that Electoral College stuff. He knows classical music like the back of his hand. And zip codes? You have no idea. Iâm telling you, he could teach that Alex Trebek a thing or two.â
âAlex Trebek, eh? Thereâs a universal standard. Jesus, Sarah, no one needs to know fucking zip codes. Thatâs why Al Gore invented the Internet. Iâve met Stan the Man. Heâs meshuggah. Just because you play mahjong with his mother is no reason to let him anywhere near Rachel. Now heâs got her in the middle of his craziness.â
âWhat craziness?â I asked with a smile as I walked into the kitchen.
Benny rolled his eyes. âThe evils of mahjong.â
I joined them at the kitchen table, where Benny had already consumed almost an entire platter of my motherâs kamishbroidt, a crunchy Yiddish cousin of the Italian biscotti .
My mother held up a teacup and saucer. âSome tea, doll baby?â
âSure. Thanks.â
She poured me a cup of tea.
I took a bite of a kamishbroidt. âMmmm. Delicious.â
It had been four years since Jonathanâmy husband, Samâs fatherâdied in a plane crash. My mother, God bless her, quit her job and moved in to help me raise Sam and my two stepdaughters, Leah and Sarah. Eventually, my mother sold her condo and moved into our coach house in back. Leah is now a junior at Brandeis University, and Sarah is a freshman at Wisconsin. Although the two girls call me Rachel, all three of my kids call my mother Baba, which is Yiddish for grandmother. Their Baba is hard-headed and opinionated and sets high standards for her grandchildren. Donât ask the girls how many times their red-headed Bobba made them rewrite their college application essays. Though she can exasperate me like no other human on the face of the earth, we all adore her. Even me.
She plays bridge on Monday nights, mahjong on Tuesday, poker on Thursdays, and works out three days a week at the J, where she has her own fan club of suitors among the retirees who exercise there. The feisty Widow Gold the Elder has already turned down close to a dozen marriage proposals.
âSo?â my mother said to me. âWhatâs the next step?â
âWe wait,â I said.
âFor what?â
âTo see whether her law firm approves the video tribute.â
âWhen will you know?â
I shrugged and looked at Benny. âA couple days?â
He nodded.
I smiled. âMeanwhile, tomorrow I dive back into the fish tank.â
âThe Barracuda?â Benny said.
âYep.â
âWhat?â my mother said. âYouâre suing a fish?â
âWorse,â I said. âIâm suing a doctor. His lawyerâs the fish.â
âActually,â Benny said, âhis lawyerâs a schmuck.â
âHis name is Barry Kudar,â I said. âHis nickname is Barracuda.â
âSo whatâs tomorrow?â Benny asked.
âA deposition.â
âWho?â
âThe doctor.â
âI thought you took his deposition already.â
âI did. This is the follow-up.â
âOn what?â
âHis financial records.â
Benny smiled. âAh, yes. The punitive damage claim.â
I nodded.
âWhat doctor is this?â my mother asked.
âJeffrey Mason,â I said. âHeart surgeon and sexual harasser.â
âRachel represents the nurse he groped.â
âSofia Garcia,â I said.
âGroped?â my mother said.
âGroped, propositioned, and harassed.â
âThis doctor. Not a Jew, I hope.â
I smiled. âNot a Jew, Mom.â
âOh, thank God.â
âI assume the doc is loaded,â Benny said.
âMy lips are sealed,â I said. âThe one thing the Barracuda got from the judge was a protective order to keep the doctorâs finances confidential.â
âSexual harassment,â my mother said. âIn the operating
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