Page 86 of Sportsball is for Lovers

… and there it is.

“I’m not interested in getting married,” Sadie says quietly.

I squeeze her knee. “Me, either.”

Her mother blinks. “Why not?”

She shrugs. “Not something I’m interested in.”

“I suppose there’s no need anymore,” Myrna snipes. “Why buy the cow when he can get the milk for free?”

My eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“My views on marriage have nothing to do with Jared and everything to do with me,” Sadie says firmly. “It’s not something I want to pursue for myself.”

“So you’ll die alone?”

“Maybe.” She lifts a shoulder in what I can tell is forced ambivalence. “Rather die alone and happy than miserable with someone I can’t stand.”

Sarah chokes.

Mrs. Hershkowitz frowns. “Your father is my best friend.”

Sadie blinks innocently. “Oh, I’m not talking about you. I’m sure you guys are happy. I mean, wow, forty years without killing each other. That’s something to be proud of.”

From what she’s told me, her parents live mostly separate lives. Her father is busy with the college and the golf course, and her mother has the business and her volunteering plus babysitting the myriad grandchildren. It doesn’t leave them a lot of time for each other.

She mentioned she didn’t think it occurred to them it even was an option to divorce. They aren’t particularly nice to each other, more resentful than happy. But people in their social circle don’t divorce; they simply live unhappily ever after until one of them dies.

I don’t want that life for myself. Neither does Sadie. If we last the forty years, great. If we don’t… at least we can untangle and separate without dealing with lawyers.

Hopefully.

I’m not thinking about separation, though. It’s early days, but I can already see us going the distance. If she decides down the line she wants a ring, I’ll happily get one for her. As long as she’s happy with me, I’m happy. That’s all I care about.

Mr. Hershkowitz clears his throat loudly. “Let’s eat.”

The caterers have prepared a bagel brunch. It’s traditional Ashkenazi fare. The table is overflowing with bagels and shmear, lox and herring, whitefish salad and tuna salad, and veggie crudités. There’s enough food to feed fifty people.

It’s very different from the way my family does food. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It’s just different. My family’s cuisine reflects our Middle Eastern heritage, whereas theirs reflects Eastern European. We’re both Jewish, just two different sides of the same coin.

Sadie picks at half of an everything bagel. She warned me she usually didn’t have a great appetite around her family and that we’d have to find alternative snacks en route to the airport this afternoon.

Sarah puts a bagel on her plate and Myrna immediately fusses at her. “You don’t need all that,” she says, trying to take the plate out of her hand. “Why don’t you have some fruit?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Sarah says firmly. She goes heavy on the cream cheese, adding lox and capers.

Tamar has a plate of fruit and is nibbling at a slice of cheese. Talia is digging into the whitefish salad.

The commentary doesn’t stop there. Myrna comments on the grandchildren’s messy table manners—hello, they’re children—and Mrs. Hershkowitz has nothing nice to say about Tamar’s outfit.

What surprises me most is that the sisters just sit there and take it. They let their parents and grandmother degrade and insult them. They let them criticize every single thing they do.

Sadie is a sad, quiet shell of herself. The exuberant, effervescent woman I care about is a shadow around her family. How sad that the people who should love her most are the quickest to cut her down.

My watch buzzes. We have six hours until our flight takes off.

“We should get going,” I announce, even though we have plenty of time. I don’t exactly want to wait at the airport for six hours. But I have to get Sadie out of here.

We gather our things and say goodbye. There are a lot of empty promises to get together again soon and keep in touch. I know neither party wants to do so, but they both probably feel like it’s required.

Sarah pulls me aside. “It was nice to meet you, Jared,” she says, and I think she’s being sincere. “You’re good for her.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve never seen her as happy as she is with you.” Her eyes are sad. “I want her to be happy. It’s clear being here is making it worse.”

“She’s comfortable in Boston,” I finally say.

Sarah squeezes my arm. “Take care of her. Will you?”

A lump in my throat, I nod. “I’m doing my best.”