Playing With Matches (20 page)

She lowered her voice to a whisper and looked around her. “Is Leah home?”

“Not yet.”

“Let’s keep our fingers crossed.” She removed her down coat and threw it over a chair.

The front door immediately opened again and Leah swished into the kitchen.

Mira turned to her with outstretched arms. “How was it, honey?”

Leah nodded slowly with a cryptic smile on her face. “I’m a bit afraid to talk about it, Aunt Mira.”

“I understand,” Mira said. “I’m sure you’ll have a good discussion with that lovely matchmaker. What’s her name? Matchster?”

“Matchmaven.” Leah giggled.

“I’ve never heard of an anonymous matchmaker,” Mira said, shaking her head. “But people are saying that she really knows what she’s doing.”

My heart palpitated.

“She’s pretty awesome,” Leah said. “Aunt Mira, do you mind if I go message Matchmaven from my laptop upstairs?” Mira nodded with a smile. Leah slipped off her heels and padded toward the stairs. I jumped out of the seat to race up to my room. “The groceries, Rain,” Mira said.

I stumbled mid-stride. “Aunt Mira, I have to finish my math. Can’t it wait?”

She leaned her head to the side and pulled out her earring. “It’ll take five minutes. And I need you to put them away too.”

I threw on my ski jacket, dashed out to Mira’s Camry, and was aghast to find it brimming with bright yellow supermarket bags. Like she was catering a wedding, or something. It actually took me twenty minutes to haul in the bags and fit everything into the fridge and pantry.

I finally bolted up the stairs, slammed the door shut, and opened my phone.

Hi Matchmaven,

I wish I could talk to you in person. I have so many thoughts about Jake and I’d love to hash it out with you. Let’s be in touch tomorrow. Thanks for your incredible help!

Leah

I kicked the mattress beneath me. What was she talking about?
How did it go?
Why couldn’t I just run down the hall and
talk
? Like I used to when she was first dating Ben. We’d dissect each date for two hours.

And then the next day we’d do it all over again.

Dahlia and I claimed a table at the back of the school’s cafeteria so she could spread out her chemistry notes. A microwave on the shelf behind us blasted out rays of fishitude, reminding me that Mira’s dinner was only hours away. I nibbled a baby carrot while pulling out my cell phone.

“I’d put that thing away, if I were you,” Dahlia said, as she turned a page in her textbook.

“I have to know how Leah’s date went.” I opened Matchmaven and placed the cell on my knee.

“Mrs. Levine is lurking,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“I’ll be careful,” I said. Sure enough Leah was there.

Leah:
Jake is good-looking, smart, and personable. I’d like to see him again.

Matchmaven:
Excellent! Any concerns?

Leah:
I was slightly uncomfortable that he brought up his ex-fiancée twice.

Matchmaven:
Hmmm. They broke up six months ago?

Leah:
A year.

Matchmaven:
Red flag.

Leah:
But he’s so good-looking.

Matchmaven:
BRIGHT red flag.

Leah:
I like him.

Matchmaven:
Okay, go out again, but be cautious.

Leah:
You’re so wise. I wish I could meet you.

Me too.

Matchmaven:
You’d be disappointed.

Leah:
No, really, can we meet? I have no one to tell anyway!

Matchmaven:
If I was exposed I wouldn’t be able to help you anymore.

Leah:
That’s no good. I don’t want to lose you — you’re my only friend in Toronto.

Matchmaven:
That’s not true. You have family.

Leah:
It’s not the same as friends.

Matchmaven:
Maybe it’s time to repair that friendship with your sister.

Leah:
Maybe. She can be so kind — like lending me clothes for my date and she visits this old professor.

Matchmaven:
So what’s the problem? You could have a built-in friend right at your aunt’s house!

Leah:
It’s just that I don’t quite trust her. She was mean and insulting about my makeup before my date with Daniel. What’s more worrisome is that I feel like she’s up to something. She just disappeared one night. She eventually showed up at midnight claiming she was on a school project but I’m pretty sure I saw her hanging out at the park. And when we were at an engagement party she literally spied on me in the bathroom all evening.

I blanched.

This was so much worse than I thought. I squeezed my eyes shut and the din of the cafeteria faded. I needed to focus my mind and figure out a way to salvage this situation.

But of course I could — I was being given a chance to defend myself! And defend I did.

Matchmaven:
First of all, never ever assume you know all sides to a story. Second, I think you have to ask yourself if you care about her or not. And if you do, then you need to reach out so that if she is in trouble, you can help her. And third? Consider that even though you’re upset about being on the dating market again, maybe you really weren’t meant to marry Ben.

Leah:
Can you be my wise woman?

Matchmaven:
Letting go can be very liberating.

