My mother rushes past, holding a tray of baked kosher salami, and gives me a knowing look. “Just keep offering him seltzer,” she mutters.
“There she goes,” says Bernie, waving a hand loosely in her direction. “Busy, busy, bzzz bzzz.” He leans conspiratorially toward me. I can smell the warm, yeasty scent of beer on his breath.
“Can I tell you something?” he says. “A secret.”
“Must you?” I ask.
“I’m weird.” He shrugs. “You’ve probably noticed I’m a little weird.”
I give a vague sort of head nod.
“Well, I always knew I was weird,” he says. “And now I know why. The doctors told me.”
“They did, did they?” I look around the room to see if I can drag my mother back, but she has disappeared into the kitchen. Bernie pulls me in closer.
“I have an extra female chromosome,” he says. “Just found out. Me! Six four! Strong as an ox. But it explains a lot, it does.”
“Right,” I say. “Wow.”
“Mmm,” he says. “Freaky, eh?”
I manage a nod.
“I have an appointment on the tenth to find out more,” he says.
“So, tomorrow.”
“On the tenth.”
“Yes, the tenth is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, you say? Then I’ll know more very soon indeed,” he says with satisfaction.
“Well, good luck with the doctor.” I am trying to drift away.
“It explains a lot,” he says again. “To be sure.”
With a swift, snakelike motion, he thrusts his head toward mine and pushes his hot mouth against my ear. “I have a small set of breasts,” he whispers.
“Seltzer?” I ask. “You want a seltzer?”
“No, no need,” he says, patting my shoulder. “But you’re a good girl. You understand it all. Good girl.”
*
The broker’s son is holding court in the living room with a couple of old guys from the synagogue.
“Stoop to conquer,” he’s saying. “That’s what we’re doing with the Randall’s Island waterfront. Buying at a loss to eventually make a threefold profit. It’s true of property and”—he gives me an indiscreet look—“women. Sometimes you’ve got to go down to come out on top.”
“And yet,” I say as I pass, “you don’t look like you’ve ever gone down on a woman in your life.”
*
The rabbi is coming toward me with his benign smile and huge ears and polite, deferential air. I’d like to drop to all fours and crawl under the paper tablecloth.
“May God comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem,” he says.
“Thank you, Rabbi,” I say.
He takes my hand in his. His papery soft skin reminds me of the pinches of dried food flakes I used to feed to our goldfish. “We miss you at the synagogue.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just … I’m not really a believer.”
“What don’t you believe in?” he asks.
“You know,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “God. Prayer. That kind of stuff.”
“You don’t pray?” the rabbi asks mildly.
“Um, no,” I say.
“That’s a shame,” he says. “It can be such a comfort.”
“I don’t have anything to pray to.”
“You don’t have to pray to God,” he says. “Sometimes it helps just to talk to the air in the room.”
*
Mimi, one of my mother’s friends from bridge, comes over and gives me a powdery kiss on the cheek. She smells of Chanel No. 5 and Werther’s Originals and rubbing alcohol.
“Sorry about your pop-pop,” she says. “You taking care of yourself?”
“I am,” I say.
“Mm.” She inspects my face. “Look at those dark circles. Are you sleeping?”
“Enough,” I say.
“Are you masturbating?”
“What?”
“Masturbating,” she says again. “It’s the best sedative, you know. If you’re not sleeping, you need to masturbate more.”
“Please stop saying masturbate,” I say.
“Movie, melatonin, and masturbation,” she says, tapping out the words on my hand with her finger. “Best night’s sleep you’ll ever have.”
*
I catch Levi hiding in the kitchen with a plate of potato salad.
“Ma’s friend Mimi just instructed me to masturbate more,” I say.
“Dad’s cousin Ezra told me he got chlamydia twice last year,” Levi says. “He’s eighty-two.”
“You win,” I say.
“Apparently it’s all over the assisted living facilities. Frisky widows and widowers, you know. He kept asking me if I was using protection.”
“Well, clearly not,” I say.
“Sorry, I was going to tell you about Min and the baby,” he says. “But then Dad died.”
“That’s right,” I say, slapping my forehead. “Dead dad! I forgot!”
Levi gives me a tired eye roll. “Mom gave me an earful about it too. Then she cried and tried to give me money.”
“Did I say congratulations and all that crap yet?”
“Nope.”
I pull Levi in for a hug. “Congratulations,” I say. “And all that crap.”
*
The rabbi is leaving when I tap his elbow gently.
“What would I say?” I ask. “If I wanted to, you know, pray?”
Two of my mother’s synagogue friends eye me jealously from across the room. I would die if anyone overheard this conversation.
“Well, there are books. But you can also just say what’s in your heart. Say what feels right to you.”
“But … where would I even start?”
“Oh, you can start very simple,” he says. “Two of my favorite prayers are ‘Help me’ and ‘Thank you.’”
“Those are prayers?”
“Those are excellent prayers.”
He smiles and begins to retreat, then turns back to me one more time. “You want to know one of my personal favorite prayers?”
“What?”
“Wow,” he says.
*
My mother and I are on the patio, taking in the last warm hour of the day, when Levi comes out.
“Where’s Min?” I ask.
“Napping,” he says. “I think she was overwhelmed by all the Holocaust talk. She’s retreating into sleep.”
“Smart woman,” says my mother.
Levi pulls up a chair next to us and removes a joint from behind his ear. He lights it, takes a long drag, and proffers it toward us.
“Levi Jeremiah Rosenthal,” says my mother. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“Ma,” he says as he exhales the smoke. “Come on. Dad’s dead. I’m having a baby. Take a fucking hit.”
“It’s never too late for a first time,” I say and take the joint.
My mother shakes her head and emits what can only be described as a cackle. “First time! Who do you think you’re kidding? When your father and I were in high school we used to smoke pot and make out to Bob Marley records. And it didn’t end there! When I was doing my teacher training and he was on residency, we loved to smoke a little grass in the evenings. How do you think you two were conceived?”
“Gross!” I yell.
“Ma!” says Levi.
My mother takes the joint from me, inhales deeply, and blows a perfect smoke ring. I catch Levi’s eye and raise my eyebrows. We pass it around one more time and watch the sun dip behind the next-door neighbor’s hedges.
“Wow, my baby’s having a baby,” says my mother quietly.
“My mom used to be a baby,” Levi says.
None of us know why we’re laughing.
*