I
t was becoming increasingly weird keeping my new friend a secret from my parents. Every time Ahuva called, I felt like I had to explain her existence to them. Which was difficult, since I could hardly explain it to myself. I found myself furnishing excuses for her calls all the time — and hating it.
“Klein, Klein, Klein,” my mother chanted when I returned home from a friend’s vort one night. “Just look at the caller ID. What does this girl want from you every night? Why does she work from home?”
I grabbed the opportunity. “It’s not about work,” I clarified. “I’m pretty good friends with her.”
That was the understatement of the century, but at least I wouldn’t have to hide Ahuva anymore. Was it my imagination or did my mother look bewildered? There was nothing wrong with Ahuva. There was no reason my mother shouldn’t approve of our friendship. Why was she different from all my school and camp friends? We were coworkers, sort of, right?