Leah:
I gotta say: I like you. ☺

Matchmaven:
I like you too. ☺

I closed my eyes again and images of a future with my sister flooded in. A weekend at the Saunders bar mitzvah in New York together: shopping, eating out, and visiting friends. And, of course, Leah finding true love.

Dahlia elbowed me but it was too late.

“Your phone.”

Mrs. Levine was towering over me. I let out a tiny gasp.

“You know the rules,” she said. “You
signed
a form indicating that you read the student handbook.”

Three girls at the next table turned around to check out the action. My shoulders slumped. “I won’t do it again,” I mumbled. “I forgot.”

“It’s rather
unfortunate
that you gave yourself permission to break school rules in such a brazen way.”

Silence rippled like waves around Mrs. Levine and rolled across the cafeteria. I gulped. “I’ll close it,” I said, as I quickly exited Matchmaven. “I’m really sorry.”

“If it happens again, I’ll confiscate it. For a month.”

She resumed her patrol of the cafeteria.

Dahlia was annoyed. “Everyone has phones. Why is she picking on you?”

“Now I can’t get anything done until after school.”

“No problem. You’ll come home with me and I’ll help you.”

chapter 22

A State of Esther

We set up camp on the Persian rug in Dahlia’s family room, surrounded by Nibs, Oreos, and ketchup chips, completely strung out on trans fats. Tonight Matchmaven had only one new message. It was from Esther, who’d become a bit of a pen pal. I know this sounds awful, but I found myself strangely compelled by the sadness of her life. It was like corresponding with a character in a tragic film. Her name on the email address was very cryptic, “Esther LLLevad.” She probably didn’t want anyone to know that she was doing this.

Dear Matchmaven,

I gather from your comments that you might be much younger than me? I never did, but I really do believe in second chances now. Life seemed so full of promise when I married — Lev was born in a displaced persons camp in Germany in 1945. His parents survived the Holocaust and moved to North America in 1948. They were extremely protective of him. After they objected to us moving to Minnesota, where Asher was offered an academic position, I vented to him. Unfortunately, his parents heard. They became so concerned about breaking up our marriage that they stopped visiting us, no matter how much we reassured them. His father had a tumour diagnosed six weeks after that. The family was devastated, and a month later Lev had the aneurysm.

I tried apologizing to his mother but she wouldn’t have anything to do with me anymore. I should never have given up. That’s the great regret of my life. I should have done everything in my power to make amends while I still had the opportunity.

All I have left of Lev are photographs, memories, and a beautiful necklace that he had designed especially for me: three rubies on a gold pendant in the shape of an elephant with my Hebrew name “Esther” engraved. The ancient Hebrew word for elephant, “Peel” comes from “pelah”: wonder. Finding each other filled us both with wonder.

Anyway, I’ve been doing all the talking. I know you don’t like to divulge any information about yourself, but I’d love to hear a bit about you.

Esther

It wasn’t just the tragedy in her letters, it was the regret. Knowing that all it takes is a few hours — even a few minutes. And then you’ve got decades of grief.

Esther had been alone almost her entire life and that sorrow came out in every sentence of her letters. I mean, I thought of my clients and the longing in their emails. It was probably a safe assumption that almost every one of those individuals had an image in their mind that kept them up at night, and drove them to continue dating, even after their hearts were broken by rejection, humiliation, and despair. And that image was ending up alone and lonely for the rest of their lives.

I’m pretty sure that image was Esther. Or maybe it was another image and this wasn’t the first time I’d encountered it, but it was possibly the first time I understood it. I cringed at the thought of the teacher that had wandered the halls of my old school, Maimonides, like a ghost. Mr. Sacks’s wife had died the year before I started Maimonides. When he taught my ninth grade chemistry class, he muttered, and had no energy. He shuffled across the halls like his soul was gone but his body still lingered. And his memory lapses were pretty bad. I cringed at how amusing we found them at the time. People had said Mr. Sacks hadn’t really survived his wife’s death.

Not every single person existed in a state of Esther. But Mr. Sacks did.

Esther desperately needed a partner and the answer to her loneliness came to me like a bolt of lightning.

Clearly I had to set her up with Mr. Sacks.

This was going to be a bit tricky. Just thinking about him made me queasy. How could I possibly approach the man? I had humiliated him.

He hated me.

And then there was Esther with her regret of a lifetime.

I had to fix them up.

Which was ridiculous.
He hated me
.

I cringed at the thought of how disgusted with me he must have been. I’d never even personally apologized to him. Those stupid, stupid emails I’d sent had resulted in the most humiliating expulsion from Maimonides and the final straw for my ex-future-brother-in-law. Maybe Ben had a point in wanting to have nothing to do with our family anymore. I’d gotten kicked out of school, but still my family had protected me, tried to shield me from the consequences of my choices. And when they did that for me, I’d shamed them even worse.