Emma’s first patient will be Art Gleason, a cranky man in his late sixties who makes an hour feel like a day. She is thankful when she sees that Mariana Ramos is coming later in the morning; she always looks forward to seeing her.
Midtown, NY
Elliott Hirsch bounds up the stairs from the subway platform and heads toward the brokerage firm where he’s been employed the last two years. Two blocks before the building, he enters a market with the daily specials written on a sidewalk chalkboard. His cell phone begins to ring as he walks through the entrance.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Elliott! You didn’t get back with me yesterday about Saba’s birthday party.”
He pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and makes his way to the back of the market. “Super busy day at work.”
“I assumed that’s why you didn’t call, but Saba’s party is coming up, and we need to give a head count of who’s coming.”
Elliott chuckles, shaking his head. In the twenty-four years he’s been on this earth, his mother has never been known for flexibility, and as she’s getting older, she’s becoming even less so. “His birthday is nine days away. Even if I got back with you three days from now, that would give them six days’ notice that I’m coming.”
“Well, it would be nice if they knew ahead of time.”
“And they will. I promise you. I will look at my calendar and let you know. I need to go. I forgot to grab something for a party at work today. I’m at the market just blocks from the firm, so I’m trying to rush through here.” He reaches for a prepackaged cheese platter.
“How about now?”
“What?”
“You’re in a market. You’re not working at the moment. How about looking at your calendar now?”
He laughs out loud. “Of course! Right here next to the Gorgonzola is perfect.” Elliott checks the calendar on his phone, types the information into it, then puts the phone back to his ear. “I’m wide open. So please, on my behalf, would you RSVP Hirsch party of one for Saba’s birthday?”
“Oh! I’m just thrilled that you can come! Thanks so much for getting back to me.”
“You called me, Mom,” he says, rushing to the cashier to pay.
“I know! But it was in your heart to call me yesterday.” He can hear her on the other end, shuffling papers around, probably figuring out who she needs to call next. “Your father and Ben and I will be heading back to Ohio two days after the party, but hopefully we can all get together with you while we’re there.”
“You’re flying to New York. Of course we’ll get together.”
“Only if you’re not too busy. I mean, it was hard for you to make a phone call yesterday.”
He slaps his palm on his forehead. “Mom, you’re killing me.”
She gasps. “That is not my intention. I just wanted you to know our schedule. Do you need to write it down?”
“I got it.” He pushes up his glasses again and places the cheese platter in front of the cashier.
“Wonderful! How’s your day, my love?”
“At the moment? A bit hectic. How about yours?” He reaches for his wallet in his back pocket.
“Your father’s complaining about some sort of foot condition. What do you think it could be?”
Elliott laughs. “I have no idea!”
“I just wonder if it might be something like you had in high school. Remember?”
He pauses for a moment, remembering. “When I broke my toe playing hockey?”
“Remember how painful that was?”
“Yeah! I broke my toe! Playing hockey! Has dad broken his toe?”
“No.”
“Has he been playing hockey?”
She laughs on the other end. “Of course not!”
“Then how is this anything like what happened to me in high school?”
“Because it’s a foot problem. And it’s painful.”
He pays the cashier and reaches for the bag. “I don’t think I’d make that your lead-in when you visit a doctor with Dad. Love you, Mom.”
“I love you, Elliott.”
He prepares to hang up when he hears her voice rising. “Oh! Oh! Do you need to write down the date for Saba’s party?”
“I already put it on my calendar. Remember?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m just asking because Saba’s rabbi is going to be there.”
“He’s my rabbi, too, Mom.”
“Oh, that’s right. He is! I wondered if you had forgotten.”
Elliott sighs, smiling. “I remember the rabbi.” Most mothers would be asking about his interest in girls, with the goal of grandchildren in mind, but his mother has always been more concerned about the condition of his soul rather than his love life.
“You know what? I’ll call you the day before, in case your computer or phone crashes or there’s some sort of cyberattack.”
“Love you, Mom.” He hangs up before she can take another breath.
Elliott and his brother, Ben, were born in Cleveland and lived there until his dad was transferred to New York, where they settled in Long Island, and Elliott and Ben played hockey in the winter and baseball in the spring. They lived there until their dad was transferred back to Cleveland during Elliott’s sophomore year in college, but he stayed in New York, claiming it as his permanent home. He sees his parents several times a year and talks to them on the phone at least once a week, more if his mother is calling. For the last year he’s worked as a purchase and sales clerk at a brokerage firm, hoping that one day he’ll become a financial advisor. At twenty-four he’s single and lives alone, while Ben, who’s two years younger, has traveled Europe and has yet to take a career seriously. The fact is that Ben has always been the outgoing and charismatic one, while Elliott has always been shy, content to bury himself with work. This isn’t the life he envisioned in college, but then again, it’s not terrible. At least that’s what he tells himself.
Mr. Gleason must have been having a better-than-average day because he grumbled only once to Emma about the cost of the therapy and the hassle of dealing with his insurance company and Medicare. When Mariana Ramos arrives for rehab at eleven, Emma is ready for the woman’s sweet conversation. Mrs. Ramos and her husband, Miguel, are both in their mid-sixties and own 316 Deli in Brooklyn, known for their Cuban sandwiches, soups, sweet-potato cake, and coconut flan. Emma will often leave the apartment early so she can stop by the deli and pick up one of Mariana’s Puerto Rican sweet rolls for breakfast. “No sugar. The secret is honey,” Mrs. Ramos said when she brought a sweet roll for her first therapy session.
Mrs. Ramos is reading when Emma opens the door to the waiting room. “Mrs. Ramos?” Emma smiles, noticing a bag in her hand. “I’m pretty sure I smell something delicious in that bag,” she says, holding open the door to the therapy room.
“Just a Cuban sweet roll,” Mrs. Ramos says, handing the bag to her. “You haven’t been by in a while.”
Mrs. Ramos’s once pepper-black hair is now heavy with salt and resting on the back of her head in a soft bun. Wrinkles edge her mouth and eyes, but Emma thinks she’s beautiful and looks much younger than her age. She gives her a quick hug. “It seems I’m running late every morning,” Emma says. “Thank you so much!” She leads Mrs. Ramos into the therapy room and sets the bag on the window ledge behind them. Mrs. Ramos sits at the end of the therapy table; Emma puts her hands on her shoulders. “I can say this with all honesty…you are my favorite patient ever!”