Love You a Latke

Chapter 6

6

I couldn’t sleep that night. That wasn’t unusual for me; typically, I’d get up and do some invoices or something else really boring for a bit, which would lull me to rest.

Tonight was different. It was Seth’s words bouncing around in my skull, the echo a total distortion of his voice. Have you been to New York before? You clearly haven’t met my parents, who are maybe the most welcoming people in the world.

My parents. New York.

I’d spent the first five years of my life in the city proper, and then we’d moved to Riverdale in the Bronx after that in search of more space for less money. My life didn’t change all that much, though. The community around me was just as Jewish, and I could take the 1 train into the city anytime I wanted.

For all I knew, my parents were still there. Maybe Seth’s were in Riverdale, too. I hadn’t thought to ask specifically where they lived. If they were in the same neighborhood, if there was the chance I might round a corner and walk into my mom or my dad, I’d have to say no.

They definitely weren’t dead. I googled their names plus “obituary” every so often, just to check.

Connor had never understood my relationship—or lack thereof—with my parents. “They’re your mom and dad,” he’d say every so often when questioning why he’d never met them or why they didn’t call on my birthday. “Even if you guys don’t get along, doesn’t that still matter? Shouldn’t you at least talk to one another?”

He didn’t get it. Nobody with loving, supportive parents could get it, I think. At first I tried to be patient with him, understanding that he was looking at us through the lens of his own parental relationships (great and great), and feeling sad that I didn’t have what he had. And then I got sick of trying to be patient and started snapping at him. Stop it. My life is better without them. Don’t ask me about them again.

I couldn’t tell him the exact reasons why—they were the ones who’d taught me that. I didn’t think it would matter if I did, anyway. I could picture his response. That doesn’t sound so bad. It’s not like we have to live next door to them or talk to them every day or anything. They’re still your parents, though. Doesn’t that mean something?

The only response I could picture to that was strangling him, so I figured it was better for both of us just to stay off the topic.

Sometimes I wished I could capture for him the expressions on their faces the last time my parents and I saw each other. Frozen sneers. The last time I showed up at their door, my mom greeted me with an icy expression like I was a stranger. Which would have been preferable to being her child, probably. She’d always treated strangers better than she treated me.

But by then I had an excuse to move away. I was dating Connor, and he’d expressed how much he wanted to move back up to Vermont now that he was able to work remotely. So I just went with him, and I never went back.

It hadn’t been running away. It had been running to something. If I had been running away, it would have been totally different. So what if I was nervous about going back? Anyone would be in this situation.

I rolled over. My stomach sloshed with the movement. My head was starting to throb, a full-on Category 4. There was no way I was going to fall asleep tonight, not when the prospect of running into my parents when I least expected it was floating around in my subconscious. And regular conscious.

I reached for my phone. The time blinked at me, making me squint. 12:30 am . Only five more hours until I had to get up to open the café. Great. Like I wasn’t exhausted enough.

Seth and I had exchanged numbers before meeting up at the bar, which meant I was able to shoot him a text before I could think it through. He was definitely sleeping, but maybe if I got the question out of my head, it would give me enough peace to sleep. Where do your parents live?

The three dots appeared immediately. So he was up. Surprising. It struck me that, even after spending two hours together, I had no idea what he did for a living. Maybe he did something that didn’t start until later in the day, though I immediately pushed that idea aside, since he was in the café every morning. In the city. I told you.

I know in the city , I said, tapping each letter hard, like I might be able to communicate impatience through the screen. Where in the city? The city’s a big place.

Upper West Side. In the 80s near Riverside Park , he said. Is that specific enough for you?

They lived along the same train line as my parents, then, but an hour south. We probably wouldn’t run into each other, judging by simple proximity. What synagogue do they go to?

He messaged back a congregation I vaguely recognized, and googled to find it was Conservative. My parents were Reform and went to a Reform synagogue. So they probably didn’t have an overlap in their friend groups, because they would have found their friends and community through their synagogues and the local Jewish Community Centers.

It seemed like it would be safe. To go. If I wanted to.

I messaged him, Thanks . And then, because I was curious, What are you still doing up?

Big work project due tomorrow , he said back. I work best last minute. What are you still doing up?

Should I ask him what he did? No. He probably told me earlier and I forgot it, and he’d be insulted now if I asked. Obviously, I couldn’t tell him why I was actually up right now, either. It was easier—safer—not to share the parts of yourself that could hurt you. If my parents had taught me anything, it was that. Just finishing some stuff up for the café. Which, if I really was going to be beset by insomnia, I should probably actually do. No sense in just lying here wasting time when I could be doing something productive. The grind never stops.

At least you have good coffee to help you out , he replied. At this hour, I only have the swill I can brew myself.

Please tell me it’s not instant coffee.

I won’t tell you, then.

I wrinkled my nose. Café owner or not, I didn’t think of myself as a coffee snob. If mediocre coffee made you happy, then you do you. But instant coffee? That was a step too far. That was straight-up embarrassing, and I’d stand by that in a court of law, if anyone ever took me to court for blaspheming the terrible name of instant coffee. Wow. I can’t believe I let myself be seen with you in public.

Please don’t ban me from the café.

It’s tempting. My fingers went on without input from my brain, Don’t worry, I can hook you up with some good beans—

No. What? Backspace. What I said instead: I’ll go with you to New York. For the sake of the festival.

For the sake of the festival! he wrote back. Don’t worry. It’ll be fun.

I hoped he was right. My eyelids were finally getting heavy. I set my phone back on my nightstand, laid my head on my pillow, and fell off into a deep, dreamless sleep.