“If we were at a restaurant, another dessert would be an additional ten dollars. But at home it’s still from the same $4.99 pint”

“What’s this?”

Laibel fingered the pink slip of paper.

“What does it look like? A lottery ticket,” Zeidy said, reaching high to pinch his grandson’s cheek. “I follow the news. You kids are drowning in student debt, I figured this was the only way you’d make it out alive.”

Laibel chuckled, put the ticket back in the card, and passed it to Shira. “Zeidy’s graduation gift.”

Shira attempted a laugh, but it didn’t sound natural like her husband’s. “Thank you for coming, Zeidy, it means a lot to us,” she said graciously.

The old man looked up at his granddaughter-in-law. “It’s not every day my progeny graduates from NYU with an MBA. I’d feel important, but I don’t want to know how much your fancy piece of paper cost.”

Shira bristled. Laibel smiled easily and clapped his grandfather on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about us, Zeidy, we’ve got it all figured out.”

“Mazel tov, Laibel,” Shira said after dessert of their post-graduation celebratory dinner. Laibel was licking his spoon after scraping his ramekin clean. “Want more?” she offered. Laibel handed her his empty ramekin. Shira left to refill it and was back moments later.

“If we were at a restaurant, another dessert would be an additional ten dollars. But at home it’s still from the same $4.99 pint.”

Laibel gave her a lopsided smile. “Amazing.”

Shifra pointed to their empty plates. “Seventy-five bucks, tops — with leftovers in the kitchen. This would be close to $200 or more in a proper steakhouse.”

“For sure,” Laibel said, scooping sorbet into his mouth.

“And Mommy and Tatty gave us $400 to eat out in style — we’re totally ahead this month. Should we start paying off your student loans now? They’re not due yet, but it still accrues interest even if

you don’t have pay them yet.”

“Ah,” Laibel hesitated. “Let’s figure out what to do with our windfall later, let’s just celebrate now.”

“Sure,” Shira said. Her fingers twitched on the stem of the wine glass, but she changed the subject. “Some gag gift from Zeidy.”

“Yeah, he’s a funny guy.” Laibel laughed. Shira didn’t.

“I was a little offended,” she started. “Like you said, we have it under control. It’s like he doesn’t trust us or something.”

“Oh c’mon,” Laibel waved a hand. “He wasn’t thinking of us as us, but us as the young people he watches on the news.”

“Whatever.” Shira shrugged. “Maybe Zaidy should read Dave Ramsey’s book on financial peace and he’ll understand that we have a plan. ‘Live today like no one else, so you can live tomorrow like no one else,’ ” she quoted.

Laibel finished his sorbet. Shira sipped at her wine.

“I graduated. Can you believe it?” Laibel said after a quiet minute. They both broke into broad, genuine, disbelieving smiles. The tension of moments before dissipated in the joy of the moment, the knowledge that they had their whole lives ahead of them, no more droning professors or pointless group projects.

  

“Do you mind organizing your desk before Shabbos?” Shira asked Laibel, four weeks later. “It’s starting to creep over to my stuff.”

“Sure,” Laibel said, but inwardly he groaned. He examined the contents of his desk and started shuffling objects. He picked up his tallis bag. A thread from the embroidery was loose; Laibel tugged at it and the lamed of Laibel rapidly disappeared. Laibel frowned, then shrugged, it was ugly now but the bag was still functional. He moved it to the buffet. Back at his desk there were ten copies of his resume floating around. He gathered the extras and dumped them in the garbage. Next he shifted a manila envelope that held his transcripts. Underneath it was the envelope with Zeidy’s card. He paused to open the envelope. The pink lottery ticket slipped out and landed on his lap. Laibel smiled to himself. “Might as well check,” he mumbled. He looked around; Shira was in the kitchen. She’d just be annoyed seeing the ticket; it was the antithesis of who she was. Quick and easy was not her mantra.

The Mega Millions website was easy enough. The numbers of the last drawing flashed on the screen and right below was an option to check previous drawings. Laibel clicked, chose his date, then memorized the sequence on the screen and looked down at the slip on his desk. His stomach did a roller coaster drop. He brought the ticket close to his face and compared each number one by one. They all matched. Even the extra gold one at the end. He checked again. Then again.

He scrolled down to the prizes. The amounts depended on how many numbers matched, from just the gold, to two to three, the prize increasing with more matches. The lowest prize was $6, with over 200,000 winners. He looked up the Jackpot — it was $20 million. His eyes shifted to the column listing the number of winners. One. Him.

Laibel sat there, just looking at the screen, then at the ticket, then back at the screen, frozen in a loop.

“Laibel?” Shira called.

Shira. He should tell her. He hesitated. No, he should surprise her. He shuffled more paper into a single pile on his desk, making it look like he had organized them. Then he went to the kitchen to help his wife.

  

Friday brought Laibel to the lottery offices. It was a simple procedure, a lot of smiling and back-clapping, congratulations with some twinges of envy, but not too much — it was only twenty million before taxes, not like the drawing earlier in the month, which had been $522 million. Laibel had hoped for a money transfer that day, but the lottery officials laughed and said, “I’m sure ten days won’t make much of a difference.” Shira would have to wait. He picked up flowers and chocolate on the way home. That much he could do.

  