The Shiksa Syndrome: A Novel by Laurie Graff

into mine. “It may not be Napa, but it’s near.”
    I love this. He is so much fun. I haven’t been doing things like this since somewhere between a long time ago and never.
    “It sounds divine,” I say, hardly sounding like me at all.
    “You live right across the river, Aimee,” says Stacy. “You never took a drive? How many years are you living in New York?”
    “Most people who move to Manhattan from out-of-state have the tendency to just spend all their time in the city.” Through the girls at work, I even know this to be true. More or less.
    “Well, now you guys can not only visit Joisey”—Adam pronounces it in that faux mafioso way—“you’ve also got a place to stay.”
    “Oh yeah . . . ,” says Josh. “So you’re really makin’ the leap, man.”
    Josh gives him one of those macho hugs accompanied by a few punches, the kind that always looks less like congratulations and more like the beginning of a brawl. By this time we are in the parking lot and back at the car. Josh opens the car doors and turns on the heat before the three of them head to the back. They all talk while the men load the equipment into the trunk.
    I climb right into the car and practically dissolve into my heated seat. It’s luxury. And I am ready to collapse. Containing the lie has me more tired than anything else. On the trail, the guys suggested an early dinner at a local steakhouse in town. Closing my eyes, I imagine a fireplace burning behind us, easy talk over a good meal, and a nice glass of red wine.
    “We’re this far already,” says Stacy. Her door closes with a bang when she enters the car. “What’s the difference?”
    “It’s like the opposite direction,” says Adam. “It could take forty-five minutes to an hour. If we can even find it.”
    Adam’s door bangs in the back, followed by Josh’s in the front.
    “Doesn’t Josh have one of those talking navigator thingys?”
    Josh looks at me like he’s stuck in the middle. Of what, I have no idea.
    “Do you have that?” I ask.
    He points to the dashboard.
    “You know, I read an article that said many women are actually jealous of their spouse’s relationship with the voice.” Only Josh and Adam laugh. I continue anyway. “Seriously. They say it’s smart and a little sexy, but it doesn’t talk back. It always fulfills your needs, and it gets you wherever you want to go.”
    Josh leans over and gives me another kiss.
    “Well, if you two can stop necking for a minute, how about programming in Lenox Terrace in West Orange, and let’s get on our way before it gets dark.”
    West Orange? In New Jersey? Oh, no. Not
that
West Orange, New Jersey. I pray there are two.
    “Okeydoke,” Josh says, talking and tapping and feeding the information in. “You don’t mind, eMay, do you? They just closed on a house in West Orange, and Stacy wants to check in and take a look. Be fun, okay?”
    “Sure,” I say. Loud. Too loud. “Ummmm, what’s that address again?”
    “Lenox Terrace is the street,” Adam says from the back.
    “Lenox Terrace?” I shout.
    “You want to take the wheel of this baby and drive?” asks Josh.
    “Oh, no!” I involuntarily cry as it computes. Daphne and Rich live on Beaumont Terrace.
    “Why not?”
    I have no idea about suburban planning, but I figure the two houses are not that far from each other. And what did Josh just ask?
    “Why not what?”
    “Why don’t you want to drive?” he asks.
    “Oh.” It takes a few seconds for me to catch up. “Because I don’t.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding!” Stacy’s cackle overrides both guys’ questions of incredulity. “Now
this
is really
interesting.
”
    “Really, eMay?” asks Josh. “I don’t think I ever met anyone who can’t drive.”
    “Me either,” says Adam.
    “I just, uh . . . well, I learned. A few times. But I never, uh, took the test.”
    “So how
interesting
is this?” chortles Stacy. “A girl from a rural area can’t even drive a car? Give me a