“Leave me out of your cult, I told her, and I shut her out of my life. We’d been real close before, and she’d ruined it”

On a whim — okay, possibly because I had some steam to let off — I decided to take the seven flights of stairs instead of the elevator after work.

What was Tamar thinking? Howard, when all the men in my life were Yanky-Moishy-Chaim-Sruli?

Only when I reached the building’s exit, still fuming, did I realized: I’d left my umbrella upstairs. Now what?

I couldn’t leave without an umbrella. It was pouring, and I’d just had this sheitel done. But going back to the office meant facing Tamar again, and I wasn’t facing Tamar again, ever.

She knew, I thought miserably as I jabbed my finger to summon the elevator. She knew, and that was the problem. She heard all my grousing about the ridiculous suggestions I was getting now that there was a sheitel on my head but no ring on my finger. I kept her updated about every lunatic’s résumé I got. The thrice-divorced guy, the fire juggler, the vegan father of seven, Make the sure the girl knows this, she’ll be cooking my meals after all.

And still. Still, she walks over to my desk, nonchalantly, like she’s reminding me to send an email, and suggests Howard, her neighbor’s cousin from Louisiana, training to become a commercial pilot, we can date in the air, what do you say to that?

“Can you forget all the technical details of his life for a minute and listen to me?” Tamar all but barked when she caught me slinking back into our office.

“Flight to catch,” I muttered.

“Goldie, stop. I’m serious. Listen.”

“I’m listening.” I grabbed my umbrella and held it in front of me like a mic. “Introducing! For the very first time! Goldie… and Howard… what-did-you-say-his-last-name-is?”

“Klein.”

“Klein?”

“What’s wrong with Klein?”

“How does Pilot Howard from Louisiana land such an ordinary, innocent, Jewish-sounding name?” I spun my umbrella. “I’m sure he at least spells it weird and different, like C-l-y-n?”

Tamar ignored me. “He’s in New York now.”

“I’m elated.”

She stood up. “Goldie.”

“Yesss?”

“You’re acting like a two-year-old. Nobody is telling you to marry this guy. I know you, and I met Howard when I helped my neighbor set up for her son’s bar mitzvah kiddush. He came over to help, too, and I heard him talk. I watched him closely. There’s something about him. A sense of vitality. An easiness, a truthfulness, a… I don’t know how to describe it, a kind of spirit you can’t help liking.”

I didn’t respond.

“He does Daf Yomi,” Tamar continued. “He was just mesayem Shas.”

“Yay.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you cared about learning.”

“I do. Give me a Hershy who learns, watch me care.”

“Howard’s Hebrew name is Tzvi. Hershel.”

I snorted.

“You’re so stubborn, I could cry.”

I’d had enough. I turned to the door.

Tamar grabbed my shoulder. “Look, Goldie,” she said. “I need to be honest with you. The bar mitzvah is on Thursday, and after Shabbos, he goes back to Louisiana. I already told him about you. He’s waiting for an answer. What should I tell him?”

My fingers stiffened around the doorknob. Slowly, I turned back to Tamar.

“Tell him to have a safe flight.”