Since You Left Me (18 page)

They wouldn’t believe it.

“Next guest,” the barista says.

I usually order a mocha latte if Mom isn’t around, a decaf organic soy fair trade latte if she’s watching. She hates that I like coffee, but I can drink it in front of her as long as I transform it into something politically correct that tastes bad.

“What can we get you today?” the barista says. She’s got on a starchy Starbucks apron and a hat adorned with multiple pins.

I say, “Do you have anything Indian?”

“You mean Native American. We don’t say Indian anymore.”

“We do if we mean something from India.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay to say. But I don’t think we have coffee from India.”

“Do you have anything?”

“You mean like chai?”

“Right. That’s what I mean.”

“Grande chai latte,” the barista says, writing it on the side of a cup. “And what’s your name?”

“Sanskrit.”

“Say again.”

“Sanskrit. Like the language.”

“Oh,” she says. “No wonder you ordered the chai.”

She passes my cup down to the coffee prep area, and I follow it.

“Grande chai latte for … Sanskrit,” a barista calls. Then he chuckles.

“Good one, dude,” he says, and passes me the drink. He’s got a long beard braided with a red ribbon at the bottom.

“Do I need to do anything to it?” I say.

“Like what? Buy it a birthday gift?”

“No, like put sugar in it.”

“It’s already sweet.”

“I’ve never had one before.”

“Drink it, dude. Live a little.”

I sit down at a table by the window. I take a sip of the chai. It’s spicy, creamy, and sweet at the same time. I take another sip.

I look out the window at traffic moving down San Vicente. I imagine I’m in a café in India watching traffic on a street in Mumbai.

I try to wrap my head around the idea. Mom, me, and the guru in India together.

A text chimes on my phone. It’s Sweet Caroline.

wht hpnd w/ guru?

A wave of guilt hits me. How can I even think of leaving Sweet Caroline here alone?

But then I remember she hates spicy food. She hates most food, except chocolate. She also hates being dirty. I don’t know much about India, but I know there’s lots of spices and dirt. That would be like two strikes for her.

I decide that Sweet Caroline would be miserable in India, but she wouldn’t be miserable here. It’s true that Dad is irresponsible, but one extra person at his place wouldn’t be so bad. Dad would take her to See’s Candies and call her Sweet McGeet a hundred times a day.

She might even be happier.

I text her back:

tell u later

Because I need some time to think this over.

Just then, Talya Stein and Melissa Rabinowitz sit down outside the window. They’re both friends of The Initials. Their table is maybe twelve inches from mine, only on the other side of the glass. I’m trying to ignore them, but they’re too close. Melissa does that thing where she takes her long skirt and tucks it between her legs so it’s out of the way. She’s wearing tights underneath with a speckled pattern, colored dots traveling up and down her legs. I peek through the window a few times. For some reason, they haven’t noticed me. Or maybe they have, and they just don’t care.

I go back to my chai, then a shadow passes across the window. The Initials sits down.

Judi. She’s not The Initials anymore. Just Judi.

She’s in the seat right next to mine on the other side of the window. If we were at the same table, we’d be sitting next to each other.

I glance at her, but she doesn’t see me. It’s like I’m invisible, even though there’s only a pane of glass between us.

I take a slug of chai. The spice hits my tongue, and it wakes me up. It was the old Sanskrit who looks at
girls through windows and does nothing. What about this Sanskrit? The one who calls The Initials by her real name?

This Sanskrit knocks on the window.

That’s what I do now. I tap. The girls are startled. They peer into the window. It’s sunny out, so the reflection must make it hard to see inside. It occurs to me that they weren’t ignoring me. They really couldn’t see me.

Judi presses her face to the window and cups her hands around her eyes like she’s looking through binoculars.

“Sanskrit!” she says through the glass.

She says something to the girls, then hops up from her seat, takes her backpack and coffee, and comes into Starbucks.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” she says.

“I can’t believe it’s me either,” I say.

Judi laughs. I made Judi laugh!

“I need to talk to you,” she says.

“I need to talk to you, too,” I say.

