overkept women who constantly pendulumed between chewing and chatting, bits of coleslaw caught in the corners of their glossy mouths, water glasses stained with pink lipstick. They eyed Myron as he walked by for three reasons: under forty, male, no marriage band. Measuring his son-in-law potential. Always on the lookout, though not necessarily for their own daughters, the yenta from the shtetl never too far away.
Myron hugged his father and as always kissed his cheek. The cheek still felt wonderfully rough, but the skin was loosening. The scent of Old Spice wafted gently in the air, as comforting as any hot chocolate on the coldest of days. Dad hugged him back, released, then hugged him again. No one noticed the display of affection. Such acts were not uncommon here.
The two men sat. The paper place mats had an overhead diagram of the golf course's eighteen holes and an ornate letter B in the middle. The club's logo. Dad picked up a stubby green pencil, a golf pencil, to scribble down their order. That was how it worked. The menu had not changed in thirty years. As a kid Myron always ordered either the Monte Cristo or Reuben sandwich. Today he asked for a bagel with lox and cream cheese. Dad wrote it down.
So, Dad began. Getting acclimated to being back?
Yeah, I think so.
Hell of a thing with Esperanza.
She didn't do it.
Dad nodded. Your mother tells me that you've been subpoenaed.
Yep. But I don't know anything.
You listen to your aunt Clara. She's a smart lady. Always has been. Even in school, Clara was
the smartest girl in the class.
I will.
The waitress came by. Dad handed her the order. He turned back to Myron and shrugged. It's
getting near the end of the month, Dad said. I have to use your pop-pop's minimum before the thirtieth. I didn't want the money to go to waste.
This place is fine.
Dad made a face signaling disagreement. He grabbed some bread, buttered it, then pushed it
away. He shifted in his chair. Myron watched him. Dad was working up to something.
So you and Jessica broke up?
In all the years Myron had been dating Jessica, Dad had never inquired about their relationship
past the polite questions. It just wasn't his way. He'd ask how Jessica was, what she was up to,
when her next book was coming out. He was polite and friendly and greeted her warmly, but he'd
never given a true indication of how he really felt about her. Mom had made her own feelings on
the subject crystal clear: Jessica was not good enough for her son, but then again, who was? Dad
was like a great newscaster, the kind of guy who asks questions without giving the viewer any
hint of how he was really leaning on the issue.
I think it's over, Myron said.
Because Dad stopped, looked away, looked back ofBrenda?
I'm not sure.
I'm not big on giving advice. You know that. Maybe I should have been. I read those life
instruction books fathers write for their children. You ever see those? Yes.
All kinds of wisdom in there. Like: Watch a sunrise once a year. Why? Suppose you want to sleep in? Another one: Overtip a breakfast waitress. But suppose she's grumpy? Suppose she's really bad? Maybe that's why I never dealt with it. I always see the other side.
Myron smiled.
So I was never big on advice. But I have learned one thing for sure. One thing. So listen to me
because this is important.
Okay.
The most important decision you'll ever make is who you marry, Dad said. You can take
every other decision you'll ever make, add them together, and it still won't be as important as that one. Suppose you choose the wrong job, for example. With the right wife, that's not a problem. She'll encourage you to make a change, cheer you on no matter what. You understand?
Yes.
Remember that, okay?
Okay.
You have to love her more than anything in the world. But she has to love you just as much.
Your priority should be her happiness, and her priority should be yours. That's a funny thing caring about someone more than yourself. It's not easy. So don't look at her as just a sexual object or as just a friend to talk to. Picture every day with the person. Picture paying bills with that person, raising children with that person, being stuck in a hot room with no airconditioning and a screaming baby with that person. Am I making sense?
Yes. Myron smiled and folded his hands on the table. Is that how it is with you and Mom? Is
she all those things to you?
All those things, Dad agreed, plus a pain in the tuchus
Myron laughed.
If you promise not to tell your mother, I'll let you in on a little secret.
What?
He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. When your mother walks in the room even now,
even after all these years, if she were to, say, stroll by us right now my heart still does a little
two-step. You understand what I'm saying?
I think so, yeah. That used to happen with Jess.
Dad spread his hands. Enough then.
Are you saying Jessica is that person?
Not my place to say one way or the other.
Do you think I'm making a mistake?
Dad shrugged. You'll figure that out, Myron. I have tremendous confidence in you. Maybe that's why I never gave you much advice. Maybe I always thought you were smart enough without me.
Bull.
Or maybe it was easier parenting, I don't know.
Or maybe you led by example, Myron said. Maybe you led gently. Maybe you showed rather
than told.
Yeah, well, whatever.
They fBll into silence. The women around them chatted up their white noise.
Dad said, I turn sixty-eight this year.
I know.
Not a young man anymore.
Myron shook his head. Not old either.
True enough.
More silence.
I'm selling the business, Dad said.
Myron froze. He saw the warehouse in Newark, the place Dad had worked for as long as Myron
could remember. The schmata business in Dad's case, undergarments. He could picture Dad with his ink- black hair in his glass-walled warehouse office, barking out orders, sleeves rolled up, Eloise, his long-time secretary, fetching him whatever he needed before he knew he needed it.
I'm too old for it now, Dad went on. So I'm getting out. I spoke to Artie Bernstein. You remember Artie?
Myron managed a nod.
The man's a rat bastard, but he's been dying to buy me out for years. Right now his offer is
garbage, but I still might take it.
Myron blinked. You're selling?
Yes. And your mother is going to cut back at the law firm.
