“Leave me out of your cult, I told her, and I shut her out of my life. We’d been real close before, and she’d ruined it”
What was Tamar thinking? Howard, when all the men in my life were Yanky-Moishy-Chaim-Sruli?
Only when I reached the building’s exit, still fuming, did I realized: I’d left my umbrella upstairs. Now what?
I couldn’t leave without an umbrella. It was pouring, and I’d just had this sheitel done. But going back to the office meant facing Tamar again, and I wasn’t facing Tamar again, ever.
She knew, I thought miserably as I jabbed my finger to summon the elevator. She knew, and that was the problem. She heard all my grousing about the ridiculous suggestions I was getting now that there was a sheitel on my head but no ring on my finger. I kept her updated about every lunatic’s résumé I got. The thrice-divorced guy, the fire juggler, the vegan father of seven, Make the sure the girl knows this, she’ll be cooking my meals after all.
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