The Shiksa Syndrome: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

won’t call. He didn’t ask for her card. Besides, his eyes connect with mine. I smile.
    “Talk soon, Josh,” the girl finishes with Someone. Then, yes, the girl walks away.
    Josh. Nice name. Nice eyes. Nice smile.
    I take a big breath before my next big step. Josh’s eyes are on me, but then a female hand is on his shoulder and . . . he turns. He turns?
What?
I see their banter begin.
    A shark only at work, I cannot stand here and wait to go in for the kill. I’m not good at this. If it’s
bashert
, we’ll catch up later. That thought extreme, I feel disappointed Josh doesn’t break away to approach me. Forget it. I head back to Krista’s clique. Fortunately, GQ is still there. When I grow close, he makes a space to invite me in. Not wanting the night to be a total bust, I regroup.
    “So did you go away for the holidays?” I ask him.
    “Four days in Jamaica, nothing big,” he says. “What did Krista do?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “She’s totally my type, but I can’t get near her. I’ve been hanging out waiting for you. Can you put in a good word for me?” GQ hands over his business card. Too mortified to look up, I look down. Merrill Lynch. Investment Banker.
    Eyes glued to the floor, my head does not move. As if an egg’s been cracked on top of it, I feel it slowly drip and cover me in gunk. Coming down here tonight, I was concerned Krista might feel awkward. However, I feel like the interloper.
    Once certain GQ is gone, I force my eyes up. They see Krista. She looks like an actress in a film. Her hair cascades over her bare shoulders. Her head falls back as she laughs. Are any of those guys even that funny? I watch her hand a card over to one admirer while she catches the eye of another. Krista can take care of herself just fine.
    I wave my hand to get her attention. This time I do. Like a performer in a silent movie, I mime to show I am suffering from a headache. I stretch my hand so my forefinger points into my ear, my pinky down toward my mouth. Then I point my thumb back to show I’m soon gone. The moment Krista winks, I am.

S tonewalled
    Y
IT-GA-DAL ve-yit-kadash she-mei ra-ba.”
    Maddie holds a card with the Mourner’s Kaddish printed on it and reads the transliteration aloud. I bring my own siddur to read in Hebrew. She sounds the words out slowly, stopping whenever she has trouble. It is often. I step to the side of my mother so I can honor my grandpa Jack my own way.
    “ Ye-hei she-mei ra-ba me-va-rach, le-a-lam u-le-al-mei-al-ma-ya,”
I recite. I read Hebrew well. It rolls off my tongue, and I like the feel of the words.
    Today marks ten years my grandpa is gone. Still alive, he’d be a hundred. He died the day after my twenty-ninth birthday, if it’s not bad enough having a birthday on Groundhog Day. For the longest time, it cast a dark shadow on my day. I got past it. But not this year. I don’t want to come out of hibernation.
    It’s been weeks, but I’m still far from up after going to DOWN. Krista, however, is having the time of her life. She gets at least one great date out of every awful event. I’m not sure if there’s a front-runner yet. It’s hard to keep track. Tonight’s a Jewish singles wine tasting, and she wants me to go. I don’t think so. Krista can’t wait. For Krista, a kosher wine tasting can become cooler than one of those beer commercials where all the beautiful people cavort on the beach.
    My parents took me out last night, a birthday dinner and a show. I slept at their apartment with the plan to come to New Montefiore today. Way out on Long Island, the cemetery’s a big ride from Manhattan. One my mother never wants to do alone.
    “O-seh sha-lom bim-ro-mav, hu ya-a-seh sha-lom alei-nu, Ve-al kol Yis-ra-eil, ve-i-me-ru: a-mein.”
    Finished, I search the lawn for a nice stone to put on his grave. I get one for my grandma Frieda’s too. I wish I’d had her longer.
    “ YE-HEI . . . SHA-SHI-SHE-LA . . . M . . . MA-RA-BA.”
    My mom struggles but