Let’s Call Her Michelle Part 2

Previously on Let’s Call Her Michelle
She thought Israel would give her answers, maybe even him. Instead, she came home with a tan, a half-broken suitcase, and a voicemail she never listened to. She hears a guy and notices his flip phone and iPhone.

Let’s Call Her Michelle Part 2

Amazing. Got it. So the guy is not the salt-and-pepper Jewish fantasy. He’s a curveball. A cute, blonde, non-Jewish construction worker, Midwestern energy but with that voice. Deep, steady.

Michelle hears him say something to the clerk, turns, and boom, there’s this golden retriever of a man. Blue eyes, a slight farmer’s tan, drywall on his sleeve, and a genuine smile.

And for a moment, she feels something.
Not fireworks. Not fantasy.
Just… warmth.

He smiles back. That real kind of smile.
Just saying, “hey.”

She grabs the rechargeable batteries, because her babushka’s remote “stopped listening again.” It’s never the batteries, but it’s always the batteries. And right before the register, she finally spots the tulips she was looking for. They are purple and yellow. Slightly wilted but still reaching for light. She grabs a bunch. That was the real reason she came anyway.

She throws a cold Diet Coke on the belt too. They keep them in that little fridge in between the magazines and gum. She always notices it. She always grabs one.

As she waits for her receipt, a little boy is holding up a king-sized candy bar with both hands, looking up at his mom like it’s a treasure. She says no. He tries again. Classic.

Outside, Michelle heads to her car, tulips in the passenger seat, Diet Coke in the cup holder. She takes a long sip, the kind that hits your chest before your brain, and pulls out of the lot.

She starts singing.
Not softly. Not to herself.
Full-volume, wrong-key, car-concert-style.

“It’s me, hi—
I’m the problem, it’s me—”

She drum taps the steering wheel.
“At tea time, everybody agrees—”

A full performance.
“I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror…”

She doesn’t even notice the guy in the car next to her at the red light, watching her like she’s the main character in a movie he didn’t know he was in.

Her phone rings.
Kills the vibe.

“Hi totya Vika,” Michelle says, flipping the call on speaker.

“You didn’t tell me you’re in town!” Vika yells, like Michelle just landed from Mars.

“Ya, sorry, I just got in last night. Sorry-sorry. How are ya?”

“I’m good. Well, I miss you. Come by, I’ll cook something. The kids miss you.”

Michelle smiles. Ben and Sophia.
Her niece and nephew.
Used to babysit them before they got too old and too cool.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop by,” she says.
“I’ll bring some sweets.”

Those kids eat so much sugar their teeth are gonna fall out by 12. Honestly, can we regulate sugar for kids? Is that a thing? Like… should be a thing.

“Don’t bring anything,” Vika asks.
“Okay, bye, see ya later!”

Michelle hangs up. Rolls the window down. Lets the wind hit her face.
She doesn’t know where the day’s going.
But it’s going.

Next stop, Babushka’s.

She parks by the curb of the apartment complex, the kind with flowerbeds no one really maintains but still somehow manage to bloom every spring. Ground floor unit, near the mailboxes, same welcome mat since 2003.

The air smells like laundry vents and fried onions.

Michelle walks up holding the tulips, and before she can knock, the door is already open.

“Mishenka!!”

Her grandma pulls her in before she can say anything. Gives her that kind of hug that lives in your spine. That stays with you. The kind you feel even when she lets go.

“You’re too skinny,” Babushka says immediately, checking her wrist like it’s a thermometer.
“Come, I have food. I’ll make blinchiki. I have soup. You want rice? I made cutlets.”

“Let’s just do tea,” Michelle says.
“And the biscuits.”

Babushka narrows her eyes, suspicious, but nods.
She knows which biscuits.

They sit in the tiny kitchen with the plastic tablecloth and the mug that says #1 Grandma.

Babushka brings out the tea, loose leaf, obviously, and the chocolate-covered biscuits from Costco. The ones Michelle always sneaks four of, even when she says she’ll have one.

And then:
“So,” Babushka says, stirring her tea like it’s a ritual,
“How was Israel? Did you have fun? Did you see my friend Raya in Ashdod?”

Michelle smiles.
“Sorry, Babushka. I didn’t. I was busy. Didn’t travel much. I had a weekend in Tel Aviv, on the beach, but I was mostly in Jerusalem. That’s where my heart pulls me. I miss my friends. I wish you can come to Israel already. I’d love to see you in Jerusalem. It’s a dream of mine to take you to the shuk on Shabbat.”

Babushka nods, knowingly.

She refills Michelle’s tea without asking.
Michelle breaks a biscuit in half, then eats the whole thing anyway.

Babushka stirs her tea slowly, then looks up.
“What about malchiki,” she says quietly, which malchiki means boys.

Michelle doesn’t respond.
Just stares at the steam rising from her cup.

“Babushka, I’m going to Vika’s after your place.”

Babushka raises an eyebrow.
“You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

Babushka leans in.
“She’s getting divorced.”

Michelle’s face tightens. She plays it cool.
“Really?”

“Da! Don’t say anything. He cheated on her.”

Michelle blinks.
“With who?”

“Guess.”
Babushka sips her tea dramatically.

“I don’t know, Babushka. Who?”

“The neighbor. Sveta.”

Michelle drops the biscuit back onto her saucer.
“No way.”

“Kashmar,” Babushka mutters, like a prayer and a punchline at the same time.
“And you’re going there after me?”

Michelle sighs, half-laughs.

“How long did you know for?” she asks.

“Like two weeks,” Babushka says, shrugging like that’s nothing.

Michelle blinks.
“Why does no one ever tell me anything when I’m traveling?”

On the table, next to the sugar bowl, her phone lights up.
A missed call.
Israeli number. No name.

She doesn’t touch it.

Babushka glances at the screen.
“Is it that rabbi again? You should call him back. He’s cute.”

To be continued…
On the next episode of Let’s Call Her Michelle. Next Friday morning. Talk soon unless I ghost you.

By Gary Guz & Daniella Diva aka GD