Playing With Matches (3 page)

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 blame 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 wedding, 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?”