Happy Any Day Now by Toby Devens Page A

she still drove her ten-year-old Mercedes.
    “Say hello Dr. Chang. She bring me. What one you think, Winnie, green or black?” My mother smoothed the skirt over her hips.
    “Hello, Judith. Grace looks good, doesn’t she? The fifteen pounds makes a difference.” Winnie checked out the mirror image. “Personally, I like the black.”
    My mother turned slowly and peeked over her shoulder at her reflected behind. “Fat
ko
not so big now.”
    I stared at this woman whom I saw every week, sometimes twice a week, wondering how I hadn’t noticed she’d dropped fifteen pounds. To be fair, it wasn’t evident in her face, which retained its pretty roundness, and the drapey fabric of her Chico’s outfits had hidden her exact shape. Who was I kidding? I’d fended off Marti’s accusation that I was insensitive where Geoff was concerned, but maybe she was on to something. Maybe the rankling truth was I was so caught up in my own suddenly shifting life that I didn’t really see anyone but me.
    “Green more young, but black make me look thin. I take black. Also two pair trouser pants and nightgown. Mine all torn. These only ten dollar. Good buy.” She emitted a delighted laugh at my stunned, slack-jawed silence. “Winnie, you got no kid, but I tell you they make you nuts. Look at Judith face. She think
I
go crazy. A dress, few nightgown, and I need funny farm. Time is spring, Judith. Flower boom.” She reached out and stroked my cheek. Her fingernails were freshly manicured. With red polish yet. She never wore
any
polish. “I know. You make big change with Geoff. Even if turns out right, you sad. But you buy something new, you cheer up. Don’t say no. Buy something new. I pay.”
    She insisted I try on a black crepe sleeveless Donna Karan from the Back Room. Size six, marked down hundreds, final sale. “So beautiful, Judith. Meant for you.” She was right. It was elegant, classic. Charlie’s kind of dress, perfect for the Georgetown party.
    “Look how happy,” my mother said to Winnie Chang. “Look at smile just for dress. Worth twice price.”

Chapter 12

    I t was weird spending Passover at home alone. My mother had invited me to the Blumen House Seder last minute, but I decided I might as well skip the whole shebang this year and eat a bologna sandwich, watch TV, and go to bed early. As it turned out, this night really
was
different from all other nights; it had some kind of hold on me. So I spent the few hours before sundown brewing chicken soup according to Aunt Phyllis’s recipe and making matzo balls from scratch. Then I sat myself down at my dining room table with a nice place mat and a glass of Manischewitz wine, the teeth-achingly sweet concord grape syrup that’s the madeleine of the holiday to American Jews, and read the Haggadah story of Exodus straight through. Crazy lady, but at least I didn’t recite it out loud.
    The phone rang twice that evening as I nibbled my way through a box of chocolate-dipped macaroons. First time was a hang-up, probably a wrong number, but without caller ID.
    I could speculate it was Geoff checking to see whether the Seder really had been canceled. He’d expressed regret when my mother informed him it had been called on account of the host’s flu.
    “I couldn’t tell him pee-pee.” She’d wrinkled her nose in distaste. “And he say maybe next year.”
    “He said that? Maybe next year? Oh Lord, what did you say?”
    “I say maybe. You no
mudang
. You don’t know, Judith. No one know what future bring.”
    Wonderful. That could have been just enough encouragement to spur him to make a Seder night call. Then, when he heard my voice, he lost his nerve or realized my mother had been telling the truth, so he hung up. Or it could have been someone looking for a plumber.
    The second caller didn’t even know it was Passover and wasn’t surprised to find me in. Charlie sounded much less ebullient than during his last call from the MOMA party. I thought perhaps the social