Playing With Matches (12 page)

Ilana and I looked at each other, our faces frozen in shock.

“Oh my god,” Ilana said in a horrified whisper. “Jonathan is fifty-eight years old.”

Ilana and I both shuddered.

She looked like she was going to throw up. “That is so gross.”

“What difference does it make?” the indignant voice echoed from the Porta-Potty. “You didn’t think I looked old.” The guy was twenty-five years older than her. What was he thinking?

“Let’s get out. I’ll spring for a taxi,” Ilana said as she rapped the rear windshield of the cab with her knuckles. “I think my obligation to Grandpops is over.”

The men agreed to let us off at the next gas station. Ilana called a taxi and we waited in the crisp autumn night.

“You won’t abandon me, will you,” she said quietly.

“But we’re both going home now.”

She shook her head but I knew what she meant. After I had blown tonight’s match so badly,
I
owed
her
. The taxi dropped me off at the Bernsteins’ where I unlocked the keypad and tiptoed into the dark vestibule.

The hall flooded with light. “Rain?” It was Leah. “Where were you?”

My mind raced. How on earth was I going to get out of this one? “Rain, what’s going on? It’s almost
midnight
.”

“I … I had to work on a project with someone in my class,” I said as I brushed a clump of grass from my skirt. “It was a social … studies project.”

She narrowed her eyes. “With who?”

“You don’t know the name,” I said as I edged past her and scurried upstairs to the safety of my bedroom.

chapter 14

The Red Sox Are Home

The next day I got back two failed quizzes: history and math. Matchmaven was definitely taking a toll on my life. After school I trudged into the kitchen where I found Bubby Bayla sitting at the table filling in a crossword puzzle. An envelope lay in front of her.

“This is yours, Rain,” she said, sipping from a mug that reeked of coffee substitute.

I grabbed the envelope, and looked down at my dad’s handwriting. The familiar scrawl was a flood of sunshine, coating me like caramel.

“Open it!” Bubby said.

This was one bored Bubby. “Can I have a second, please?” I said. I wanted to savour the angular handwriting before I tore it open.

Inside was a framed photo of me and my dad at a ball game from two years ago, with a short note tucked into the back.

Dear Rainy,

Since I can’t be there to watch the games with you, I convinced Mira to upgrade her cable package to get all the MLB sports stations. You’ll be able to watch the new Red Sox games in the spring as a reward for what I know is going to be a successful school year. In the meantime, you can catch some re-runs (after your homework and chores are done, of course) — there’s a great Ortiz game this Sunday. Enjoy and have a great week.

Love, Daddy

“So?” Bubby asked.

Technically I’ve lived most of my life in New England. If we weren’t living in Boston we spent a month every summer with my grandparents in Brookline, Massachusetts. We’d go to at least four ball games while we visited and more when we lived in Boston or Providence.

To me the Red Sox are home.

“My dad got me all the baseball channels,” I said, turning to leave. “There’s a classic David Ortiz game this Sunday.”

“Big deal.” Bubby snorted. “Players today are a bunch of overpaid children.”

I scooped up the envelope, ready to flee.

“They don’t make them like they used to,” she said.

“With all due respect, Bubby,” I said, “that cliché is
so
1950. Ortiz is one of the most talented hitters in the league.”

“With all due respect, young lady, if you never saw Ted Williams hit then you don’t know from talent.”

I paused.

“Believe you me,
that
was a player,” she said, rapping her clenched knuckles on the kitchen table with surprising geriatric energy.

Bubby Bayla?
The
Red Sox
?
I turned back to the kitchen.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Your butterballs are like midgets. I saw the Red Sox play in Fenway Park back in 1948. Now
that
was a team. Mickey McDermott pitched and Williams played.”

“Wow.” I dropped into a kitchen chair. “Fenway Park? But are you … from Boston?”

“Please,” she said. “Toronto. But back before the Blue Jays or the old Exhibition Stadium, I had the Sox.”

“But what about Uncle Eli?”

Her eyes squeezed shut and she clutched her chest, like she had angina.

“Are you okay?” I said, alarmed.

“You’re giving me a conniption,” she said breathlessly. Which I found both confusing and disturbing. I mean can you actually
give
someone a conniption? Were they contagious?

Do conniptions even exist?

Fortunately she opened her eyes and calmly took a sip of non-coffee. I breathed a sigh of relief that the conniption was over.

The wall clock ticked in the silent kitchen as a plan hatched in my head. “You know, the game is supposed to be a pretty exciting one.”

She shrugged.

I sighed and thought about my pathetically non-existent social life. Tamara and Jeremy and Dahlia Engel aside, of course. And Professor K.

“Would you like to watch the game with me?” It was an olive branch. And a very generous one on my part. Maybe old people were the only friends I could make at this point. I mean I did like knishes and seltzer, after all.

Bubby eyed me with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

“Nah.”

This was how low I’d sunk — I was being rejected by a cranky great-grandmother.

“But what if we got some snacks,” I said, zeroing in on Bubby’s weakness. “Maybe, you know, invite some other people. Who like the Red Sox.”

Yes, I admit it.
I was groveling.

