Recipe for Disaster Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction: Recipe for My Family

  Fall

  Fall

  Rugelach

  Recipe for a Best Friendship

  Hair

  Family

  Hebrew

  As Usual

  Kiddush

  Recipe for a Bat Mitzvah After-Party

  The Best Night of Our Lives

  Recipe for Jeremy Brewer Brownies

  Firsts

  Jeremy Brewer

  The New Recipe for Jeremy Brewer Brownies

  Her Way

  Jew-ish

  Roots

  Uprooted

  Commitment

  The Big Book of What’s Cooking

  Piecrust

  Pretty Please Pie

  Eavesdropping

  Icing

  No Thank You Pie

  Point of No Return

  Sour

  Proceeding as Unusual

  Victoria

  Recipe for Victoria

  Valuable

  Friendless

  Frying

  Delicate

  Recipe for the Bat Mitzvah That I Tell Everyone About

  Aunt Yael

  Recipe for Aunt Yael

  Ingredients in a Bat Mitzvah

  Keeping My Cool

  The Letter

  Studying

  Getting Along

  The Final Straw

  Winter

  Winter

  Sufganiyot

  The Light

  Leviticus 25:1–4

  Rote

  The Fight

  Recipe for My New Life

  Leviticus 25:5–7

  The Best Relationships

  Buttermilk Biscuits

  Watermelon Jelly

  Recipe for Family Secrets Strudel

  Pescacide

  Leviticus 25:8–9

  Forgiveness

  Recipe for Catching My Mother Off-Guard

  Betrayal

  Leviticus 25:10–14

  Jubilee

  Chocolate Chocolate Chip Pancakes

  Recipe for Christmas Dinner

  The Gift

  Engraving

  Happy New Year!

  Baklava

  Countdown

  Back to School

  Recipe for Back to School Snickerdoodles

  A Great Year

  Right

  So Right

  Wrong

  So Wrong

  So, So Wrong

  Wrong, Wrong, Wrong

  Recipe for Hate

  The Symbol

  Imagined

  Dear Students,

  Not Enough

  Recipe for Falling

  . . . Falling . . .

  . . . Falling . . .

  Fallen

  And So

  And So

  And So

  Funeral

  Shiva

  Sitting Shiva

  Vinegar

  Baking Soda

  Boom.

  The Truth

  Not

  Alone

  Traitor

  Recipe for Winter

  Dear Hannah,

  Spring

  Spring

  Secret Projects

  Invitation

  Sam’s Secret

  Peanut Butter and Caviar

  Recipe for Back to Normal

  Really Jewish

  An Idea

  Macaroons

  Operation Bat Mitzvah

  Invitation

  Korach

  Numbers 16:1–16:32

  Tikkun Olam

  Recipe for a New Start

  Dear Aunt Yael,

  Dear Hannah

  Back Home

  Recipe for an Apology

  Best Friends

  Recipe for Forgiveness

  A Second Attempt at Apologies

  A Third Attempt at Apologies

  Summer

  Summer

  Passion Fruit Ice Cream

  The Menu

  Babka

  Brack to Brormal Brownies

  One Last Hole in the Earth

  Practicing

  The Missing Ingredient

  Watermelon Jelly

  Sweet and Spicy

  Natural

  Recipe for Grandma Mimi’s Bat Mitzvah

  A Gift

  Surprises

  Spotlight

  Blessing Over the Wine

  Bat Mitzvah, Part I

  A Mitzvah

  Recipe for a Reunion

  Bat Mitzvah Part II

  Sheva

  Yellow

  Fall

  Recipe for My Family

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  More Books from Versify

  Find Your Story

  About the Author

  Connect with Versify on Social Media

  Copyright © 2021 by Aimee Lucido

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  Versify® is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Versify is a registered trademark of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  hmhbooks.com

  Hand-lettering by Emma Trithart

  Cover art © 2021 by Emma Trithart

  Cover design by Celeste Knudsen

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file.

