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Ron heard them in the hallway and went to open the door. Rachel and Arthur carried paper bags from Pino’s Market.
“Nana! How are you!” Ron gushed. Arthur smiled. Ron was in love with Rachel and that brought him immense joy. “Ronnie, Ronnie, my love.” She heaved the bag into his arms. He took the bag and perched it on his hip so he could hug her with his free arm.
“What’s all this, Nana?” Ron inquired.
Rachel had always preferred being called by her first name, but she found Ron’s nickname for her sweetly endearing.
Arthur and Ron set the groceries down on the kitchen counter and began unpacking.
“We don’t observe most Passover traditions but we always make a pot of matzo ball soup to celebrate. It’s Arthur’s favorite. I’ll make enough to freeze for later.”
Arthur squatted down and began pulling things out of the bottom cupboard. “Stock pot, cutting board, knife, mixing bowl, what else do you need?”
“That’s good. Arthur, why don’t you wash the vegetables. Ronnie, once the stock gets started I’ll teach you how to make matzo balls.”
Ron was gleeful. He was excited to be part of this family tradition.
“Okay, we got celery, carrots, parsnip, onions, garlic, dill, parsley and oh,” Rachel raised the chicken with the reverence afforded a sacred chalice. “This beautiful plump chicken. Gorgeous! Harold always saves me a fat old hen."
They set up stations, Arthur roughly chopped the vegetables, leaving the skins on the onions and cutting the garlic bulb. “Don’t bother to peel the garlic. Just cut straight down the middle and throw in the pot with the skin on,” said Rachel.
“Why do you leave the skins on?,” asked Ron.
“The onion skins give the broth a dark, rich color. We strain the broth anyway.”
Rachel measured peppercorns, salt and other spices that would go in later. She placed the chicken and vegetables in the stock pot, covered it completely with water, and lit the stove. Ron looked on waiting for his turn to help.
Rachel looked at Arthur. “Arthur, why don’t you go relax. Ronnie and I have it under control.”
Arthur yawned. “Ok. Wake me up when it’s ready.” He kissed Rachel on the top of her head and headed to his room.
Ronnie and Rachel stared in the large mixing bowl.“Ok, so first we add 8 eggs and 1 cup of schmaltz. That’s just chicken fat. Add a quarter cup of dill, a quarter cup of ginger, and four big shakes of nutmeg. Then a few more shakes of dill. You can never have enough dill!”
Ron dutifully took the bowl and began whipping the mixture.
“Now we pour in the matzo meal and stir until the eggs are completely absorbed.”
“How does this look, Nana?”
“Perfect.” She took the bowl from him and placed it on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. “Now we wait 15 minutes so it can firm up.” She clapped her hands together. “You wait, you’ll never go to the 2nd Avenue Deli again.”
“Ronnie, you never talk about your family. Are they here in New York?”
He stiffened slightly. “No,” he said ruefully. “My mother lives in Indiana. We don’t really talk much.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must be very hard. What happened between you?”
Ron shifted uncomfortably. “My mother is very Catholic, and…,”
“Ah,” she nodded solemnly with understanding. “She doesn’t accept you for who you are."
If it were anyone but Rachel, he would have resented the implication. But there was no denying that she was right.
“Yeah, whenever we talk she asks me if I’ve met a nice girl and when I’m getting married,” he said with sad resignation.
“That’s a terrible shame. You’re such a treasure. She should be as proud of you as I am.”
Ron was visibly moved. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Rachel took him by the shoulders. “Listen Ron, you’re part of our family now. I love you and Arthur loves you.”
He didn’t have time to process this before Rachel declared, “Okay, it’s been fifteen minutes, time to make the matzo balls!”
“Okay, pour a little olive oil into your hands so the dough won’t stick to your hands.”
She handed him a spoon. “Scoop out a small amount, about the size of a walnut. They don’t need to be all the same size, but they will expand, so don’t make them too big.”
Ron did as he was told and picked up a small spoonful of the mixture. “Now roll it around in your palms like this,” she demonstrated rolling the balls just with the palm of her hand, fingers splayed. “We drop it into the boiling water, cover it, and let it simmer for about 45 minutes.”
“Now we wait. The stock and the balls should be done about the same time.”
They washed their hands of the sticky matzo mixture.
Rachel lifted her glass to initiate a toast. “To family and friends, near and far.”
“Here, here,” said Ron, as they clinked glasses.
After a short silence Rachel said, “I have a new word for you, author Ron.”
He looked at her with curiosity and enthusiasm. “What is it Nana?”
“Bashert. It’s a Yiddish word that means destiny.”
“Bashert. How would you use it in a sentence?”
“If you had found an acceptable apartment, we never would have met and become family. It was bashert.”
Ron demurred. “I guess you’re right. I never thought of it that way.”
“Bashert can also mean soulmate. I think you've found that too. ” She pointedly nodded in Arthur's direction and gave Ron an authoritative glance.
Without waiting for a response, she continued.
"All in good time, my love, but don't wait too long. When you find your bashert, like I found my Sol, olav ha sholem, you want to make the most of the time you have together. You never know how long you might have.
Arthur looked stunned. Arthur? Did she really think that he was his soulmate? Did Arthur say something?
Before he could respond, Rachel walked over to the soup and lifted the lid. She took the ladle and scooped out a small amount. “Taste this Ronnie. Careful, its hot.”
Still reeling from Rachel’s words, he gingerly took a sip. “Oh my God, this is amazing!”
She took a sip. “Mmm. Needs a little more salt..” She measured out a tablespoon of kosher salt and mixed it in.
Grabbing a pair of tongs, she carefully lifted the chicken out of the stock and placed them on a serving dish.
“Once the chicken cools, we separate the meat from the bones. You can add some to the soup if you like. Do you prefer dark or white?”
And just like that their heart to heart was over.
Arthur emerged from the couch where he had fallen asleep, rubbing his eyes before putting his glasses on. He looked like a grumpy bear emerging from hibernation.
Rachel looked at the clock. “Almost ready. About another 15 minutes.”
“Arthur, would you please set the table?”
He nodded. He set three large soup bowls, three wide spoons, cloth napkins and the bottle of wine on the table.
“Ron and I had a nice chat while you were sleeping.”
“Oh yeah? About what?”
Ron looked at Rachel nervously and she nodded at him, as if to assure him she wouldn’t reveal their secret.
“You know, this and that.”
Arthur demurred, letting it go.
Arthur ladled the broth into three bowls over two large matzo balls each. He carefully brought them over the kitchen table, setting them down in front of his dinner companions.
Rachel looked at both of them with love and amusement. These stubborn knuckleheads, she thought. I guess they’ll figure it out in their own time.
She took each of their hands and brought them together over her heart. “My boys.”
“Why is this night different from all the other nights?”