Avi
I hold the letter to my chest, concentrating on the last sentence. You know I miss you, don't you? Avi isn't one of those sappy guys; he's guarded because he lost his brother in a bombing and hasn't let himself open up, be vulnerable, and grieve. And I know he doesn't want me to wait around for him while he spends his required three years in the Israeli military, so he doesn't write romantic and mushy letters.
I don't want a romantic and mushy guy, anyway. I want Avi. Oh, I know I'm not going to even see him until the summer when I go back to Israel. I'm not holding my breath that he'll be waiting for me. Okay, I am. But I'm not admitting it publicly.
Leaning over my nightstand, I open the drawer and pull out Avi's silver chain link bracelet. He gave it to me after we started dating this past summer. I also pull out a picture of him. It was after our last official date, when he gave me Mutt and a sushi dinner. I snatched a photo with my dad's camera right before our last goodbye.
I stare at the picture, him with his mocha eyes and thick head of dark hair to match. Not to mention his signature half-smile, which can make my heart stop. There is no way the girls in Israel are going to leave him alone; that's a given. It scares me and brings out my worst insecurities. I'm not pretty enough, my boobs are too big, I'm not skinny enough.
Ugh, I hate when I pick myself apart and focus on the negatives. Avi likes me for who I am. I know he does.
Kissing his picture would be the dorkiest thing. I'd never do that. But I do clutch his picture to my chest and hug it. It's still dorky, but less so than actually kissing it.
"Amy, I'm sorry but it was an important call."
Great, now my dad is invading my personal space and witnessed me hugging a picture. The only thing keeping me from telling him how important knocking on a teenager's door is the revenge date I'm setting him up on. "You know what your problem is?" I tell him.
"What."
"You think work is more important than your personal life."
He takes life way too seriously, but I'm trying to help him loosen up and not be such a stiff. It's the work part that worries me. I swear he's gonna have a heart attack one of these days if he doesn't let up on the work hours.
He walks closer to my bed and I slip the picture of Avi and his letter under my pillow.
"I have responsibilities, Amy. Ones I've committed to long ago."
"Yeah, yeah," I say, sitting up. "I've heard the spiel before. What now, the president of the United States needs you to act as his bodyguard?"
"The Secret Service does that."
"Then what's so important?" I ask him.
"I have to go out of town. That's what the call was about. It can't be postponed, not this time."
Cool. So I'll get the condo all to myself? The possibilities are endless.
"When?" I say a little too eagerly.
"On Friday morning. I'll be back on Sunday."
Two whole nights without parental figures! Brighter times are definitely ahead. "Can I use your car?"
"Only to go to your mother's house. That's where you'll be staying. I just got off the phone with her. You can have my car to drive to her place."
Nope, not okay. "I am not staying with Mom and Marc. What would I do with Mutt? Besides, I think Marc is allergic to both of us."
"We'll put him in a kennel."
I wish he were talking about Marc, but I'm not that lucky. This time I stand up, ready for battle. "First of all, Mutt and I are a package deal. He is not going to a kennel. Period, end of story."
It takes me exactly fifty-six minutes to convince my dad I'm old enough to stay at the condo without parents.
Brighter times are definitely ahead.
9
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Kosher question #2: You can't mix milk and meat because God commanded "You shall not boil a kid (baby lamb) in its mother's milk" (Exodus 23:19). So why can't I mix milk with chicken? You can't milk a chicken.
***
"Why do you keep glancing at the door every two seconds?" Maria asks me the next day at work.
Umm...maybe it's because my dad's date is gonna be here any second, followed by my dad who still doesn't know he's going on a date. He thinks Maria needs to talk to him about my work schedule. I made up some ridiculous story to get him into the café at seven o'clock.
"I'm watching for my dad," I tell my boss guiltily.
The door to the café opens. It's a woman I've never seen before. Is it Kelly, my dad's date? Or is it someone else? Kelly wrote in her e-mail that she has strawberry blonde hair. This woman kind of has strawberry blonde hair, although it's really frizzy and she needs some expensive hair products to help tame that mane of hers. That picture she posted online was with her hair straight, but maybe she forgot to flatiron it today.
She walks up to the counter and suddenly I'm feeling self-conscious, like I have to impress the woman. "Are you Kelly?" I ask.
The woman shakes her Brillo pad head. "No."
"Oh, good."
When she frowns at me, I try and recover quick. "Can I take your order?"
She looks up at our board of specialty coffees, taking her time. I have the urge to give her a snoring sound (I'm good at those) but don't think Maria will appreciate my humor. So I wait with a smile on my face. And wait.
And wait.
I swear, any more of this waiting and I'm going to frown. My mouth can't take all this fake smiling. I start humming, but I don't even realize it until the woman looks down at me with a stern expression. Seriously, thank goodness this woman isn't my dad's strawberry blonde date.