The Shiksa Syndrome: A Novel (8 page)

“So I heard,” says Stacy. “And you met at a kosher wine tasting after seeing each other at some other Jewish event? That’s
really
interesting.”

I smile at Stacy to corroborate her story. Then I turn to Josh.

“Of course I know about that stuff,” I answer, slowly. Be brave, buy time. Stacy is a lawyer, and I have to derail her before she begins to depose me. What did I tell Andrew? Selina didn’t grow up under a rock. Well, neither did eMay. “After all, I do live in Manhattan.”

“But she comes from Scranton,” says Josh.

“How quaint.”

Stacy doesn’t trust me. I don’t know if she sniffs my Jewish blood or if she’s just bitter about Lauren.

“It’s quite a celebration,” Stacy continues. “In New York a bris is getting to be as big as a bar mitzvah.” She laughs. “Bet there’s not much opportunity for something like that in Scranton.”

I’ve been to many a bris, and they’re not all some big extravaganza. And I note she doesn’t say one thing about the spiritual significance. She thinks I don’t know anything, so she’s trying to impress me. Stacy sounds like such a snob. Not to mention condescending to me and to Scranton.

I begin to feel like I used to in Hebrew High. It’s reminiscent of the JAP-Sticks! All those skinny, JAPpy girls who had big blowout Sweet Sixteens. They always made sure to compare theirs to my afternoon party catered at our apartment. Those girls made me miserable. I tried to compete with them, but I couldn’t. I only wanted to feel accepted. To prove we were the same. But I never thought to embrace the differences.

“Actually Muffy Plunkett, my neighbor in Scranton, married a Jewish fellow from Philadelphia,” I tell Stacy. “And my family was invited to Muffy Steinberg’s—that’s her married name—son’s bris. Muffy agreed to have the bris ceremony when her son was born. Well. It was
quite
an experience.” I pause for dramatic effect. Thinking of a bris, I’m not even acting.

“They had a
very
nice party. At one of the finest restaurants in town. We thought it was fancy,” I say. “But my mother said Jewish people often do things very, uh . . . big. And they like to have
a lot
of food. She says it sure is nice if you can afford to do all that. Even Mrs. Plunkett, herself, said if it was up to her, she’d have just had a garden party in her backyard and served tuna casserole and deviled eggs.” (Thanks to Krista, I just read those recipes in that Betty Crocker cookbook going home in the cab.)

“But Muffy would do anything that Marty wanted. The most important thing to Muffy was being a good mother and a good wife to her Jewish husband.”

“Hey, I say more girls should be like this Muffy Steinberg,” says Josh. Stacy now quiet, I resume breathing.

“Who’s Muffy Steinberg?” asks Adam, climbing into the car. Stacy appears sullen when he hands us the bottled waters.

“Thank you, Adam.” I smile. “Josh. You have
such
nice friends.”

I smile at Stacy, then turn and face front. I reach across and graze Josh’s hand. The open road lies ahead. I am ready.

O
ver the
R
iver and
T
hrough the
W
oods

W
AIT, HOW’S THIS
?”

Josh stands behind me. Taller, he places his chin on top of my head. My ski poles dig straight down into the snow. Josh’s seem like extensions of his arms, which wrap around me.

“Say cheese,” Adam says, and clicks on Josh’s phone to create a memory.

“Our first photo,” he says, and kisses me on the nose. “Let me see that.” Adam hands Josh the phone to look. “Cool. Might just make this my main wallpaper,” Josh says, and shows me the picture.

“That’s so romantic.”

Stacy, standing slightly on the sidelines, spent her time in the lodge sipping hot cocoa as promised. She met us outside upon our return. “He’s so sweet,” I say.

“A peach,” she responds.

Back from an hour of cross-country skiing, I feel the most comfortable with Josh yet. The three of us on the mountain was the most fun. Totally harmless, Adam was vying for my attention and giving Josh his approval every step of the way. And I managed most of them. Well, yes. I fell. A few times. But that was the very best part. Josh would pick me up. Then plant a kiss in each new place he thought it might hurt. Adam teased. Josh was cool. I was coy. Big bumps were easily avoided, both on and off the trail.

