Chapter 2

Mothers are for everyone—at least, they should be. Georgy Lieberman had one, too: a strong, strapping woman named Isolda Moiseevna, sixty-two years old. Tenacious as a spider and as domineering as Napoleon in exile on his island. And, on top of everything else, fiercely jealous.

Zhorik didn't remember his father, but according to his mother, he took after him in every way. And that much I was inclined to believe; otherwise, I wouldn't have hoped to build a happy life with such a shy, intelligent guy.

Zhora Lieberman was tall and thin. He wasn't even thirty, and he already had the beginnings of a bald spot, while his scrawny chest was covered in a truly wild thicket of dark hair! He was far from handsome, but he was a caring, attentive dentist—and in everyday life, a quiet, modest guy. A good man, all things considered. In his mother's opinion, though, he was simply wonderful! Far too intelligent and well-mannered to get involved with a girl like me. A girl who changed her hair color like other people changed clothes, worked for a gay man without even blushing, and, to top it all off, couldn't cook matzo.

I was twenty, he was twenty-five, and Georgy was nothing like my swaggering suitors. So when he offered to walk me home one day, I was very surprised—but I accepted.

I ended up in his dental chair by chance—with a terrible abscess and a fever that had risen by evening. That day, I'd worked at the salon until the last client, and by then my cheek had swollen up badly. Gera was the first one willing to see me. Then he walked me home. At the time, I thought he'd offered out of sympathy and pity. Maybe he was simply headed that way. It was bitterly cold that winter, and the guy walking beside me was practically freezing his nose off.

Only later did Zhorik admit that he'd been terribly nervous and embarrassed. That it was the first time in his life he'd liked a girl so much, and he'd finally worked up the nerve to make a romantic gesture. That his domineering mother had been waiting for him at home, and he'd had to invent an entire story to explain why he was late for dinner.

We talked until late that evening and said good night, but that wasn't the end of it. A few days later, I went back to the dental clinic, and Zhora walked me home again. It was cold, his nose was freezing again, but our hands were on fire. I was struck by how touchingly and tenderly he held my fingers in his palm, how tactfully he spoke, how he looked at me with big, gentle brown eyes—as if I were the only woman in the world.

And once again, he had to invent a story for his mother about why he was late for dinner.

Zhora kept making up stories for three years. He wriggled out of things as best he could. I introduced him to my parents two weeks after we met, but he wasn't in any hurry to introduce me to his family or invite me over. Two months passed, and he still wasn't in any hurry. The next time, he didn't invite me either. He mumbled, stumbled over his words, and sighed. He blushed and made excuses. Then he admitted that everything was very serious. His mother had problems with her heart, liver, nerves, and spleen. She was a lonely, fragile woman who had devoted her entire life to her son. She loved him so much and wasn't used to sharing him with anyone that she simply wouldn't survive finding out he had a girlfriend.

Surprising, right? I didn't want to believe it either. My family had never had problems like that. I respected my relatives' opinions, and they always took mine into account. I was used to sharing my happiness with my family—it was perfectly normal! But this… All I could do was marvel at the strange behavior of someone else's mother. She guarded her grown son so jealously that he had to invent work shifts just to escape and go on a date with me.

Let alone spending a night together.

It hurt, but I grew attached to Zhorik. He swore he loved me, begged me to understand and wait… and I did.

But every secret has an expiration date, and ours eventually ran out.

Someone saw us together, and someone told Crocodile Tears about me… We were two very different people, and we just couldn't get along. Sure enough, when we finally ran into each other, we collided like two waves. To her amazement, I turned out to be a tough nut to crack and didn't let her push me around.

And then…

And then a lot happened—five years had passed, after all. Zhorik and I fought and made up. He left his mother for me, then me for his mother, but he always came back with passionate declarations and a new round of pleading.

There were times when things worked out. Times when Zhora firmly told his mother that he loved me and wanted to live his own life. He'd make up his mind, pack his things, and move in with me, suitcase and all… But three days later, everything would start again—phone calls, tears, and accusations.

I nicknamed Isolda Moiseevna Crocodile Tears because she'd chosen the most despicable way to pressure her son. Instead of being happy for him, she'd chosen to play selfishly on his feelings and conscience, forcing him to swing back and forth between us.

The more attached Zhorik grew to me, the more fiercely he fought for his freedom, the more agonizing her death throes became. She'd have her tenth heart attack, be paralyzed, and be tormented by nightmares, high blood pressure, hiccups, and diarrhea. Ambulance crews would rush to save her… But the moment Zhorik, ashamed of his own callousness, returned to his mother's arms, her health would miraculously return.

I was the first to call it quits. I was simply tired of it.

I wanted a family, children, and a husband I wouldn't have to share. Normal, healthy relationships with our parents. Quiet evenings in front of the TV and shared plans for the future. I'm a homebody at heart; I need comfort and warmth—it's really not much to ask!

Eventually, I got tired of hearing that it still wasn't the right time. That we had to wait a little longer. Just a little, maybe a year or two…

It couldn't go on like that. May Crocodile Tears live to be a hundred! Just not with me.

I think Zhorik finally understood everything during our last breakup. That's probably why, when Crocodile Tears called and hinted that her son had someone else, it felt more bitter than painful. I knew Zhorik couldn't have done that because he'd suddenly fallen in love. If he'd decided to start a relationship, it was only so he could let me go.

I made the decision on impulse, like everything else that pops into my head. I can't live my life overthinking and second-guessing myself. When I find myself standing in front of a closed door, I have to either open it and walk in or walk past and forget it. No regrets, no second-guessing—that's just me. And the strongest part of me suddenly decided to turn my life upside down. Yes, start over—so be it! Give myself a chance to turn the page and move on.