Esther touched her fingertips to the mezuzah by the door before entering and placed the heavy packages filled with the week’s groceries onto the kitchen table. She smiled as she heard the first dull musical note float up into the air from where Gary and Zalman were seated at the piano in the living room. She was glad that Zalman offered to give the boy instructions, and after only some initial hesitance, because he really would much rather have been reading the comics or organizing his collection of baseball cards or even watching the latest installment of The Three Stooges—which all seemed to be much more fun when you are only eight years old—Gary relented. And now that his interest had been piqued, she was sure it wouldn’t be long before she heard the familiar melody of “Clair de Lune” once again fill the house, now by a much younger set of fingers. Gary was just about the same age she was when she had learned to play.
“What’s for dinner, Mommy?”
Esther was startled to find Gary at her side as she stood pouring the noodles into a colander over the sink.
“Your favorite. Meatballs and spaghetti,” she said, tapping the metal to get the last of the water out before adding the spaghetti into a large Corelle bowl. She wiped her hands on the red-and-white-checkered apron at her waist and smiled down at her child.
“No hello or a kiss for your mommy today since I came in the door?” She tried and failed again to make the tone of her voice sound angry. But the boy shrugged and lifted his chin as he allowed himself to be kissed on the lips.
“Hello, Mommy,” he piped, and turned toward the bowl of spaghetti, reached in, and let a naked piece slide down his throat. But not before his mother had taken note of the extra freckles that had formed across the bridge of his nose, and the lock of hair curling upward at his forehead, signaling the need for yet another haircut since the last one only three weeks earlier. How handsome he looks in his Cub Scout uniform, thought Esther as Gary took a seat at the kitchen table, how much like a little man!
Zalman entered the kitchen and, almost as if he could read her mind, exclaimed, “Our Gary is certainly growing up, is he not?” Esther nodded in agreement, and placing her hand on Zalman’s shoulder, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, adding, “Our piano teacher deserves a kiss as well. Gary is coming along, I think. He’s even beginning to enjoy playing!” Zalman smiled and took a seat opposite the boy, who had begun tapping his fork against the dinner plate. After taking a sip from the glass of water already set on the table, Zalman cleared his parched throat.
“Yes, I believe Gary has a talent for it, just like his mother.” Before Esther could respond, though, Gary blurted out, “Where’s the SpaghettiOs—I mean spaghetti!” He laughed at his own mistake.
“Okay,” she answered, “hold your horses!” Esther poured the spaghetti into three plates, topping each off with four fully rounded meatballs. Then she grabbed a large bottle of Heinz ketchup from the refrigerator and squirted half the contents into each bowl and mixed the spaghetti and meatballs together until they turned a bright red, just the way her mother had shown her. She placed a dish in front of Zalman, and one in front of Gary, who was now making strange noises while still tapping his fork against the edge of the table.
“What are you doing making noises at the table? You’re not five years old anymore, Gary, and you know your father would not approve of this behavior.”
“Mommy, you told me to hold my horses. It’s the horses making all the noise, not me. Besides, Daddy isn’t here now,” he said, and made one more neighing sound before stabbing his fork into a large meatball at the top of his plate.
Esther and Zalman exchanged a glance as each tried to stifle a giggle.
“Your father will be home very soon,” admonished Esther before taking another dish to the table for herself.
Jacob did not get home as soon as Esther had hoped. She knew that last week a superintendent of one of his buildings in New York had been called back to his home in Puerto Rico due to a family emergency, and tenants had begun to complain about burst water pipes and burned fuses. She had also heard that he had wasted an entire afternoon with lawyers, only to find out that the closing of a newly built home just two blocks away from where Jacob and Esther lived had been delayed. But he didn’t trouble Esther with the details.
It was at times like these when Jacob’s life was so involved with the endless phone calls, writing his signature on the stacks of paper on his desk, shaking the hand of a client to seal another profitable deal, that Esther wondered what her life would have been like if she had not persuaded her father to hand the reins of the business over to Jacob. During these moments of reflection, she admitted to herself that, despite being a woman, she had loved it all. She loved the meetings, speaking with authority, disputing a clause in an impending contract, or balancing a sum without one number going askew, and the best part of it all: having people listen to her, to respect her just as if she were a man. These thoughts drifted upon her most nights when Jacob would come home late, exhausted but exhilarated at the same time. Now it was her husband who was the big deal.