  ISBN: 978-0-358-38691-9

  eISBN 978-0-358-38716-9

  v1.0821

  For Ma and Pop,

  who gave me permission

  Recipe for My Family

  Mix together

  one (1) Mom

  named Liat

  with big curly hair

  she always wears straight

  who works as a biology professor

  at the university across from my school

  and one (1) Dad

  named Richard

  with a bald patch

  and a gap between his front teeth

  who works as a financial . . .

  . . . something-or-other.

  Bake in Chicago for six years

  at -10 degrees in the winter

  and 110 degrees in the summer

  and add one (1) baby boy

  named Samuel

  and love him

  like he’s never going to grow up.

  Bake for five more years

  and add one (1) baby girl

  named Hannah

  and raise her to be . . .

  . . . well, me, I guess.

  Bake for five more years

  before adding one (1) Grandma Mimi

  (my mom’s mom)

  who will put a whisk in Sam’s hand

  and a spatula in mine

  and it will feel like they’ve been there

  all along.

  * * *

  Bake for seven more years

  but be careful

  because a happy family

  is more delicate than a cheese soufflé:

  perfectly balanced

  until it’s not.

  * * *

  Then, beware

  the

  f

  a

  l

  l

  Fall

  Fall

  Fall is when we make rugelach.

  “In honor of Shira’s bat mitzvah!” Grandma Mimi says today.

  I lift my spatula in agreement and call out “Hear, hear!” while Sam does the same with his whisk.

  My family will take any excuse to bake rugelach. It makes the house smell like fall—butter and chocolate with a hint of cinnamon—and even though no one needs an excuse, it’s tradition to come up with one anyway.

  Today, that excuse is my best friend’s bat mitzvah.

  “Hannah?” Dad walks into the kitchen half dressed, waving a folded piece of paper. “Mom wants you to write Shira a note in her card before we all sign . . . ooh, chocolate!” He reaches into the bowl of rugelach filling, card forgotten, and—Slap!

  “Ow! Miriam!” Dad licks the chocolate from his fingers. “I wanted to taste your arugula!”

  Grandma Mimi whisks the bowl of filling off the countertop and points a floury finger toward the door. “On rugelach day, the kitchen is a Jewish space.” She says it all stern, but her eyes are laughing as she talks.

  Dad waves his sticky hand at me and Sam. “Then what are they doing in here? They’re not really Jewish!”

  “Rude!” calls Sam, and I laugh.

  “My grandchildren?” says Grandma Mimi, tugging at her Star of David necklace. “My Hannah? My Sam? With me as their grandmother, they’re as Jewish as they come! Besides, have you seen how they roll rugelach?”

  “Yeah, Dad!” I beam at Grandma Mimi and point to my perfectly crafted rugelach crescent. “We’re as Jewish as they come!”

  Dad laughs and tries again to reach into the bowl of chocolate filling, but Grandma Mimi pulls it away. “Richard, you’re going to make us late. And you, Hannah?” She turns to me. “Go write a note to your friend. Move!”

  Dad goes upstairs to get dressed, and I find a handful of colored pencils in the junk drawer.

  I write:

  Recipe for a She-r
a

  Mix together:

  my #1 sous-chef

  the nicest person I know

  the Marlin to my Dory

  the REAL winner of the sixth-grade Olympics

  (no matter what Mr. Pierri Says)

  Zendaya

  (just cuz)

  my favorite dance partner

  the sister I never knew I needed

  and you get one She-ra

  (my best friend)

  Love,

  Ha-na-na-na-boo-boo

  P.S. You are the GOAT. And the sheep. And the cow. Moo.

  P.P.S. Remember, if you get nervous, just picture Jeremy Brewer in his underwear.

  Then I draw a picture of us. We’re wearing the bat mitzvah dresses we bought together—caramel for her, green for me—and we’re dancing to our favorite song. It’s the one we chose months ago for the first partner dance of her party: “Single Ladies.”

  And with that, I hand the card to Sam to sign.