I am most impressed with how beautiful it is here in New Jersey. Alpine could be Aspen, as far as I’m concerned. Fresh air, scenic mountains, country beauty. And to think, all this just nine minutes from Manhattan. Go figure.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

When I was in high school, I remember a big TV campaign urging you to Discover the Beauty: New Jersey. Why? I would always wonder. If I walked down to Riverside Park, I could see it across the Hudson. And that was as close as I wanted to get.

“So you like?” says Josh. “If you’re into this, there’s a ton of good stuff to do in the summer.”

“Really?” I light up. The good stuff, to me, is that Josh thinks ahead to summer.

“Oh yeah,” Adam joins in. “There’s a water park, an apple orchard . . .”

“An apple orchard.” I am delighted. I may say I’m a country girl rediscovering her roots, but I am a city girl discovering her country.

“A winery,” says Josh. “That’s for me. And some real sweet little B&Bs.” Josh’s eyes narrow, and he looks into mine. “It may not be Napa, but it’s near.”

I love this. He is so much fun. I haven’t been doing things like this since somewhere between a long time ago and never.

“It sounds divine,” I say, hardly sounding like me at all.

“You live right across the river, Aimee,” says Stacy. “You never took a drive? How many years are you living in New York?”

“Most people who move to Manhattan from out-of-state have the tendency to just spend all their time in the city.” Through the girls at work, I even know this to be true. More or less.

“Well, now you guys can not only visit Joisey”—Adam pronounces it in that faux mafioso way—“you’ve also got a place to stay.”

“Oh yeah . . . ,” says Josh. “So you’re really makin’ the leap, man.”

Josh gives him one of those macho hugs accompanied by a few punches, the kind that always looks less like congratulations and more like the beginning of a brawl. By this time we are in the parking lot and back at the car. Josh opens the car doors and turns on the heat before the three of them head to the back. They all talk while the men load the equipment into the trunk.

I climb right into the car and practically dissolve into my heated seat. It’s luxury. And I am ready to collapse. Containing the lie has me more tired than anything else. On the trail, the guys suggested an early dinner at a local steakhouse in town. Closing my eyes, I imagine a fireplace burning behind us, easy talk over a good meal, and a nice glass of red wine.

“We’re this far already,” says Stacy. Her door closes with a bang when she enters the car. “What’s the difference?”

“It’s like the opposite direction,” says Adam. “It could take forty-five minutes to an hour. If we can even find it.”

Adam’s door bangs in the back, followed by Josh’s in the front.

“Doesn’t Josh have one of those talking navigator thingys?”

Josh looks at me like he’s stuck in the middle. Of what, I have no idea.

“Do you have that?” I ask.

He points to the dashboard.

“You know, I read an article that said many women are actually jealous of their spouse’s relationship with the voice.” Only Josh and Adam laugh. I continue anyway. “Seriously. They say it’s smart and a little sexy, but it doesn’t talk back. It always fulfills your needs, and it gets you wherever you want to go.”

Josh leans over and gives me another kiss.

“Well, if you two can stop necking for a minute, how about programming in Lenox Terrace in West Orange, and let’s get on our way before it gets dark.”

West Orange? In New Jersey? Oh, no. Not
that
West Orange, New Jersey. I pray there are two.

“Okeydoke,” Josh says, talking and tapping and feeding the information in. “You don’t mind, eMay, do you? They just closed on a house in West Orange, and Stacy wants to check in and take a look. Be fun, okay?”

“Sure,” I say. Loud. Too loud. “Ummmm, what’s that address again?”

“Lenox Terrace is the street,” Adam says from the back.

“Lenox Terrace?” I shout.

“You want to take the wheel of this baby and drive?” asks Josh.

“Oh, no!” I involuntarily cry as it computes. Daphne and Rich live on Beaumont Terrace.

“Why not?”

I have no idea about suburban planning, but I figure the two houses are not that far from each other. And what did Josh just ask?

