“Michael, is that you?” Lily’s voice rang like a siren song.
“Yes. Was that you before?”
“Yes, but you didn’t answer, so I hung up,” she said, embarrassed.
“And yesterday?” I pressed, like some veteran detective.
“I wasn’t ready for an answering machine, and I don’t leave messages for people I don’t know,” she said briskly.
“Can we meet? I want to give you the gift,” I pushed ahead, aiming straight for the goal.
“Just tell me where and when.”
“Fine. But get this straight – I’m coming only to pick up the gift. That’s it. I’m not staying.”
“If that’s what you want. I promise not to push,” I said, my hand trembling as I set the receiver down.David and I lived in Bavli, a neighborhood in Tel-Aviv – and it turned out Lily’s parents did too. We arranged to meet at my place in fifteen minutes. I told David he had two minutes to vanish.
“What happened, war broke out?” he shouted.
“No, she’s on her way!” I yelled back, already dashing into the shower.
“Whoa! She’s on her way!!! Okay, I’m getting dressed and gone – give me five.” David caught on instantly, as always, and played along.I stripped off the hospital clothes – and the exhaustion with them – and jumped into the shower. Of course, we’d forgotten to turn on the boiler, and David had used up what little hot water there was. But even the freezing spray didn’t matter in those magical moments of anticipation. In five minutes, I was out, in fresh clothes I’d brought from Finland – a striped blue-and-green shirt, and new jeans. I wanted to look my best.
“Perfect on you,” David said before slipping out, sticking to our deal that he’d clear out.About fifteen minutes later, I stepped onto the balcony and scanned the street. No Lily. Then the doorbell rang.
“It’s open!” I shouted, as usual, hurrying to the door.
“What are you out of breath for? Where’d you run from?” Lily stood there, breathtaking as always.
“From the balcony … yeah, really far,” I grinned.Lily looked radiant. Her outfit, her colors, the faint trace of perfume – all of it drew me in. I held back.
“Want to sit? Maybe rest a little?” she asked.
“Actually, yeah. It was a rough night,” I admitted.
“Believe me, I know those nights in the ward,” she said.
For a second, I pictured her in a hospital bed, monitors beeping in the background. I shook the image from my head.
“So … yeah … I bought us something. One for you, one for me.” I stammered, stretching out the word “us.” I pointed to two boxes on the table beside us.
“You what? Now I’m curious … which one’s mine?” she teased, a mischievous smile on her lips.
I left the choice to her.
“I’m taking the green one. Blue suits you better today,” she said, just as I’d expected.
“So what’s this ‘for us’ business?” she asked, inspecting the box.
“My sister suggested a gift in two parts. She said if – when – the two parts come back together, it’sbashert.”
“What…?” she frowned.
“Fate. A match made in heaven. Yiddish,” I explained, half-joking, half-serious.”Slowly, she peeled off the tape and lifted the wrapping in one piece. She still had no clue what was inside. The Finnish writing offered no hints, no pictures. Just before she opened it, she stopped.
“Just this week I broke up with Ralf – and now here I am, running to you. It doesn’t feel right. This isn’t me.” She stood up and started toward the door, the gift still sealed.
“Wait – don’t go. Just open it, please…” I called after her, almost pleading.
