Page 51 of Delayed Intention

I check my list again. I’ve already shopped ahead for the wine, grape juice, and other nonperishables, including the dates for our charoset .

One of the charosets we’ll be having anyway.

That’s the funny thing that the Ashkenazim that have married into our family want to hang onto—their family charoset recipes.

They’re happy to absorb our tradition of eating rice, but I know for a fact that four different people are bringing their personal charoset made with apples, to be sure.

To each their own. I just feel happy everyone is coming.

I mean, we’ll see. I’m striving for a healthy approach to extended family entertainment: everyone could decide not to come, and Nona and I could live off amazing frozen leftovers for the next month.

Or three. It’ll be fine, and it is not worth stressing about.

Looking back to my list, I find my way to the “kosher for Passover” aisles in search of the tiny section devoted to kitniyot where I can grab rice cakes and peanut butter for the kids.

After all these thoughts of food, I realized I was famished. I walk over to the closest snack selection to grab a packet of Pringles and a Twix bar.

That’s when I remember I am missing him again.

My sorrow threatens to bring tears to my eyes.

Josh used to split his Twix with me when we were kids—before we had hormones and pheromones, and everything got so screwed up.

Who am I kidding? I had a crush on him before this year and, as far back as I can remember.

It began whenever I started thinking boys interested me in a way that girls didn’t.

The truth is he hasn’t been just my first crush, but my only one.

No one has ever caught my eye or my heart the way Joshua Cohen has.

He won’t be there for Passover. Michelle told me he has a new job and will be working through the holiday.

Conveniently for everyone, a new job in medicine means that for all the holidays, he’ll be the one on call in Estes Park so that his new partner can have some needed time off.

It must be that clinic. The clinic where we had that kiss.

The thought of that kiss and his urgency to claim me once I started kissing him, warms me to the point that I realize I am trying to fan myself with a Twix bar.

That’s when I spot two of the daughters of the owners of Heckenlively’s studying me.

This store has been a family business in Nebraska for generations.

Bette, their mother, had been a bridge partner and good friend of Nona’s for years.

Their father, Bruce, ran Heckenlively’s up until he passed a few years ago.

Nona told me Bette passed a year after her husband.

The sisters are younger than my mother, but grew up with Susan and Barbara.

So, of course, they’re headed right toward me while I rack my brain for their names.

They are almost arm’s length away when I remember them… Lisa and Sarah.

They must be in town with their families for Easter.

I smiled to myself, relieved I was able to pull their names out of the recesses of my mind, as they stopped to make polite small talk with me.

We’re chatting about their children, who are my age, but I don’t know well when another of their sisters comes around the corner.

This sister, Anna, I know better than the others since she came and stayed with my family one summer in D.C.

She smiles at me and then stops short, inspecting me with concerned eyes.

“Lily, are you okay dear? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look like you’re having a hot flash.” She smiles sincerely, and I just blush because of what I was actually thinking about.

“Oh, um…” I stumble, just a sexual flashback over a candy bar in the snack aisle… No, don’t say that … I can feel my social anxiety start to encroach as I stand there, my palms itching terribly, not sure what to say.

Two additional sisters walk up and accidentally rescue me, thank God.

I’m so addled at this point I can’t remember the other two sisters’ names, but they all start talking at once about how well Nona has been doing since her fall, how she’s so lucky to have a granddaughter in the medical field living with her now.

I, meanwhile, take the opportunity to slip off my jacket, hoping to cool off from the heat of recalling that day in the clinic.

Eventually, I extract myself, saying I need to get the cod home before too long so Nona and I can get to work, which has the benefit of both bailing me out of explaining why they found me verklempt with a candy bar in my hand and being the truth.

Now, I can make my escape without feeling bad about it.

They are a genuinely kind family who sent several days of kosher meals delivered to Nona after her surgery.

I make a note on my phone to send them each an overdue thank you card after Passover.

I finally make it to the front of a checkout line and wonder when I’ll ever get over Josh and his effect on me.

Maybe with the spirit of the season? This holiday is all about freedom from slavery—both in the literal sense that Jews were slaves in Egypt—and in the spiritual sense. I could use some of those freedom vibes to release me and my traitorous heart, not to mention Josh’s hold over it.

The ancient Jews had their miracle.

Maybe I will, too.