I looked out again. People were smiling. “She could though. There was nothing she couldn’t make look effortless, from my lipstick to a fur stole in Atlantic City in ninety-degree heat. If Ada wore it, it was fashion. Plain and simple.
“She was a hypocrite to the last. A stickler for rules she never followed herself. The epitome of do as I say, not as I do. But the secret behind that was she delighted in being called out on it. Few dared. I was one of them. And by all rights, she should have sent me packing. But Ada valued wit and a wicked streak, both of which my family wish I had inherited far less of from her.” I looked down at my father. “Sorry, Daddy.” Genuine laughs this time.
“Ada’s business was love. I know that when you hear the word matchmaker, you think marriage, not love—or at least I did. But despite never marrying herself, Ada understood love better than anyone I’ve ever known.” I looked into the crowd at Thomas’s grandmother, who was nodding. “And that’s why her matches worked. She looked for what made people happy and helped them find more of that in another person. She encouraged me to write, and strong-armed me into giving the boy who got me banished down here a chance.” I held the back of my hand to the side of my mouth in the pose of a mock whisper. “You’re welcome, Daddy.” The crowd roared, and though he tried to hide it, I saw a smile creeping across my father’s face. “And you know what? She was right. About everything.”
I looked at the door one more time, closing my eyes briefly and seeing her there in my mind. “She was vain and mischievous and selfless and kind all in one. And if I live to be a hundred years old, I doubt I’ll meet anyone like her. But my challenge to you today echoes what the rabbi said. Remember her. Tell your best Ada stories to your children and grandchildren. And more than that, live your life the way that you want to. Not the way society or anyone else tells you to. Because you only get this one chance. That was something that Ada understood better than anyone. She did exactly what she wanted. She should have been miserable. A meddling spinster with a bad attitude. But she wasn’t. She was happy and free and lived and loved exactly how she was meant to. And I don’t think there’s much more that anyone can wish for.
“So instead of being sad tonight, drink a glass of champagne and raise it to Ada’s life and legacy. Because she would want you to celebrate instead of mourn.” I paused. “Okay, she would want you to mourn a little. She was vain after all.” I paused for laughs. “But then she would want you to pick yourself up and be happy. And that is what all of us”—I looked down at Lillian, then my mother and aunt, who were dabbing their tears, and Dan, who was smiling at me with shining eyes, and sought out Thomas, who was doing the same, his grandmother’s hand clasped in his—“who loved her most are going to try to do for the rest of our lives as well, despite the hole she leaves behind.”
Lillian and I hosted the shiva, which was an exhausting revolving door of community members. But as we accepted condolences for what felt like the nine hundredth time, I began to understand that this was for them as much as for us. I didn’t want them in Ada’s house. I wanted a quiet space to remember her. But there was comfort in the stories they shared with me.
A couple of hours in, the crowd began to buzz. I glanced up at the door to see Thomas standing uncertainly, a hat in his hands.
I excused myself from the conversation with one of Ada’s neighbors and went to greet him with a hug. He pulled me off him gently but firmly. “You don’t need more gossip,” he said. “I just wanted to pay my respects . . .”
“I’m glad you came. I have something for you. I was going to call you this week if you didn’t,” I said.
“For me?”
“Come on,” I said, taking his arm and leading him toward Ada’s study. I felt eyes on us, so I left the door open and offered him a seat on the sofa while I went to retrieve the parcel, still wrapped in a handkerchief and tied with a ribbon, from the desk.
“I don’t know how much your grandmother told you,” I said, suddenly realizing this might be an unwelcome surprise. “But I think—I think Ada would have wanted you to have these.”
He looked at me curiously and untied the ribbon, then opened the handkerchief. The picture on top was the one of Ada smiling up at John. Thomas examined it carefully for a moment, then moved on to the next picture, stopping and looking up at me in surprise when he got to the one of them kissing.
“You didn’t know, then?”
He shook his head. “I knew they met in Europe, before he married my grandmother. He said in a different life, he would have loved her.”
“According to her, he did. She said—she said the world loves to destroy things it doesn’t understand. That he knew that, but she had to learn it for herself.”
Thomas nodded. “She was a wise lady, that one.”
“How did you start doing odd jobs for her? She never explained that, but I know she adored you.” Like the grandson she never had, I thought.
A wry smile spread across his face, and I realized Ada was right. He did look like his grandfather. “It was two cars and eleven years ago. A 1946 Cadillac. It was making a noise, and she was convinced her mechanic was robbing her on account of her being a woman. So she called my grandfather and said she absolutely hated to bother him for something like this, but would he take a look. He brought me with him. I was twelve and didn’t understand why Granddaddy was helping this rich white lady. On the trolley ride over there, he explained. He said it didn’t matter if you were Black, white, green, or purple. If someone was a good person and needed your help, you helped them if you could.” He looked at me, and his grin was absolutely wicked. “Ask me what was wrong with the car.”
I couldn’t resist. “What was wrong with the car?”
He could barely respond for laughing. “She had a family of birds nesting under the hood.”
“Birds?”
“One of them flew at her when Granddaddy opened the hood. First, last, and only time you ever saw Miss Ada scream, I swear.”
The image was too delicious, and I laughed too. “I’d pay good money to have seen that.”
“She tried to give me a dollar for helping get them out of there, which she said was really to not let anyone know she’d screamed, but my grandfather handed it right back to her. He told her there was absolutely no need and that we were happy to help.” His smile turned wistful. “When Granddaddy was finishing up the car, she slipped me the dollar again and told me to come back and visit her sometime.”