You Asked for Perfect(41)

As we sit down for Shabbat dinner, I have the giant novel Mrs. Rainer gave me to read in my lap. I’ll finish it tonight and pick out a comp book this weekend. Mom recites the prayer for the candles and joins us at the table.

“Ariel, Rachel, books away,” Dad says, raising the wineglass.

I glance in Rachel’s direction. She’s reading a book that looks heavier than mine.

“One second,” I respond, scanning the rest of my page, then shutting the novel and looking up.

Rachel’s still bent over her book. She’s twists a piece of her hair, round and round, tight around her finger. “Book away, Rachel,” Dad repeats.

“I’m not hungry,” she says.

“Ra-chell,” Dad warns. He pulls out the Hebrew pronunciation, so he means business.

Rachel sighs loudly and slams her book closed. “Fine, whatever.”

“What is that?” I ask.

“An encyclopedia,” she tells me.

“But…internet…” I say.

“They want us to cite sources.” She groans. “I don’t know. It’s so old. And boring. It’s about weather.”

“What’s the assignment?” Mom asks.

“It’s nothing. Boring. Next topic.”

Mom hesitates, raising an eyebrow at Dad, but moves on. “What about you, boychik? Good book?”

“It’s fine. For school.”

“We couldn’t keep you away from the library when you were Rachel’s age,” Dad says. “Maybe you should ease back on some of that work. Read something for fun.”

I give him a weak smile. “Yeah.”

I don’t get my parents. They brag about me applying to Harvard, but then they nag me for working too hard. They don’t understand, I guess. They can’t understand. Harvard demands perfection. So many of these schools demand perfection. And I’m not like my parents. Perfection isn’t natural for me—I have to make sacrifices.

We say the prayer for the wine and challah and dig into dinner, but I can’t concentrate on conversation. There’s still so much to do. Our game of bloopers and highlights goes by in record time, Rachel and I giving short answers. As I butter my end-of-meal third slice of challah, Rachel asks, “May I be excused?” Her plate is already empty, and she’s kicking her legs against the chair.

Mom and Dad have another silent exchange. “We were thinking we could go for ice cream after dinner. What do you guys think?”

“Awesome,” Rachel says. “Bring me back some, please. Mint chocolate chip!”

She scampers upstairs. Dad sighs. “What about you, Ariel?”

I know it’s a jerk move, but I also pretend to not get their point. “Mint chocolate chip sounds great.” I stand up and grab my book. “Thanks, guys. Have fun!”

*

At least I can read this absurdly long book from bed. I prop it up with a pillow on my stomach. My window is cracked open, so the brisk October wind blows into my room, while my speakers play the Grateful Dead’s “Touch of Grey.”

It’s late, almost one in the morning, and I’m reading by the light of my lamp. The book isn’t bad. It’s just long. Three hundred pages is enough for me to get the gist, but it keeps going and going. I yawn, then take a sip of the Coke next to me. It’s getting warm, but the ice machine is loud, and I don’t want to wake anyone up. I grab a bag of Sour Patch Kids off my nightstand and eat them two at a time.

Next door the floor creaks. Is Rachel awake? I wait a moment, and the house settles. I pick up my phone and see a message from Sook: Adding a practice tomorrow. What time works for you?

I groan. I’m tempted to text back and say, I’m sorry, Sook, I can’t do this. I have too much work and not enough time. But this gig is so important to her. So I text back: 4 but I can only do a couple hours

Sook: Okay thank you love you

I was hoping to squeeze in time to see Amir tomorrow, but that’s going to have to wait until Sunday. Besides, I don’t need him seeing me this stressed. I probably already weirded him out with my math panic. He can’t see me at Peak Ariel.

I yawn, eyes blinking closed. No. Can’t sleep.

I take another swig of Coke and keep reading.

*

“Coffee anyone?” I ask, thudding downstairs to Sook’s basement. It’s Saturday afternoon. This morning I practically sleepwalked through services and my shift at the animal shelter. I was in such a daze, I almost forgot to put three of the dogs back in their cages before leaving. At Dunkin’ Donuts, I asked for a double shot in my coffee.

“Oh my god, yes please.” Malka gratefully accepts a cup.

“I’m good,” Sook says.

“Cool, I’ll drink yours.” My phone buzzes, telling me it’s time for practice to start. My pulse races, and my leg shakes up and down. Maybe I didn’t need a double shot after drinking coffee at both Kiddush and the shelter. “Y’all ready to play? I have to head out at six.”

“Oooh,” Sook says. “Going out on a date with Amir?”

“Nah, dinner with the family.”

And then I’ll be up late working. I allotted myself five hours of sleep tonight, but this caffeine might keep me awake until dawn. Good. Maybe I’ll get ahead.

We set up our instruments and start a new song. It’s a small set, but Sook pleaded until I agreed to play five full songs with them instead of just the couple I remember signing up for. The violin interludes are easy, but each note is painful. To keep first chair, I’m practicing constantly. Calluses can’t form soon enough.