The new year brought with it scores of resolutions, most of which would die quick but painless deaths before the first snowfall of the year — with one exception. Adam’s parents, Burt and Sandi, were determined to make 2005 the year that Adam found a nice Jewish girl. They were anxious to retire and buy a condo in Boca Raton with extra rooms for their grandchildren. While lying on the couch watching the Rose Bowl, Adam received a call from his mother.
“Hi, honey. Happy New Year.”
“Thanks, mom. Can I call you back after the game?”
“Sure…are you seeing anyone special?”
“Mom, I’m trying to watch the game here. Why?”
“Last night we were at a party and I ran into Lois Weiss. We went to high school together. Anyway, Lois has a daughter who just moved back to town. She’s 27 and works for an environmental non-profit group. She sounds darling.”
“Well, is she cute?”
“According to her, mother she is.”
“Mom, don’t you think that opinion is just a bit biased?”
Adam heard his dad pick up the phone to continue the ambush. “Come on, Adam. What the hell? Go out with her. You don’t want to end up being the oldest dad at the Little League games, do you?”
“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ, you win,” Adam surrendered. “Give me her number,” he said, scribbling it as quickly as his mother told it to him.
“We’d like to be able to dance the Hora at our own child’s wedding before we’re both in the nursing home.” Burt’s final shot.
The first day of the year had slipped away, and Adam had nothing to show for it. And the evening left few options. Adam unraveled the crumpled napkin on which he had written Amy Weiss’s phone number. At least he was going through the motions for his parents. He didn’t feel like talking to her and was thrilled when the voicemail clicked on.
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