She doesn’t laugh that time. Bummer. For a second I thought I was going to repeat everything she said, and she would love it. Now I see it’s going to be more complicated than that.

“This is perfect timing,” Judi says. “I mean, if you’re not in the middle of something.”

“I’m not. Well, I am. But I’m just thinking about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Long story.”

“Can I ask you about your mother?”

“My mother?” I say, a little disappointed.

“If it’s not too painful,” Judi says. “I just need a little background. So we can write an introduction and everything.”

Judi puts a hand on my forearm.

“Of course,” I say. I’m hoping she’ll keep her hand on my arm, or even move it up to my shoulders, but she doesn’t. She sits across from me and takes a pad out of her backpack. She taps a quick text into her phone, then puts it into her bag and directs all her focus towards me.

“Tell me about her,” Judi says.

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what she likes.”

“She likes yoga. And tofu. And music with chanting.”

“I thought you were Jewish.”

“We are. But you can be Jewish and do yoga.”

“Right, but the chanting? What’s that?”

“It’s nondenominational chanting.”

“Are you sure it isn’t Buddhism or something like that?”

“Mom doesn’t belong to any particular religion. She dabbles.”

“Okay, let’s change the subject,” Judi says. She
clicks the pen and scribbles on her pad. “I’m going to say that your mom has a lot of interesting hobbies and she likes to exercise.”

“That’s true,” I say.

“Does she have any cool expressions? Like, if she was a sports team, what would her motto be?”

“Eat healthy.”

“That’s not really a motto.”

Eat healthy so you can poop well
. That’s Mom’s real motto. But I’m not telling Judi.

I say, “I just remembered Mom’s favorite expression:
Whoever saves one life, saves the entire world.”

Mom doesn’t even know that expression, but I remember it from a B-Jew screening of
Schindler’s List
this year.

“That’s a beautiful one,” Judi says. “From the Talmud.”

Judi writes a few things, then puts the pad down. “This is just so weird talking to you,” she says. “I’m weird?”

“I mean like weirdly familiar.”

“How can it be familiar? We haven’t talked since second grade.”

“So you do remember!” she says.

“Sort of. It’s a blur.”

She crosses her legs under her long skirt.

“Maybe it’s not the time,” she says.

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“We’re here,” she says. She looks out the window.

Talya and Melissa are gone. We’re alone.

Not alone. Together.

We’re together again. I dreamed about this so many times over the years, but now that it’s happening, it feels fake.

“To be honest, second grade was a tough time for me,” Judi says.

“You didn’t seem like you were having a tough time,” I say.

“I was only seven. How can anything be tough at seven, right?”

I think about my second grade. Tough.

“No, I get it,” I say. “But what was tough about it for you?”

“We had that mean teacher. What was her name?”

“Ms. Shine.”

“Right. She was so intense. She gave us, like, two hours of homework, even though we were supposed to have thirty minutes. I got a migraine my first day of second grade,” Judi says.

“I didn’t know that.”

“It was from stress. I used to get them when I was younger.”

“Not now?”

“They’re rare now. Maybe I grew out of them. I hope so.”

“But back then you had them.”

“Yeah, I think I was scared my first day. I would have left the class, but you were so nice to me.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“It really is a blur for you, huh? Do you remember you sharpened my pencil?”

“I would never sharpen a girl’s pencil.”

“Now you wouldn’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. You kind of—do your own thing.”

“Maybe I’m shy.”

“You don’t seem shy this moment.” I smile and she smiles back.

“So tell me about the first day of second grade,” I say.

“Okay. I broke a pencil, and I was about to get up when you reached over and asked me if you could sharpen it for me.”

“No way.”

“Then you took my whole pencil case up to the electric sharpener.”

“That’s so embarrassing.”

“You took them out one by one, and you were just sawing away at the things for, like, ten minutes. Ms. Shine finally said, ‘Are you going to be a lumberjack, Mr. Zuckerman?’ and everyone laughed.”

I’m watching her as she tells the story, and even though I don’t remember it exactly, something about it sounds right, like a picture slowly coming into focus.

