Young Jane Young(17)

“The scandal with Aviva. It’s no good for us.”

“But, Rabbi,” I said, “I am not the one in a scandal. It’s my daughter, and she is an adult, a human being separate from myself. I cannot control what she does.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I agree with you. It’s not Aviva’s affair, it’s the fund-raiser that’s the problem. The board felt that you compromised yourself by advocating for the fund-raiser with the congressman last year. It has the appearance of impropriety.”

“I didn’t know about the affair!” I said. “And I had nothing to do with the fund-raiser. You must remember. I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

“I do remember and I believe you, Rachel. I believe you. It’s how it looks.”

“I’ve given twelve years of my life to this school,” I said.

“I know,” said the rabbi. “It’s a rotten business. We want to make it as copacetic an exit as possible. You could say you’re resigning to spend more time with family. Everyone would understand that, the year you’ve had.”

“I won’t say that!” I said. “I will not lie!” I had half a hamantaschen left, and I was considering throwing it at the rabbi. Last year, that Fischer idiot threw a black-and-white cookie at me, and I started to wonder if every principal exited this school with a ceremonial baked good fling.

“Is something funny?” the rabbi asked.

“Everything’s funny,” I said.

“Well, sleep on it.”

“I don’t need to sleep on it.”

“Sleep on it, Rachel. No one wants to fire you. No one wants another scandal. If you resign, you can still find work somewhere else.”



I slept on it. I resigned.



After I packed up my desk, I drove across town to a dumpy pink apartment building on Camino Real. I rang the bell for M. Choi. The woman’s voice asked who it was, and I said it was a delivery, and the woman said she wasn’t expecting a delivery, and I said it’s flowers, and the woman said who are the flowers from? And I said they’re from Dr. Grossman. The woman buzzed me in.

I climbed the stairs, and M. Choi had the door open. She was still wearing her nurse’s uniform, not a sexy costume one – blue scrubs with a neon geometric pattern.

My husband’s mistress said, “Hello, Rachel. I guess Mike didn’t send me flowers.”

I said, “Mike’s not a flower guy.”

“No,” she said.

I said, “I got fired today.”

She said, “I’m sorry.”

I said, “It’s been a rotten year.”

She said, “I’m sorry for everything. For Aviva. And for everything.”

“I don’t want an apology,” I said. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Do you want a cup of tea?” she said.

“No,” I said.

“I’m making one for myself. The water’s already on. It won’t be a moment. Have a seat,” she said. She went into the kitchen, and I poked around her living room. She had pictures of her family, pictures of a cat and then a different cat. She had one picture of Mike, but it was a group photo with her and the other people who worked in Mike’s practice. Mike wasn’t even standing next to her. I was still looking at the photo when she returned with the tea. I set the frame back on the mantel, though I know she saw me looking at it.

“Do you take sugar?” she asked. “Milk?”

“No,” I said. “Plain.”

“I like a touch of sweetness,” she said.

“I like my sugar in dessert,” I said, “but I try to avoid it everywhere else.”

“You’re so trim,” she said.

“I work for it,” I said. “Inside me, there is an angry fat woman.”

“How do you fit her in there?” the mistress asked me.

“You’re funny,” I said. “I hadn’t expected you to be funny.”

“Why?” she said.

“Because I’m funny,” I said. “If he wanted funny, he could have stayed home.”

“I don’t think I was always funny,” she said. “I was too in awe of him to be funny.”

“In awe of Mike? That is funny,” I said.

“When it started, I was only twenty-five, and he seemed so powerful and accomplished. I was amazed that he could take an interest in me.”

“How old are you now?” I said.

“Forty in March,” she said. “Take out the bag. The tea gets bitter if it oversteeps.”

I did as I was told. “Fifteen years,” I said.

“A tea bag left to steep for fifteen years will definitely make bitter tea,” she said.

“I meant, that’s how long you’ve been with Mike.”

“I knew what you meant. I feel terrible half the time and the other half of the time, I wonder where my life has gone,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “But you’re still young.”

“I am,” she said. “Relatively. Or at least I’m in the middle.” She took a long look at me. “You are, too.”

“Don’t be condescending,” I said.