Zahava
Family accountant Izzy had the idea that the Elmans should move to a smaller place and rent out their house to catch up on their debts.
Forced to the wall by unpleasant reality, Velvel reluctantly agreed to let Izzy rent out his home until his bank account was in better shape. It was clearly the best solution to their financial quandary, at least for now. But Zahava was furious when he sheepishly told her his plans.
“What? Rent out my home to pay off our debts? What were you guys thinking?” she fumed, banging her coffee cup on the kitchen table in front of him. Was she suddenly supposed to clear out her closets so that some strangers could invade her space and plop their backsides onto her living room couches and dining room chairs? It was inconceivable! She hadn’t spent hours redecorating her room, spending hours on Instagram to choose the most contemporary styles and a neutral gray color scheme (with a few judicious pops of color), to have some faceless person come and enjoy it all in her place!
“It’s just temporary,” her father said, trying to tranquilize her, even though she was sure he felt the same pain she did. Of course he did. His whole demeanor was halfhearted, lame. How humiliating this all was! “How am I supposed to explain this to the people I know?” she said.
“You don’t have to tell people anything!” her father said, spreading more cream cheese on his bagel with false good cheer. “I’m planning to tell everyone we decided to go away for the summer. Tell them we wanted a change, that we wanted a house with a pool.”
Oh—a pool? Was there a pool? Zahava paused. “You have a place? Is there really a pool?”
“I, um, have a possibility for a place,” Velvel said. “I’m working on it. But the place I’m checking into has a beautiful pool and so do a lot of the homes in that area.”
Zahava digested this. The idea of being able to lie next to a pool and tan all summer sweetened the deal considerably. She could actually enjoy that. Still, moving out of her own house?
Rikki would surely already know what was going on, because her father handled the Elmans’ finances. Rikki would even be sympathetic to their plight, maybe, because her family wasn’t super wealthy and because her ex-husband had got the two of them into all sorts of financial hot water trying to invest in that incredibly ill-conceived idea for a chain of kosher gyms. Zahava had lost touch with most of her other friends, mostly because they were married by now and busy with their families. But how was she supposed to break the news of the move to her hairdresser, to her personal trainer (who assumed she was loaded), to the Korean manicure girl who kissed the ground she walked on, to her event clients?
She sighed. Well, at least the timing was good. As her father had suggested, they’d be able to tell everyone they’d decided to summer in Toms River, like so many other Brooklyn families who headed out of the city to Jersey or upstate. If need be, she could come to Brooklyn to plan parties. A lot of her clients went to Jersey for the summer also, so it might even turn out to be convenient. And when the summer was over, she and her family could claim that they liked living there so well they decided to stay on for a while. If they did.
“Fine—we say we’re going away on vacation,” she conceded grudgingly, grabbing a box of Cheerios and shaking them into a bowl. “But how am I supposed to explain that some unidentified strangers are living in our house?”
“Tell them the tenants are relatives from across the country that we allowed to move in temporarily while they look for a house of their own!” Velvel said breezily. “What’s the big deal?”
“But giving over the house—how does that even work? Am I supposed to clear my entire wardrobe into boxes, empty all my closets? Will we be able to keep some of it in the basement and come by to pick it up when the seasons change?” She could only hope they’d be nice that way. No way could she imagine moving all her worldly goods to New Jersey. The thought was overwhelming emotionally and logistically. Aaargh!
“We’ll figure it out,” Velvel said, reaching for a bentscher. But Zahava knew that what he really meant was, “You and Chani will have to figure it out,” since he never got involved in the nitty-gritty details of the home. She tried not to seethe with resentment as he hastily read through his birkas hamazon and exited the kitchen to go meet his friends at the retired men’s chabura at shul. The chabura seemed more an excuse to shmooze than an opportunity to study, but Velvel liked the sound of saying he learned a half day in kollel, and it offered a reason to get out of the house.
Zahava sloshed the cereal in her bowl and tried not to give in to tears as she contemplated leaving her beloved home and the daunting prospect of packing up her (and her father’s) affairs. This whole move was the icing on the bitter, spoiled cake that was her life. It was bad enough they had money problems. It was bad enough she no longer had a mother, and bad enough that she was still single at almost 30. Now she had to give up the home she’d lived in all her life!
Life had dealt her a rotten hand of cards, honestly. No one else she knew had these problems, or at least if they did have one of them, they didn’t have this entire triad of misery. The Curse of the Elmans, she dubbed it in her mind. She was still single; even Chani wasn’t married, not that Zahava had much hope for Chani’s future. Chani was much too bookish and married to her so-called career, as if being a social worker was a dynamite job that would catapult her into wealth and fame instead of a soul-sucking job that involved dealing with society’s losers all day.
She wasn’t happy with Chani at all these days—no, not at all. Chani could have stood up for her side a little more when this deplorable decision was made. It seemed like she went down without a fight, blithely handing over her room and her home based on some high flown ideas about fiscal responsibility. Of course, what did Chani care? She had a regular salary, not a very big one surely, but something that allowed her to pay for her own things without using their father’s credit card. Zahava’s income was much more sporadic. Why, the last time she organized a party was a month ago, that bris for her old friend Suri’s new baby. Somebody ought to at least do her a favor and give birth to another boy. The way things were going, she was going to blink and find herself organizing her friends’ bar mitzvah parties, still a single woman pitied by everyone for her solitary status.
To be continued