“Why not what?”

“Why don’t you want to drive?” he asks.

“Oh.” It takes a few seconds for me to catch up. “Because I don’t.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Stacy’s cackle overrides both guys’ questions of incredulity. “Now
this
is really
interesting.
”

“Really, eMay?” asks Josh. “I don’t think I ever met anyone who can’t drive.”

“Me either,” says Adam.

“I just, uh . . . well, I learned. A few times. But I never, uh, took the test.”

“So how
interesting
is this?” chortles Stacy. “A girl from a rural area can’t even drive a car? Give me a break. How’d you get to school?”

“Scranton’s not exactly rural, Stace,” says Adam.

“There was a school bus.”

“In high school?” Stacy practically bullies.

“Maybe she got a ride,” offers Josh. “With a friend.”

“In fact, I did.” I take the bait. “Muffy used to take me,” I turn to tell Stacy in the back. “Muffy Steinberg had her own car.”

“Well, don’t worry. Because it’s now my mission to make sure you get your license, eMay,” says Josh. “Sound good?”

“Sounds
. . . interesting.
” Turning my head, I lift my fingers in the smallest gesture to spit-spit pooh-pooh away the evil eye. One problem down, another to begin.

Do I even hear a word anyone says during the whole rest of the ride in the car? Known now for quiet, I stay that way. I try to close my eyes, but they open soon after. Is sleep actually required for something to qualify as a nightmare?

“There it is,” says Stacy when we pull up to a nice white house. A nice white house that looks, to me, a lot like Daphne’s nice gray one. I won’t get out of the car. What can happen to me if I don’t get out of the car?

“E, you coming?” asks Josh.

“Of course,” I say, getting out of the car.

I need an ally quickly. I immediately rush over to Stacy.

“This is
so
nice. Lovely. My, my my. I love this house. It reminds me of houses in my neighborhood growing up in Scranton,” I say.

Stacy practically glares. Ooops!

“But nicer,” I recoup. “
Much
nicer. Much more
. . . upscale.
” That word makes her smile.

“We love it,” says Stacy, and without much prompting she proceeds to tell me about the house. “It’s got three bedrooms, two baths—we’ll probably build more—a brick fireplace, central air, a stone patio, and listen to this . . . It’s a split level, but the laundry room is on the first floor with the family room, which will be so totally great. I’ll be able to watch the kid
and
throw in another load.”

“How soon will you be going back to work?” I ask, wondering how this high-powered lawyer can get that excited over doing laundry.

“I don’t know you well, Aimee, but I swear. If you had dark curly hair, you’d almost be the spitting image of Lauren. Plus when I told her we were moving, that was like the first thing she asked me too.”

The guys, behind us in the driveway, now catch up. Stacy takes the lead and rings the bell.

“If they’re home, I’m sure they won’t mind.” But they aren’t.

“So who’s hungry?” I ask, anxious to get back in the car and out of here as soon as possible.

“Well, as long as we’re here, don’t you want to see the neighborhood?” asks Stacy.

Josh defers to me. Stacy shows there’ll be no deferring. Adam tells us he grew up a few towns away, so he is the tour guide. We follow him down Lenox Terrace, and he shows us the sights. Josh holds my hand as we pass house after house, driveway after driveway, SUV after SUV. Following one leafless tree after another, Adam regales us with tales of his childhood. Riding home from school on his bike, something he hopes in a neighborhood like this his kids will also get to do.

At that exact moment, as if to prove his point, a bunch of children burst through a front door, running to greet parents who have gathered on the lawn to pick them up. We near a corner I am hopeful does not say Beaumont Terrace, but it no longer matters as my hopes are dashed when someone calls, “Aunt Aimee,” and, though a common name, this Aunt Aimee is me.

“I didn’t know you were coming today.”

In her denim skirt and pink cowboy boots, a purple ski jacket on her little body, my niece is so delicious you could eat her up. I crouch to give her a hug as I certainly won’t ignore her, my heart frantically beating as I wonder what will happen now.

