Page 37
When Abe had asked me what I wanted to do on Sunday, I’d immediately told him I wanted to go see my grandparents’ old apartment. It had been sitting in the back of my head for a few weeks now, but I didn’t have the guts to go by myself. I wasn’t sure why not; perhaps I was afraid it would be a letdown, to just stare at a building, and I wanted someone there to pick me up.
I’d half-expected Abe to tell me that wasn’t a real date, but he agreed instantly. It wasn’t a date, really, but I wanted him there. I wanted my best friend.
It took a minute to locate the exact building. The numbers didn’t work in an orderly fashion, but skipped by twos and tens sometimes ate up whole dozens. Finally, my eyes landed on 712B.
I stood back to take it in. It looked much like all the other buildings on the street: small, brown and cramped. A small Laundromat filled the ground floor, and I wondered if it had been there when my grandparents had. Probably not.
Abe stopped beside me, tilting his head up. “So this is it?”
“Yeah. ” I peered up at the third-floor windows and pointed my finger. “That’s where they lived. ”
We stared up at the dark glass. I tried to imagine my grandparents peeking back out at us. They’d been younger than I was when they moved here—twenty-one and twenty-two. “What a strange life. ”
He nodded. “Want to see if we can go inside?”
I glanced at the door. “Not really. I just wanted to. . . ground the stories. It’s weird how by the time they were our age. . . They were just kids, you know?”
He took my hand. “I know. ”
“I’d like to go to Wroclaw. Though that sounds silly—what would I do, stare at the building where the chocolate shop used to be? That would take ten seconds. ”
He shook his head. “It makes sense. ” He hesitated, and then said with sweetness and sincerity, “I’d go with you. ”
I squeezed his hand. “I’d like that. ” Another beat of silence passed. “When I was little, I used to think their whole story was so romantic. Love. War. Paris and New York. But it’s not romantic or glamorous. It’s just sad. ”
Abe nodded. His dad’s parents and Abe’s maternal grandfather had all grown up in California, from families that had lived there since the early 1900s. But his mom’s mom, Grandma Lewinski, had only come over after the war. She’d been an orphaned teenager, and had been separated from her sister and brother as they were all sent to live with distant relatives all over the country. She didn’t speak English and didn’t know the people she lived with, and there was nothing romantic about that. “I know. ”
It was petty, cowardly people who ruined a generation in their quest for power.
We stood there another minute before both of us slowly noticed a family of four hovering in our peripheral vision. Abe glanced at me, and I inclined my chin a tiny bit.
He opened up his body language, and the family was on us in seconds. They were all tall and slim and smiling nervously. Tourists. Tourist Dad had a trim goatee and stepped forward. “Aren’t you Abe Krasner?”
Abe grinned. “Yes, sir. ”
The man fumbled in his pocket for his camera. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. ”
Tourist Dad held out his camera to me.
Oh, I saw how it was. I bit back a smirk. A guy in the door of the Laundromat shook his head, his handlebar mustache shaking. My smirk tried to surface even more. Locals disapproved when tourists assaulted their celebrities.
I took several shots of the whole family with Abe, and then the two daughters. Tourist Dad was clearly psyched beyond belief, and so was Tourist Daughter 1, but Daughter 2 looked like she just wanted to get back to Angry Birds.
“Thank you so much,” Tourist Dad gushed at the end. Tourist Mom looked like she was trying to resist smirking.
Abe laughed, and then he extended his own phone. “You mind?”
Tourist Dad looked like he might pee himself, and he turned and angled the phone like he’d been Ansel Adams in a past life. I was so busy watching the man that Abe took me by surprise when he swept me off my feet and cradled me against his chest.
I caught my breath and threw my arms around his neck for balance. I felt weightless and airy, and Abe’s face was very, very close. “What are you doing?”
He grinned down at me. “Re-creating your grandma’s photo. ”
I wasn’t surprised he’d seen the picture. “We’re missing the veil and too small suit. ”
“Shh. Smile for the camera. ”
We did, and I couldn’t help the happy leap within me as we posed. Abe spun me about, my skirt flaring dramatically. Tourist Family oohed and ahhed like we were the ending of their Broadway show. Even Handlebar Mustache cracked a smile.
Afterward, we sat in a small café drinking hot tea. I watched him, studying the square of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes, the way his hair just slightly curled over his ears. Studying beyond that. “I was thinking. ”
“About?”
“I think you should take classes. ”
He looked puzzled. “What?”
I glanced down at my tea, slightly embarrassed. “You just sounded. . . I don’t know, slightly despondent the other day. Like you wish you had your BA. ”
He swallowed, and now it was his turn to look into his tea like he could read the leaves.
I leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. You know that, right? It just matters if you want it. ”
“It seems like too much,” he told his tea. “Professional football and endorsements and now I think I can take classes too?”
His words were doubtful. He sounded like he wanted to, and just didn’t know how. “Hey. ” I nudged his foot until he looked at me. “You were always great at football. But you were always great at everything. ”
He cracked a smile. “You always believed in me too much. ”
“You don’t believe in yourself enough. ” I paused. “You know, when we first met, I thought you were going to be an astronaut. ”
Surprise crossed his face. “You did not. ”
I leaned back. “Did too. Thought you’d go to the moon. Bring me back a moonstone. ”
He grinned at that, but then shook his head. “When would I even have time?”
“Off season,” I said promptly. “Abe, just—don’t do something just because you think you’re supposed to. ”
He fiddled with his drink. “Maybe you’re right. ”
“I’d help you figure it out, if you wanted. ”
He nodded. For a moment he stared out at the gray clouds, and then he switched his gaze to me, bright and fierce and straight. “Look. What page are we on?”
“I don’t know. What book are we reading?”
“The Book of Abraham and Tamar. ”
“Ah, that one. ” I nodded several times. “I think I missed that day in Hebrew school. Caught the Abraham half. Douchy bit with the attempted filicide. ”
His lips twitched, and he caught my hand, as though that would keep me still. It did impart some calm, actually. “Tamar. ”
“Yes?”
“You realize we’re dating. ”
I gnawed on my lip.
“You can’t eat your lip. ”