The Shiksa Syndrome: A Novel by Laurie Graff Page B

at the thought of my mom. On skis, yet. And in
Scranton
?
Oy gevalt.
“But she did, so she sold them. And then they sold the house. Now I just rent.” I pause. “So do they.”
    “No problem there,” says Josh. “We can get you some skis.”
    I don’t know what we are talking about. But looking at my half-drunk glass, I figure it’s not anything that can’t be worked out with another gulp of that martini. I’m such a cheap date, I can nurse this all night. Anyway, Peter took me out skiing a few times. He glided through the snow like an angel. I think I can manage cross-country okay.
    “But don’t expect me to be any good,” I disclaim. “It wasn’t my main sport of course. I spent so much time learning cheers.”
    “Did I hear cheers?”
    I turn around and see Krista with the totally cute Matt Goldman she told me about earlier today standing next to our table holding drinks.
    “What are you doing he—?”
    “Hi, everybody,” Krista announces as if she were invited. “Matt, this is Aimee, best friend and best coworker, and her date, Josh.”
    “Hey,” says Matt. “How’s the food here?”
    “Everything you hear about and and more,” Josh tells him.
    “Hope you don’t mind us crashing,” Krista says. “Weren’t sure you’d still even be here, but we were in the theater district and wanted to go somewhere cool for a drink. Just wanted to say hi, and we’re headed back to the bar.”
    The place is fairly big. In fact, it’s sprawling. We’re way in the back, so it’s not exactly like they’d be honing in on us from the bar. Still, I can’t believe Krista showed up. I think she’s afraid for me. If I wasn’t so tipsy, I might be too.
    “Join us,” says Josh, with an ease I immediately admire. “We’re just about to have dessert.” He looks at me patting my bulging tummy. “Come on, Aimee. Let me feed you. How can you say no?”
    “What’d you see?” I ask, giving the okay to Josh and sneaking a peak at the
Playbill.
    “Spring Awakening,”
says Matt. “It was awesome. About adolescents’ sexuality. A client of mine got the tickets.”
    “What do you do?” asks Josh.
    “CPA. Entertainment folk. You?”
    “LoveLoaves. Family business. We’re into bread. Edible and non.”
    “Cool.”
    Krista gave me the lowdown this afternoon.
    “His name is Matt. Matt Goldman,” she said with reverence. “He’s two years older than me. A CPA. Works midtown, near us. Grew up in the Bronx. Riverdale. Lives on East Fourth Street. Practically walking distance.”
    “Or a very cheap cab,” I said, commuting Krista from her Morton Street apartment in the West Village over to Matt’s.
    “He IM’d. JDate. Went back and forth, but we had that KISS meeting and I had to stop. So we decided to just meet after work for a drink.”
    That was a few nights ago.
    “I loved the show,” Krista says now. “You two should go.” Krista’s not big on Broadway, but the big Saturday night date is a showstopper.
    “I’m game,” says Josh. “And maybe you two would like to join us skiing.”
    My friend looks at me and bursts out laughing. “Aimee on skis,
oy VOY.
”
    The guys both chuckle. I turn my head as it’s unexpected and incorrect: her assessment of me on skis
and
her pronunciation of the Jewish word. Still, it comes out pretty cute. Like a shiksa speaking Yiddish. I couldn’t affect that if I were Meryl Streep. It’s annoying that Krista can use these words now and I can’t. Of late, she incorporates Jewish words into her vocabulary whenever possible.
    “What’s so funny, Krista?” I overenunciate, my annoyance signaling the cat’s still in the bag.
“I ski!”
    “Well, I don’t. Not really,” says Matt.
    “Oh, honey, you can pick up anything.” She faces the table. “Matt’s totally athletic. And he golfs and plays tennis. Like me.”
    “We’re already talking about a permit,” says Matt.
    “For tennis,” adds Krista, glowing.
    It all seems very romantic, so Josh