“You’ll get some nice food? Maybe even some chips?” Bubby said. I swear she was eighty going on six.

“For sure,” I said. “It’ll be like a party.”

“Fine. Sunday night, when your aunt and uncle are at the wedding.” I was disappointed about having to wait five days to watch the game together but I thought better of arguing with her in case she changed her mind. At least it gave me something to look forward to. And considering the state of my social affairs, it was a big deal.

Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a matchmaker, but I’d planned some choice parties last year with Maya and Danielle. I decided to turn the Red Sox “party” into a geriatric extravaganza. I drew up a red-food themed menu that was salt-free and low in cholesterol.

Over the next few days I bought red plastic-ware and cut out large socks from red construction paper. It was the only break that I took from matchmaking. Aunt Mira was pleased that I was taking the initiative in looking after Bubby so she generously threw in thirty dollars for refreshments. This was progress; it was a new peak on the Mira frontier.

Leah even smiled at me a few times. Suddenly I wasn’t planning a party because I was lonely and bored. I was doing a good
deed
. For the
elderly
.

My mother called the next evening.

“Honey, I’m so proud of you. Aunt Mira told me that you’re making a lovely party for her mother-in-law’s friends.” I sank into the couch in the family room. Bubby wasn’t around, for a change.

“Actually,” I said. “I’m kind of charged about it. We’re going to watch a Red Sox game thanks to Daddy.”

“I’ve never really thought of Mrs. Bernstein as a baseball fan, but go figure,” Mom said.

“I guess Toronto is full of surprises.”

“Rain, are things going okay?” she said, which meant that news of the two failed quizzes hadn’t travelled across the ocean. “Are you meeting people?” Clearly she
had
been talking with Mira. I saw no reason why Professor K. or Bubby’s friends didn’t count. And the concern in my mother’s voice wasn’t hard to miss.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m fine,” I said, thinking of Dahlia. I guess you could say that one non-hostile conversation was the new companionship. And I now had Bubby’s crew to party with.

After all, what are six or seven decades between friends?

chapter 15

Five Full Days of Dread

I was a bit shaken up after Ilana and Jonathan’s dating debacle. Introducing Tamara and Jeremy had been so easy; I had no idea that matchmaking could be so complicated.

I briefly considered ending my illustrious matchmaking career, after eight distinguished days of service. But there was no way I was going to abandon Ilana after that horror-show date. And Leah needed even more help. On Monday I entered the kitchen in pursuit of licorice and I found Mira buttoning up her blazer.

“Leah, please come,” she said as she arranged her scarf. “Sheva Brand is such a fantastic speaker, I’m sure you’d enjoy her.”

“Is it … women only?” Leah said.

“One hundred percent,” Mira said with a knowing look. Leah was so terrified of running into Ben, she never left the house when she wasn’t at work or at school.

Leah stood at the bay window at the back of the kitchen, her fingers on the glass as she stared out at the park. “I don’t mind staying home, Aunt Mira,” she said in a soft voice. “I can start to cook for Shabbos.”

Which was
five
days away. Leah was a plant slowly dying of thirst.

“I’d love you to get out a bit,” Mira said.

“I’m fine. Really. I’m excited to try a new apple crisp recipe that I found on the internet.”

And no, she was not excited to try a new apple crisp recipe that she found on the internet.

Aunt Mira turned to me with a pleading look, but I was the last person that Leah would listen to right now. Leah was wasting away. More motivated than ever, I returned to my room and opened my Matchmaven email.

I simply
had
to find love for Leah.

Once again I threw schoolwork to the wind and ploughed through the emails again, more determined than ever. At 9 p.m. I finally settled on a date for Leah.

Daniel Sharfstein.

It’s true that he was jittery but Leah was kind and would put him at ease. He was thirty — an appropriate age for her. He was a runner — like Leah. He adored kids. Leah would love that.

Matchmaven had no problem selling Daniel to her. She was eager to date and apparently nobody was fixing her up.

Daniel requested a Sunday night date, which happened to coincide with Mira and Eli going out to the wedding as well as my fabulous Red Sox party. Everything had to be carefully choreographed after Leah took stock of my party decorations and begged Mira and Eli to make me wait until after Daniel had picked her up before setting up for the Red Sox party. No problem there. I wanted Leah to be as calm and positive as possible for her date with Daniel. And besides, Mira was insistent that I catch up on all of my homework before setting up for the party.

The date was less than a week away. So while I ran around buying red streamers and special snacks, Leah and Daniel were able to enjoy five full days of dread and self-doubt. I spent the better part of Tuesday night on Professor Kellman’s computer instant messaging Daniel with details about the date. The more Daniel’s composure deteriorated, the greater my sense of unease grew. He agonized over what to wear, where to take Leah, and what to talk about. One thing he knew for sure was that he was going to take more than one set of spare clothes to discreetly change into if the sweating got out of control.

What was I thinking?

Even Leah needed to be coaxed.

Leah:
I’m going to be honest, Maven. My confidence is pretty shaky now.

Matchmaven:
You’re a beautiful, smart, and kind woman.

Leah:
I appreciate the compliment, but you don’t really know that.