This Is How It Happened by Jo Barrett

smart. She’s smart in more subtle ways. Like she knows how many fat grams are in tomato bisque. She knows Brad Pitt’s birthday. She knows if a Hermes scarf matches a certain pair of shoes. She’s that kind of smart. Girly Smart. And that’s no small thing, believe me. I’m the last person on Earth who could pick out the differences between off-white, cream, and taupe.
    But she still can’t seem to find her inner Jewishness. She doesn’t have that keen Jewish wit, as they say. She’s a little slow on the uptake.
    Heather leans back on the sofa, finally, and pats her small belly. “I’m a size 4 now,” she sighs.
    I could kill her, I really could. If she weren’t so damn sweet. And my best friend to boot.
    “Wow, almost time for Plus-Sizes,” I say, sarcastically.
    Heather looks at me and I see her eyes twinkling. “I don’t mind, Maddy, because my boobs are fabulous!”
    Great. My pregnant size 4 girlfriend has fabulous boobs, now.
    I look down at my own boobs. I’m not wearing a bra so they seem a little droopy. Like they belong on an old lady.
    Heather shakes her head. “Oy Vay. I’m so nervous about my conversion test,” she says.
    “You’re going to do fine. The Rabbis just want to see that you’re committed to this.”
    “Oh I know, Maddy. It’s just that—I can’t seem to get anything right. I mean, I went to the grocery store last night and asked the manager where I could find the Filtered Fish.”
    I chuckle and pat Heather’s shoulder. “Look, you’re doing your best. And Michael loves you for trying. I mean, c’mon. You spent August in Israel. It was 120 degrees in the shade.”
    “Small price to pay,” she murmurs. I notice her mood is changing. Her face seems dark, suddenly.
    “Hey, that reminds me!” I say. My mood has just changed too—for the better. I jump up and rush to my bedroom. I return with a book and hold it up in the air. Like Moses with the Ten Commandments.
    “Voila!” I say. “We’re going to practice.”
    I flash Heather the title.
    “The Idiot’s Guide to Becoming a Jew,” she reads.
    “I figured out what your problem is,” I say.
    Heather stares down at the floor. “Yeah, I’m an idiot,” she mumbles.
    “Beep! Wrong! You’re trying to learn too much from a bunch of complicated books,” I say. “It’s time to simplify!”
    Heather looks at me with a hopeful expression.
    “Look, I made flash cards,” I say, holding up a stack of note cards.
    Heather’s face brightens and she claps her hands again, a dainty little clap. “Ooh, I love flash cards!” she gushes.
    “You’re going to pass this test with flying colors,” I say. “Okay, first things first.” I pull up the first flash card. “What’s a matzoh ball?”
    “The Rabbis aren’t going to ask me that, silly,” Heather giggles.
    “We’re getting into the swing of things,” I explain.
    “A matzoh ball is made with egg whites and matzoh meal. You roll it and put it in a chicken soup broth,” she says.
    “Very good.” I show her the back of the flash card where I’ve printed a recipe for matzoh ball soup from the Internet.
    When I was making the flash cards, I decided to start with a cooking question because I didn’t want Heather to be scared right off the bat. Testing her Jewish I.Q. will pose a challenge.
    “Next question. Why do the Jewish people celebrate Passover?”
    Heather chews her lip. “Passover comes from the Hebrew word, “Pesach,” meaning to pass over, to exempt, or to spare. It refers to the time when God “passed over” the houses of the Jews when he was slaying the firstborn of Egypt. “Pesach” is also the name of the sacrificial offering, or lamb, that was sacrificed in the temple.”
    “Wow. Very impressive,” I say. “And absolutely correct.”
    “I’ve been reading up,” Heather informs me.
    She leans back on the couch and I can tell she’s really getting into this flash card stuff.
    “Hit me again,” she says. And her face is