish. This will not do for a nice Jewish girl whose parents, although divorced, would in unison decree that a shaygetz is an unacceptable match for their daughter.