The Matchmaker's Gift(94)
Images of a melted Rumpelmayer’s sundae flashed through Abby’s brain—she saw her father’s ice-cream soda and the cheap, silver, heart-shaped lockets he had once offered his daughters as his first bribe.
She was about to say no when her eyes settled on the flash of solid gold at her wrist. Inside her chest, something loosened, wiping childhood hurts away. Suddenly, after fourteen years, an ice-cream cone sounded like a good idea.
EPILOGUE
1995
The next spring, Evelyn Morgan and Michael Gilbert invited Abby to their vow-renewal ceremony. It was a small affair—only thirty guests—and Abby was touched to be included. Michael read a poem he had written for his wife, and Evelyn read some words of her own. The couple faced each other, teary-eyed, under a wedding canopy made of roses.
After the ceremony, guests were invited into the courtyard of the Morgan Hotel, where shimmering lights, sweet-smelling flowers, and elegant food awaited them. In one corner, a small jazz band was playing, adding to the intimacy of the atmosphere. Abby had just made her way to the bar when Evelyn approached her with a young man. He was wearing a simple black tuxedo, and he looked, Abby thought, to be around her own age.
“Abby!” Evelyn said, with real warmth in her voice. “I’m so thrilled you could join us, dear. Thank you for coming.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Abby said.
“I want to introduce you to my nephew, Noah.” Evelyn put her arm around the slim young man, whose self-conscious smile revealed dimpled cheeks. “The rest of my guests are all hideously old, but the two of you might have some things to talk about. Noah just moved to New York,” Evelyn explained. “He’s been working at the Morgan Hotel in LA.”
Noah shook Abby’s hand. “My aunt says wonderful things about you,” he said.
“Evelyn thinks much too highly of me.”
“Nonsense,” said Evelyn. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here celebrating today, would we? Noah, make sure Abby has a drink. I’m going to ask my husband to dance.”
They ordered margaritas from the bar and found a cocktail table away from the music. Noah was almost a foot taller than Abby, and it was less awkward for them to chat once they were seated. He wanted to know more about how Abby had managed to keep his aunt and uncle together.
At first, she was nervous about revealing too many details of what she knew was an unconventional story. But after they finished their first round of drinks, Abby’s tongue loosened, and she began to talk about her grandmother.
The waiter brought over two more margaritas just as Abby was telling Noah about Sara’s journals. She told him about Jessica, about Paul and Albert, and about the other tenants in her grandmother’s building.
“It’s coming up on a year since she died,” Abby said. “Honestly, I can’t believe it.”
“My grandparents have all been gone for over a decade,” Noah told her. “It’s wonderful that your grandmother was able to see you grow up.”
There was something about the way Noah said it that made Abby’s eyes fill with tears. She hadn’t realized before what a gift it had been—all the time she’d been lucky enough to share with her grandmother. Grandma Sara’s love and old-world wisdom had helped to shape Abby’s adolescence. Her unwavering presence had helped Abby to navigate a world that might have been a much darker place without her grandmother’s steady hand. Before Abby knew it, she was full-on crying—and then scrambling to wipe the tears away with the cocktail napkins from the bar. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “This is supposed to be a happy day.”
“Everyone cries at weddings,” Noah said good-naturedly. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Abby held up her fresh drink, tapping it against his, and they both took a sip. Abby’s drink tasted fine, but Noah frowned at his and crinkled his nose.
“What is it?” Abby said.
“No worries,” he replied. “It’s just, I thought we told them no salt on the margaritas. I can’t see any on the rim, but I swear I can taste it.”
“Let me try,” Abby said, taking a sip from his glass. She swirled the alcohol back and forth on her tongue. “I don’t taste it,” she said. “But here, take mine instead.”
They swapped their glasses and clinked them again while Evelyn and Michael glided by, smiling. The jazz band broke into another number, and Noah asked Abby if she wanted to dance.
It wasn’t until she got home that evening that Abby remembered her grandmother’s words.
When you weep, the one you are meant for tastes the salt of your tears.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In March of 2020, when the pandemic began, my daughter, Ellie, and her roommate, Adelle, were given five days to pack and move out of their dorm. We brought them home from college and spent the spring together, navigating our strange, new normal. My husband learned to take depositions over Zoom. My son had a virtual high school graduation. We baked and took the dog for long walks. At the time, I was working on a novel, but it wasn’t coming together the way I had hoped.
That summer, Adelle told me about her grandmother, who had once been an Orthodox Jewish matchmaker. Her grandmother had been such a success, in fact, that in 1977, The New York Times ran an article about her. The article stuck with me and, eventually, inspired me to think about a matchmaker story of my own. I discussed the idea with my agent, Marly Rusoff, who, in turn, spoke to my editor, Sarah Cantin. It was because of their enthusiasm and encouragement that I decided to put aside the novel I had been writing and focus on this new idea.