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Returning
(First posted on Runaway Tales: Eggnog #1)
“So you’ll be coming in on the 23rd?” Chaya was half-distracted by a rebellious bit of clay that refused to intermingle with its smooth counterparts on the vase mold. It was the second week of December, and the vase had yet to achieve its permanent form. She had to finish this commission, bake up some blintzes for Hanukkah (she wasn’t temple ready but still craved the old favorites). Then she had to oversee the decorations put up around the manor…
“Yeah, hopefully around 3 in the afternoon.” Jamie’s voice crackled, a semi-regular occurrence with international calls, even in the age of better technology. Back in those first years after Chaya wandered across the pond to England, her valiant attempts at communications with the family in Chicago and New York were often less than satisfactory. Satellites and Skype made keeping up so much easier thirty years later, but the process still wasn’t perfect.
“Do you still want me to pick you up at the airport?” She clipped away the offending piece of clay from the vase mold.
“Like always, Mum.”
“I could send a limo instead.”
“Or have Dad allow you to bring the Aston Martin.”
Chaya laughed. It was a yearly joke between mother and son, with the same punch line; of course she would pick him up. “I’ll bring the carriage and reindeer.”
“Can you put streamers on top of the carriage?” Static interrupted him for a couple seconds. “Ah, guess not. I’ll settle for the reindeer wearing Santa hats.”
“Keep that for your imagination.”
“I’d like to keep thoughts of cherry blintzes in mind.”
“Funny you should mention those…I’m baking some after dinner.”
Her son’s disappointment was obvious even through an Iphone. “Why hasn’t someone invented teleportation? Then I can be right in the kitchen−”
“−Standing near the oven, or sitting in the corner near the back door, waiting until the blintzes get done. Always the same reaction every Hanukkah…” Chaya grinned. Years could pass, but traces of a person’s childhood remained long into adulthood. Some things never changed. Well, children became adults, moved from one stage to another…Jamie had a thriving business, and equally thriving relationship. Chaya had never seen the pub, or the woman, except for pictures. She was going to New York in three weeks for a possible gallery showing. Was it possible to squeeze in a side trip to Harbor Neck and see those important parts of Jamie’s American life? Should this idea even cross her mind?
Since he announced last Christmas that he met another woman, Chaya was more than a little suspicious. Allyson Randolph seemed good enough on first impression…but one problem that really shouldn’t be a problem bothered Chaya…was the age difference. Seven years wasn’t a big deal on the chronological scale, once both respective parties were away from college and mixed into the daily world. It was difficult for her not to be worried; that “cougar” label jumped into her mind when Jamie mentioned the age difference. Chaya hated stereotypes, and she realized Allyson lacked the incriminating characteristics of an older woman on the prowl for younger men. But it still felt weird.
“Mum, are you there?” Jamie’s voice followed by static brought Chaya back into the moment.
She turned away from the potter’s wheel. Too many distractions for creativity…well, the vase could wait until after midnight, when everything was quiet…”Yes, honey, I’m still here. The old mind is just wandering again.”
“So you’ll be coming in on the 23rd?” Chaya was half-distracted by a rebellious bit of clay that refused to intermingle with its smooth counterparts on the vase mold. It was the second week of December, and the vase had yet to achieve its permanent form. She had to finish this commission, bake up some blintzes for Hanukkah (she wasn’t temple ready but still craved the old favorites). Then she had to oversee the decorations put up around the manor…
“Yeah, hopefully around 3 in the afternoon.” Jamie’s voice crackled, a semi-regular occurrence with international calls, even in the age of better technology. Back in those first years after Chaya wandered across the pond to England, her valiant attempts at communications with the family in Chicago and New York were often less than satisfactory. Satellites and Skype made keeping up so much easier thirty years later, but the process still wasn’t perfect.
“Do you still want me to pick you up at the airport?” She clipped away the offending piece of clay from the vase mold.
“Like always, Mum.”
“I could send a limo instead.”
“Or have Dad allow you to bring the Aston Martin.”
Chaya laughed. It was a yearly joke between mother and son, with the same punch line; of course she would pick him up. “I’ll bring the carriage and reindeer.”
“Can you put streamers on top of the carriage?” Static interrupted him for a couple seconds. “Ah, guess not. I’ll settle for the reindeer wearing Santa hats.”
“Keep that for your imagination.”
“I’d like to keep thoughts of cherry blintzes in mind.”
“Funny you should mention those…I’m baking some after dinner.”
Her son’s disappointment was obvious even through an Iphone. “Why hasn’t someone invented teleportation? Then I can be right in the kitchen−”
“−Standing near the oven, or sitting in the corner near the back door, waiting until the blintzes get done. Always the same reaction every Hanukkah…” Chaya grinned. Years could pass, but traces of a person’s childhood remained long into adulthood. Some things never changed. Well, children became adults, moved from one stage to another…Jamie had a thriving business, and equally thriving relationship. Chaya had never seen the pub, or the woman, except for pictures. She was going to New York in three weeks for a possible gallery showing. Was it possible to squeeze in a side trip to Harbor Neck and see those important parts of Jamie’s American life? Should this idea even cross her mind?
Since he announced last Christmas that he met another woman, Chaya was more than a little suspicious. Allyson Randolph seemed good enough on first impression…but one problem that really shouldn’t be a problem bothered Chaya…was the age difference. Seven years wasn’t a big deal on the chronological scale, once both respective parties were away from college and mixed into the daily world. It was difficult for her not to be worried; that “cougar” label jumped into her mind when Jamie mentioned the age difference. Chaya hated stereotypes, and she realized Allyson lacked the incriminating characteristics of an older woman on the prowl for younger men. But it still felt weird.
“Mum, are you there?” Jamie’s voice followed by static brought Chaya back into the moment.
She turned away from the potter’s wheel. Too many distractions for creativity…well, the vase could wait until after midnight, when everything was quiet…”Yes, honey, I’m still here. The old mind is just wandering again.”