The Spinster Sisters

Author:Stacey Ballis [Ballis, Stacey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780425213568
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-03-01T08:00:00+00:00

At ten sharp I pull up in front of the small bungalow in West Rogers Park. I take a deep breath and steel myself to go inside. Piece of cake. Meet the rabbi, grab the get, and go.

As I climb the front stairs, I think about how strange it is to be focused again on my divorce after so many years. Jill’s words are still ringing in my ears. My marriage was a failure, a mistake from the beginning. The kind of mistake smart girls aren’t supposed to make. The kind of mistake girls like me counsel the less fortunate girls against. This strange exercise brings that into clear relief for me all over again. And what is worse, it makes me deeply embarrassed. I married a man who was the totally wrong guy. I married a man to whom I was only peripherally attracted, because he was nice to me, and in love with me, and made me laugh, and didn’t cheat on me or make me feel like shit. I married a man who was socially inept and boring in bed because I was so full of my own ego that I thought I could change both those things and make him into the perfect husband. A rookie mistake if ever there was one, and I am mortified. And Jill is right. If there wasn’t ever going to be public opinion about my actions, I’d never remotely put any effort into maintaining even a semblance of a relationship with him.

I climb the front stairs and ring the bell, which makes a tinny noise inside the house. After a few moments, a tiny woman opens the door. She is wearing a faded calico housedress and dirty slippers, and the curly gray wig atop her head is slightly unkempt and in a very old-fashioned style.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “I’m here to see Rabbi Silverman.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “The rabbi isn’t in at the moment.”

I look down at my watch: 10:03. “I’m sorry,” I say. “There must be a misunderstanding. I have at ten o’clock appointment with the rabbi. He said I should meet him here.”

“Oh my. He didn’t mention anything to me before he left. May I ask, what is it regarding?”

I close my eyes for a moment. “I’m here to pick up my get,” I say, and a look of deep consternation crosses over her features.

“Oh, I am so sorry, dear. Let me see if I can get him on the cell phone.”

I can hear her mumbling into the phone in the other room. She seems somewhat put out. Soon the mumbling stops, and she returns to the foyer.

“He’s on his way back, dear. It will take probably fifteen minutes or so. Won’t you please come sit down?” She leads me into the dining room and offers me a chair. “You’re welcome to read the paper if you like,” she says, gesturing at the New York Times, which is strewn about the dining room table.

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