Page 53 of The Dreidl Disaster

Barbecue meant Abe’s sauce, which was as familiar as the back of his own hand. He even made it once, under pressure at the prelude to the latke fry-off when he’d been Abe’s sous chef.

Now, the smoker was going and it was beautiful, filling the air with hickory joy. The smoke twined with the smells of the sauce in a beautiful hazy cloud that meandered through the open windows, and he followed it into the house and toward the kitchen.

Sauce and hickory haze marked the stage in Abe’s barbecue prep where the barbecue master needed babysitting as much as the food did, a tradition as old as their adulthood. And, more specifically, the reason why they were all here, in the house he’d spent so much of his childhood in.

Abe had lived here as a kid and bought the place from his father about eight years before. His best friend had sold his Manhattan apartment when his desire to work on his barbecue was greater than his desire to live in a space as big as his thumb.

In a manner of speaking.

Lucky for his best friend, his father had been ready to sell. Artur wondered what would have happened if his parents had been ready to sell their house when Abe was ready to buy; only three years after Abe’s father was.

But that was a question meant for different times, considering he didn’t think he’d be able to stay in Abe’s guest room if Abe lived in that house. Lucky for him, that hadn’t been the case.

“Artur,” Batya said as he entered the kitchen. “How goes it?”

She looked harried, slightly uncomfortable at this point. Hot despite the temperature as if she’d been dragging various objects across the house.

Did the vacuum she used for half of her cleaning spree gain weight, muscle or both? Was the house full of that much surface dust and grime?

But she’d actually asked him about his mental state, not his opinion of hers. “It goes,” he finally said. “I feel like I’m going to see dancing wine cases in my nightmares.”

Batya smirked. “As long as you don’t cut them down, they won’t multiply. Did I not teach you anything?”

Movie references. She was answering him in movie references which meant she needed an extra pick-me-up. “I didn’t feed them after midnight,” he replied with a shrug, playing along, “or wet them, so they’re fine.”

Abe’s singular laugh could be heard anywhere, and it was nice to hear it now. “Too many references,” his best friend said, making his presence known as he stood in front of the stove. “Both of them wonderful. Except what’s going on?”

Batya looked at him, and miracle of miracles she knew him well enough to see the cracks and dents in the armor. Both her husband’s and his. Without asking. “You want to take over?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you still cleaning or am I in the babysitting phase?”

“If I see another bottle of cleaning solution,” Batya said, “I will lose my ever-loving mind faster than someone could snap their fingers and say some random Aramaic phrase.”

He laughed. Abe, thankfully, did as well. “Got it,” Artur said.

“Hey,” Abe said with a laugh. “Don’t I get a vote?”

Batya raised an eyebrow, and she turned toward her husband. Their relationship was something he adored and felt ridiculously lucky to be able to be close to as it developed.

“He’s been on front-end lifting for a while,” Batya said, turning toward Abe. “You want I should give him a break?”

The look that passed between them was hard fought and wonderful. Beautiful, even. He was proud of it.

Not that he’d been directly responsible, like he was for the very first campaign he’d done all those years earlier.

But this. This was two people who couldn’t figure themselves out for way too long. He’d just given them a tiny bit of guidance a few years before, and now he watched them with a sense of al­most…pa­ternal?…pride, as they grew and bloomed together.

“What’s that look?” Abe said.

“What look?” Artur replied, knowing that if he actually admitted how he felt about their relationship, neither of them would know what to say.

“Isn’t the normal response to say something weird, like get a room?”

“Have I ever been normal?” Artur asked, knowing the response as well as he knew his friend.

“Nope. And that’s why we adore you and that weird smile on your face.” Batya grinned, pointing at her husband with a thumb. “So why is it you want to go back here with him, exactly?”

“Because,” Abe said, scrutiny in his eyes as clear as the smirk Artur had worn. “If I had to guess, my best friend just happens to be removing himself from a situation where aside from lifting and sorting boxes, he’d been staring at the driveway and driving himself crazy as he looks for a particular guest to arrive.”

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