Chapter One
October
The subject line of the email burning a hole in Batya Averman’s inbox was written in bold.
LATKE FRY-OFF HOSTED by George Gold/Golden Road Productions
She’d sent in her résumé to the town and the production company a few months before on a whim fueled by possibility. She was a good web designer, but she also knew food. Knew it well, especially after building her own website, full of interviews and the kinds of things that might possibly be, for a person with less stage fright, the basis of a television show.
But she couldn’t stop dreaming, and maybe, maybe if she could design the website for this event, she could talk to George Gold himself? Ask him some questions. Get some guidance.
Who knew. The man probably wasn’t going to give the time of day to a web designer, but being on one of his sets would be educational for sure. If she got the job.
And now, amidst the email that told her she needed to schedule the next dress fitting at the shop designing the bridesmaids’ dresses for Anna’s wedding in six months, client emails, and random emails from Sarah telling her she was convinced Isaac was going to propose on the first night of Hanukkah, was The response.
She held her breath and clicked on it.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Batya,
I was very pleased to receive your email. And I am absolutely thrilled to offer you the position.
Looking forward to seeing you back in Rivertown,
Kiyoshi
RTQB Alum with Distinction
She clicked the message shut and sighed before putting her head on the kitchen table. “Why?” she asked. “Why the heck is this my life?”
She heard footsteps and looked up to see her aunt. “What’s going on?”
Her aunt was in her seventies—bright haired, bright-eyed, and with a mind like a steel trap. She’d come to Hollowville from California five years before because Tante Shelly had needed family. Now she couldn’t imagine her adult life without the close relationship she’d built with her aunt.
But a discussion about the mistake she’d made and the past she’d left behind in Rivertown wasn’t going to be a comfortable one, even with Tante Shelly.
“Rivertown,” she said, hedging just a little bit, “is hosting a latke competition.”
Tante Shelly raised an eyebrow, and it was obvious the older woman could see past the story Batya wanted to tell. “I don’t understand.”
Now she had to spill the details, and hope Tante would understand. “I’d read somewhere that George Gold is hosting a latke-making competition in some town,” Batya said, feeling like she was driving backward through quicksand. “And, so I sent an inquiry to the committee about doing the website. I didn’t realize that the town was Rivertown.”
Tante Shelly snickered. “Oh my dear. You know exactly why this is your life?”
“I don’t. I mean, I was excited to see how a small town would run a latke-making competition. For abstract, and maybe website purposes, and more importantly as a way of working with George Gold. He’s really hands-on for the things he hosts, because he doesn’t want his name attached to anything inferior. So I offered my services. Website build, onsite consultation at most hours during the event itself, which I normally offer in conjunction with websites I’m doing for specific pop-up events.”
“And you didn’t check to see where the competition was before you offered?”
Which was the part of the story Batya was most embarrassed about. “I’m usually more circumspect about checking the information and locations of places I send my résumé to,” she admitted. “But this time I wasn’t.”
“Why?”
And that was the million-dollar question. “I can work anywhere, you know, and honestly I kinda would for George Gold. I figured it would be California or Florida or somewhere like that, knowing his usual filming trajectory. The last thing in the world I expected was for Rivertown, the village that barely even acknowledged their Jewish population when I lived there, to have a latke competition.”
Tante Shelly nodded. “You know, places change, Batya. People change. Towns change. Apparently, the new rabbi at the synagogue has a very different outlook on community outreach than the last one had. And from what I hear, he’s got a seat on the council.”
“Why do I not believe you?”
“Maybe the other thing you should think about,” Tante Shelly continued, shifting into lecture mode, “is that a large number of people come here, to the next town over from Rivertown, to celebrate Hanukkah. Tourist dollars are on the table. And not thinking about those tourists costs Rivertown money. A lot of money.”
Batya nodded. “That I believe. And I understand the facts, Tante Shelly, but I just…”
“You just what?”
Batya sighed. “Why, of all places, does it have to be…there?”
Tante Shelly sat down at the table, settled herself in and smiled, her wide hazel eyes soft yet trained directly on her. “Bashert, maybe.”
Thankfully, Batya wasn’t drinking anything; she would have spewed liquid all over her aunt if she had. Instead, she tried to tamp down her sarcasm. “Rivertown is not my soul mate.”
“No,” her tante replied, “but you’ve been successful at everything life has thrown at you. It’s bashert, fated, that you take the next step toward your dreams there. Where you started.”
“I didn’t start there,” Batya replied as if she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “I left there as quickly as possible. You could see the burn marks under my tires as I went across the country.”
“Yes, and you didn’t return.” Tante Shelly smiled. “You know I never thanked you.”
“For what?”
“For coming here when I needed you. Thank you.”
“There’s no reason to thank me,” she said, reaching a hand out and placing it over her aunt’s wrinkled one. “You needed me; I needed a change. You did everything for me when I was a kid. I adore you, Tante Shelly.”
She smiled, and Batya could see that smile was still bittersweet, her uncle’s loss still just below her aunt’s skin. “I love you, dear,” she said. “And I know that it’s time for you to take the next step.”
“Even if it’s going backward?”
“This isn’t backward,” Tante Shelly said, rubbing her wrist with her thumb. “No, mamaleh. This is forward.”
“Forward.” Batya tried desperately to hide her disbelief. Yes, building a website for a food competition was a logical next step,
but nothing in the world would make her think returning to Rivertown for any reason was moving forward. “Okay.”
She opened her email app, then went to Kiyoshi’s email and hit reply.
This was happening. Whether she wanted it to or not.
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