“The whole class laughed at me? Great, I looked like a jerk on my first day.”

“I didn’t laugh, Sanskrit. I was grateful that you helped me.” Judi pulls her backpack onto her lap and hugs it to her. “I remember that day really well,” she says, “because it was the only thing that made me want to come back to school the next day.”

I take a sip from my cup and the taste of India fills my mouth.

India. I was actually considering the idea a few minutes ago. But everything feels different now that Judi and I are talking. Now that there’s a chance for us.

“I remember something about second grade,” I say.

“What?”

“Valentine’s week.”

I’m about to tell her it was the greatest week of my life, when I see her face has gone pale. She bites at her thumbnail.

“What’s wrong?” I say.

Before she can answer, Barry Goldwasser walks up. “I turn my back for one minute,” he says, “and Zuckerman slides in like a snake in the garden.”

“You’re crazy,” Judi says.

“How is my beauty?” he says to Judi. He looks around the room. “Have the
frummers
left the building?”

“All clear,” she says.

I’m wondreing why he would care if any religious
people are around when he leans over and kisses her.

Barry claps me on the shoulder like nothing just happened. His voice turns serious. “How are you doing, buddy? For real.”

I can’t speak.

“Judi’s been giving you the third degree, huh?” he says. “I know, she sent me a text.”

He pulls up a chair, straddles it backwards, and leans towards me, his arms crossed along the back edge.

I’m stunned. I can’t stop thinking about the kiss.

I say, “Are you two—”

“Together?” Barry says. He smiles.

“We keep it low key,” Judi says. “You understand.”

“Of course.”

“Back to business,” Barry says.

“I don’t want you to worry about this event,” he says. “We’re taking care of everything. God willing, your mother will be restored to health and back to you soon.”

“God willing,” I say.

“In the meantime, we do what we can.”

He takes the pad out of Judi’s hands and starts to read.

“Interesting. Who’s doing the intro?” he says.

“It’s up to Sanskrit.”

“What’s up to me?”

“The dean is going to make a speech,” Judi says, “but one of us should introduce you. To show that the students are behind you.”

“Happy to do it,” Barry says. “In fact, I’d be honored.”

“You kind of always do it,” Judi says.

“Sorry if I’m the president and I have responsibilities,” Barry says.

“I don’t want to get into this again,” she says.

“That’s convenient,” Barry says. He looks at me and rolls his eyes like we’re in on it together. Boys vs. girls. It’s the same thing Dad does when he’s arguing with Mom.

“Do we have to fight in front of Sanskrit?” Judi says. “He’s got enough on his mind.”

Barry backs down.

“You are so right,” he says. “Apologies all around. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let me be a mensch here. It’s up to you, Sanskrit. Whoever you’re comfortable with.”

I want to hurt Judi by choosing Barry. I want to hurt Barry by choosing Judi. I want to hurt both of them by canceling the whole event.

Or I could just tell the truth. Do it right now, fast, like dropping a guillotine.

I imagine their faces when I tell them I made the whole thing up.

Barry has his hand on Judi’s back. He’s stroking her
slowly as the two of them wait for me to make a decision about who should give the speech.

I look from Barry to Judi.

Not Judi anymore. Not my Judi. Someone else’s.

The Initials. I want to call her The Initials again. It was a mistake to switch back to her name.

“I want her to do the introduction,” I say.

The Initials looks happy. I’m expecting Barry to be upset, but he goes into Barry mode, giving my shoulder a friendly clench.

“Good choice,” he says. “This event is going to be so special. I’m very happy about all of this.”

“Me, too,” I say. “I’m happy, too.”

“I’m miserable.”

That’s what I tell Crystal when she asks me how I’m doing.

She leans across the reception desk at the Center and says, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”

I almost tell her everything. How the guru invited me to go to India, how it seemed like a crazy idea. But that was before. Before I knew Judi had a boyfriend.

Now leaving the country seems like a great idea.

I’m not saying I’m going, but I really want to talk to the guru about it.