You Asked for Perfect(36)

Upstairs, I shower fast, body humming with endorphins and nerves. I still have a lot of work left, but all I really want to do is spend more time with Amir. I step out of my bathroom, towel wrapped around my waist, then freeze. Malka, Sook, Rasha, and Amir are all hanging out in my room.

“Hi, guys,” I say. “Please. Come in.”

They all laugh. “Sorry, dude,” Malka says. “It was getting a little grown-up heavy down there.”

“Yeah, really couldn’t deal with one more person asking me where I’m applying to school,” Sook says.

“Or how I like college,” Rasha says.

“Or how my dorm is,” Malka says.

“Or where I’m applying to school,” Amir finishes, but his voice is higher than usual, and he’s very intently not looking at me in my towel.

“Understandable. I’m gonna, uh—” I slide open my dresser drawers and grab some clothes. “Change. I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, we’re playing Settlers of Catan on my bedroom floor. I love this game and haven’t had time to play since summer. Amir has never played because he, unsurprisingly, prefers Harry Potter Clue, but he picks it up with ease. It becomes apparent Rasha is a mastermind of Catan.

We pick at my stash of candy as we play, Haribo Sour S’ghetti and Peaches. The game passes by quickly with laughter and shouts of “Longest road!” and “Don’t knight me!”

Amir is stretched out on his stomach next to me, head propped on his arm, laughing as Rasha and Sook barter with wheat and sheep. He glances my way, and I fizz with pleasure.

Before I know it, we’re being called downstairs for dinner. I glance out the window into the fading light. I’ll have to get some work done after everyone leaves, maybe stay up a bit late, but that’s okay. I don’t need much sleep to sit through morning services. Most kids don’t even go to synagogue on the second day of Rosh Hashanah. Some because they’re not as observant and some because it’s so difficult to miss one day of school, much less two. But in my family, both days are mandatory.

We all file downstairs. The house booms with loud voices and laughter. There are a couple dozen people here for dinner. Malka and Sook’s parents. Amir’s entire family. A few other couples from shul. My parents’ cousins. Everyone greets me, a blur of hugs and handshakes and kisses on the cheek.

“L’Shanna Tova!”

“Happy New Year!”

“Shana Tova!”

It’s warm in the kitchen, and the smell of matzo ball soup and brisket wafts toward me. Amir joins his family at the counter, as my parents ladle out bowls of soup.

Mr. Naeem wraps an arm around Amir. “Be sure to remember the name Amir Naeem,” he says to Mrs. Rifkin from shul. “He’s going to be a famous photographer.”

“In all the galleries, I know it,” Mrs. Naeem agrees. “He’s a genius with the lens.”

Amir forces a half smile, and my heart tugs. He must feel me staring because he glances up. I nod toward the dining room, and he excuses himself and heads that way, passing me with a quick grin.

I grab two bowls of soup from Mom and Dad. They’re pulling the same crap. Ariel is applying to Harvard, Mom says. My jaw tenses. Sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing they say about me, like it’s the only interesting thing about me, the only thing worth being proud of. At Passover Seder, will they be telling the same people, No, he didn’t get in?

I join Amir in the dining room. It’s still mostly empty in here, and the few people sitting are busy devouring their soup.

Amir and I grab seats at the end of the table. His eyes light up. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Jewish penicillin, the best food in existence. Yes, it is my mother’s matzo ball soup.”

“That’s quite the intro.”

“I haven’t even begun to do this soup justice.” The scent of dill and salty kosher chicken drifts between us. “God, I’m jealous of you. I wish I could remember my first time, but Mom probably fed me the broth in a bottle as a baby.”

“Is it better than the Thai food?”

“It is better than all food. It is another plane of existence. Like there’s food, and there’s great food, and then in another galaxy far, far away there’s matzo ball soup.”

I angle my chair so I can watch Amir. I’m suddenly anxious. What if he doesn’t like it? Obviously, we can’t date if he doesn’t like matzo ball soup.

Amir looks at me. “I feel like whatever reaction I have isn’t going to be big enough.”

“Okay, I’m chilling. Promise.” I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “See? I’m chill.”

“Mm-hmm, sure.” Amir eyes me with suspicion. “All right, here we go.”

He lifts his spoon and sips. His eyes widen. He stares down at the bowl, then takes another sip. Then he glances up at me for only a second before taking another spoonful and another.

“Take a bite of the matzo—”

I start to say, but Amir is already spooning off part of the matzo ball and trying it, a bit of carrot and shredded chicken, too. Before I know it, his entire bowl is finished. He looks up at me, eyes full of wonder. Finally, he gives a Jewish mother’s favorite praise: “Please tell me I can have seconds.”