When I get back to the city, I swear the temperature in the city has decreased by at least twenty degrees. It mimics the chill in my body.
Crying isn't my thing, but my eyes water on their own. Damn.
I feel sorry for my dad, even more now that I know Mom and Marc are really going to have a new family. My poor dad is alone. He'll never get my mom back now. When he finds out about the baby, he's really going to get depressed. I'll have to do something about that, sooner rather than later. My perfect family life just blew up in my face.
Are families supposed to drive you crazy? I need to talk to someone about this. I'd like to talk to my non-boyfriend, but he's somewhere in the middle of Israel in training. No phone calls during boot camp.
I glance at the picture of Avi on my nightstand. He's in his army fatigues, a machine gun strapped to his shoulder. And he's smiling. Smiling. As if being stuck in the middle of the hot Negev Desert during military boot camp is no biggie. I miss him more than anything right now. He's so strong, inside and out. I wish I was like that.
In his last letter he wrote about stars. He said in the Negev Desert at night he looked up and the sky was so clear he could swear he saw a billion stars.
He said he thought of me right there, wondering what I was doing under the same stars. My heart just about melted into garlic butter sauce (which I love to dip my pizza in) when I read his letter. Sometimes I feel like he has the right perspective on life. Me? I'd probably look up at billions of stars and think, I'm so insignificant.
I sit on my bed and open my backpack. There, staring back at me, is the personals section. I must have shoved it in there accidentally. I wipe my eyes and focus on the paper.
A small idea, as tiny as a faraway star, starts forming in the back of my mind.
If Mom and Marc can create their own little suburban family, I'm going to create one of my own for my bachelor dad... right here in the city.
After all, what's wrong with placing a personal ad for my dad? Maybe, as Maria said, he could meet his own soul mate.
3
***
Kosher question # 1: In Leviticus (11:1), God lists what's kosher and what's not. Nowhere in the entire Bible does it mention anything about spicy tuna sushi rolls with little pieces of tempura crunch inside.
***
Hunky, brooding single Jewish dad with an adorable teenage daughter seeks woman for dinners, dancing, and walks in the park. Needs to like dogs and be fee of any neurosis or hang-ups.
"Amy, I'm home. And I brought sushi for you."
I shove the draft into my backpack and rush for the door. Okay, okay, I know the ad needs a little tweaking. But I'll deal with that later. Sushi can't wait. "Did you get spicy tuna rolls?"
"Yes."
I kiss him on the cheek and say, "You're the best. Did you remember to ask for tempura flakes inside?"
"Sorry, I forgot. I hope they're still edible."
He's joking with me because he's well aware I'll devour the spicy tuna rolls with or without the tempura crunch.
My dad is sifting through the mail by the front door. He lives for mail. Sundays he positively goes nuts not having any. When Monday rolls around, he's like a hawk.
I snatch the white takeout bag off the table by the front door. My mouth is already watering in anticipation of eating freshly made sushi. "How was work?"
"Hectic as usual. How was school?"
"Hectic as usual."
He looks sideways at me.
"Well, it was," I say. "I had three tests, one I probably failed, two hours of homework, and I have no date for the Valentine's Dance. Top that."
We walk into the kitchen together. "Avi is in Israel," he says as if I'm pining for a relationship that's bound to fail. Talk about the "like father, like daughter" syndrome.
"I know," I say.
My dad gives me a weak smile and shrugs. "I just don't want you to miss out."
Mutt bounds into the kitchen and starts jumping on me. "Arg!"
"We have to get him fixed," he says.
I sit on the kitchen floor with Mutt and pat his springy hair. "We aren't going to do that," I tell my dog. "Only mean people do that to their dogs."
Mutt responds by licking my face. There's no way I'm having my dog's balls cut off.
My dad takes extra food for himself out of the refrigerator because he mistakingly treats sushi as an appetizer. He says sushi doesn't fill him up. "Amy.
I give him my I-am-not-backing-down stare. "What?"
"The vet said--"
"Yeah, and the vet thought Mutt was a goldendoodle, too. Can you believe that? A designer mutt, no less. I don't trust that guy." Give me a break. My dog is a pure, unpoodleized mutt.
My dad takes a piece of pita and swipes it into a container of hummus. It's his staple food. Israelis are to hummus as frat boys are to beer. (We've been studying analogies in English. Can you tell?)
"Don't double dip," I warn him.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he says, stuffing the pita into his mouth.
"Maybe you haven't had a date in a while because you shove food into your mouth when you eat," I say.
"Maybe I haven't had a date in a while because I've been busy," he says back.
Yeah, right. "So what kind of woman do you like?"
"Why?"
"Maybe I can help you."
"Amy, we are not having this discussion."