“Aimee?” I look up and see a startled Daphne staring down at me and Hannah. Fortunately, Daphne and I never looked alike. “It is you. When Hannah said it’s Aunt Aimee . . . well, it doesn’t even look like you.
Your hair.
”

“Daphne! Hello!”
I say, and jump right up. “I thought maybe you lived near here when we talked of West Orange, but I wasn’t quite certain. Meet my friends.” I say each word with deliberation, hopeful my sister will infer deeper meaning. “Daphne and her husband, Rich, live . . . nearby,” I tell the group.

“I’m Stacy,” she says, and extends her hand. “We’re moving into the Gordon house on Lenox next month. What happened to Aimee’s hair?”

“Nothing,” I pipe in. “Daphne and I haven’t seen each other in so long and . . . mine used to be . . . short. Like hers.
Remember, Daphne?”

“Sure. I remember.”

Good. Daph will help me out.

“I don’t remember your hair short at Hanukkah, Aunt Aimee.”

“It was. It only seems longer now. Because your mom just cut her hair a lot, lot shorter. Right, Daphne?”

“Hanukkah?” asks Josh. “This past Hanukkah?”

“Daphne, this is Josh,” I say, making important eye contact with my sister when I say his name. “We met a few weeks ago.”

“Is this your sister?” Josh seems confused. I can’t blame him.

“Yes,” answers Daphne. “Aimee and I are—”

“Very close. Like real sisters. We’re from a
special
sorority,” I explain. “We’re so close, at one point we even shared a room.”

“Cool,” says Adam. “Where’d you girls go to school?”

“Yeah,” asks Stacy. “Where’d you two go? We’re Binghamton, Syracuse, Cornell,” she says, pointing to Adam, Josh, and herself.

Not a clue what’s going on, Daphne waits for me to answer. In the longest two-second pause in history, a million things go through my mind. Of course I told Josh U of P, but I’m afraid Daphne will announce her school. I don’t know what to say, and I know I have to answer. But uncomfortable that I haven’t, my sister figures that maybe she should.

“Brown,” I stupidly say, at the exact same time “U of P” comes from Daphne.

Crap! We automatically both try to fi x it.

“U of P,” I say, as my sister says, “Brown.”

“She transferred!” I say.
“From
U of P. We met there first. At our sorority. And became sisters.”

“Phi Beta Phi,” I say while Daphne says, “Alpha Beta Alpha.”

“Alpha?” / “Phi?”

“Phi?” / “Alpha?”

“Beta, beta beta!” I throw my hands up in the air and move them right, left, right with the words as if I was doing a cheer.

Josh lets out a big laugh that gives me a sigh of relief. “I only wish I could’ve seen you in that little uniform.”

Adam, too, is delighted, which annoys Stacy no end. Totally confused, Daphne and Hannah clap.

“Daphne and I have always stayed in touch,” I say. “Her children are like my own niece and nephew. And when I moved to the city from Scranton, we got even closer. Like Hannah said, I spend many holidays with Daphne’s family. At her parents’.”

“Grandma and Grandpa are visiting today,” Hannah tells me.

“Really?”
I smile. In case I decide to kill myself, I think it would be nice if that was everyone’s last memory of me.

“They came to see me and Holdenn.”

“Your parents are actually
here,
Daphne? That’s
incredible.
” I put my arm around her waist to illustrate the closeness of our bond. Then I dig my thumb deep into her back to let her know she better keep her trap shut.

“You want to walk over?” asks Josh. “You’re close by, right?” he asks my sister.

“We’re going to have to get back to the city,” says Stacy. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” I say. “I see them. Often enough,” I add.

“We saw Aunt Aimee on New Year’s and for Hanukkah with her boyfriend Peter. But they broke up,” says Hannah. “Mommy says he’s not Jewish.”

No one knows where this is coming from. But Daphne is now potentially accused of antigentile comments behind my back. My sister is so stunned, she simply looks embarrassed. As is everyone. Except Josh. For he’s just been crowned king. More handsome than the other dude and Jewish to boot, he has officially dethroned my former ex.