"Oh, ye of too many scatterbrained ideas," Jess says. "Your head is getting bigger than your boobs."
"Shut up. Haven't you ever needed something you didn't want?"
"Yeah, a flu shot. And it hurt me way more than it hurt my mom who made me get one."
Jessica doesn't understand. "You don't expect me to sit around as my mom makes babies with Marc while my dad stays alone for the rest of his life, do you?" It makes me sad thinking he's pining for my mom.
"Your dad doesn't seem to mind," Jess says.
I turn in my chair and face her. I admit my dad doesn't outwardly show his unhappiness, but it's in there. Deep down. And he's starting to age. "He's got a few gray hairs already."
"Your parents are way younger than mine, Amy. My dad is totally bald and my mom's almost fifty and is totally white ... well, underneath all of the hair dye she's as white as a snowball."
"Great. In a few years my mom'll turn gray and people will think my little sister or brother is my own kid. They'll think my mom is the grandma."
"People in their late thirties have babies all the time. Don't stress about it."
I put my hands over my heart. "Me, stress? I never stress about anything."
Jess raises her eyebrows at me and chuckles. Because we both know it's not true.
My cell phone is ringing. I click the little green button. It's my dad. "Hey, Aba."
"Amy, I just took my clients out for dinner. I'm about to pay the bill."
"C So? "
"So," he says in a distressed voice. "Do you by any chance know where my credit card is?"
Oh, no. I forgot to put it back in his wallet after my run-in with Geek Boy. "Umm...Aba... you're not gonna believe this--"
5
To make a sin offering to God:
a) sacrifice an animal to the Lord (Leviticus 6:18) or b) wait until Yom Kippur and fast a whole day.
(Leviticus 16:29) So good to know I can erase my sins. (Erasing guilt is outlined in Leviticus 5. If God can forgive, surely humans should, too.)
***
I'm grounded for the rest of my life.
My dad laid down that law a few minutes ago, and he sounded dead serious. Now I hear his little outbursts of anger coming from the kitchen.
The phone rings. It's probably Jessica.
"Don't you dare pick dat phone up!" he yells from the other end of the condo, his thick Hebrew accent getting thicker by the minute. I swear, the neighbors are going to start calling the police soon if he doesn't calm down.
I hear him stomping closer to my room. He opens the door and scowls at me while running a hand through his hair, his signature and patented I-am-frustrated-and-don't-know-what-to-do-with-my-teenage-daughter move. "Do you not understand what you did was wrong on so many levels, Amy? You stole my credit card--"
"Borrowed it," I correct him.
"You made me look like a fool in front of clients. You sign me up for a dating service...what's next?"
Before I can open my mouth to defend myself, he says, "How much did it cost me?"
"The dating service?"
He nods.
"Um...less than sixty dollars a month," I answer. "How much less?"
"One penny."
"Go on the computer now and cancel it before I have to pay for two months."
"Um, Aba?"
"What?"
"I got you a six-month subscription. It was cheaper to pay it all up front. I got a deal. Think of me as your Yente from Fiddler on the Roof. Your personal matchmaker."
This time he laughs, and I think he's broken way past the anger barrier and is quickly gliding toward delirium. A delirious Israeli ex-commando is not a good thing.
"What's the problem with a dating service? It's for Jews," I interject, hoping to lessen the blow. "You gotta love Jewish women. You're Israeli."
"That's not the point. You used my credit card without asking."
"Yeah, well, I don't exactly have one of my own."
I swear I hear him praising that fact under his breath.
The doorbell rings. Mutt is going nuts, barking nonstop. "Arg! Arg! Arg! Arg!" It gets my dad's attention. He's afraid he'll have to pay a fine if we get too many complaints from the neighbors about Mutt's excessive barking. I'm saved from my dad's rant for now. Thank you, Mutt!
"Stay here," my dad orders, leaving my room.
So now I'm sitting on my bed, alone once again. And I'm grounded. I wonder how long I'll be stuck here before he gives in.
"Amy, come here!" he calls out.
"Yeah?" I say innocently as I head to the foyer of our condo. Dad is holding Mutt's collar, holding him back from jumping on and sniffing the crotch of whoever is at the door. I've had the talk with Mutt, but he doesn't listen. I don't know what the big deal about crotches is. I assume once you've smelled one, you've smelled them all. Not that I'd know. I have no desire to go near anyone else's to test my theory.
"You know Mrs. Keener, don't you?"
I scan the suit and tailored attire of the woman, sure she hasn't smiled in at least a year. Can she pull that 1970s bun tighter on her skull? I turn my gaze to the person beside her. Oh, no. It's Concerned Citizen Boy, in the flesh.
Mrs. Keener pushes him closer to us and directs her conversation to my dad. "This is my nephew, Nathan. He's come to live with us for a while." She shakes her head as she says, "It's a long story I know your daughter is about the same age and was wondering if she'd be able to show him around the city."