  “When I open my own bakery,” he whispers, taking the card out of my hand, “if anyone pronounces it arugula in my presence, I’m pressing charges.”

  I laugh. “You better.” Then I return to Grandma Mimi’s side to finish rolling rugelach, my gift to my best friend for her bat mitzvah.

  Rugelach

  1C butter

  8 oz cream cheese

  sugar to taste

  salt to taste

  1t vanilla

  2C flour

  butter for brushing

  Filling:

  For the taste of winter use cranberi cranberries, apples.

  In spring use berries: strawberries, blueberries . . .

  Summer is peach peaches or plums (stone fruit) and for fall use chocolate.

  Beat butter + cream cheese + sugar + salt + vanilla

  Add flour until combined.

  Split dough in half and press into circles. Spread filling on top, cut into triangles. Roll, brush with butter, and bake at 375 until gold and puffy.

  Remember:

  Don’t be greedy with the filling.

  An overfull cookie leaks and burns.

  Recipe for a Best Friendship

  Mix together

  two (2) best friends

  me

  and Shira

  who

  have seen Finding Nemo

  forty-one times

  who

  have built more blanket forts

  than they can remember

  who

  have spent five years

  making up recipes

  for Jeremy Brewer Brownies

  Extra Fudge Fudge Ice Cream

  and

  Snow Day Snowballs

  who

  got their braces on at the same time

  even if they won’t

  get them off together

  who

  have shared every secret

  every story

  every scheme

  who

  are never seen one

  without the other

  except Tuesdays and Thursdays

  when Shira has

  Hebrew school

  who

  once left food out for a backyard raccoon

  and ended up in the hospital

  for emergency rabies shots

  who

  have baked enough

  chocolate chip cookies

  and Funfetti cupcakes

  and strawberry rhubarb pies

  with Grandma Mimi

  to feed the entire city of Chicago

  for one (1) day

  or two (2) best friends

  for five (5)

  years.

  Hair

  Mom comes downstairs, looking glazed and frosted, frilly and frantic. “You’re not dressed, yet? We have to be at Congregation Beth Shalom in an hour! Sam, take a shower! Mom, at least wear an apron if you’re going to bake in your new dress! And Hannah, shouldn’t you do something with your hair?”

  And okay, fine, I get it. Mom’s stressing because she hates doing Jewish things.

  And okay, fine, I’m sure it also has something to do with the fact that her older sister, Aunt Yael, is a rabbi at Shira’s temple, and Mom hasn’t seen her in, like, forever.

  And okay, fine, it does look like Grandma Mimi has rolled around in a sack of flour.

  So I get why Mom’s anxious.

  But did she have to take it out on my hair?

  I hate my hair.

  It’s curly—no, frizzy—no, messy.

  Always.

  Doesn’t matter if I brush it, wet or dry, or if I put hair gel on my comb and swipe it through.

  My hair is always . . .

  . . . ugh.

  I wish I could

  tame

  calm

  buff

  shine

  flatten straight

  my f r i z z y

  lint ball

  dust bunny

  cotton candy

  hair,

  and sometimes I wish for hair

  like Shira’s.

  Dark brown and silky smooth, and she doesn’t have to do almost anything before it shines like the mirror glaze on one of Grandma Mimi’s cakes.

  Maybe I should shave my head, or at least make one of Sam’s baseball caps a wardrobe staple.

  But today I’ll settle for Mom’s flat iron.

  Family

  Shira looks beautiful in her caramel dress. I mean, she’s always beautiful, but today she’s extra beautiful. Her hair is done in this braid that wraps all around her head, and the way her cousin did her makeup makes her eyes look big and soft. And in her new high heels, she’s even standing differently than she usually does.

  She looks my way, gives me a huge wave, and points to her teeth so I can see her braces are gone.

  I give her a giant thumbs-up and smile right back.

  “I’m going to say hi,” says Grandma Mimi, and at first I assume she’s going to say hi to Shira and her family, but Mom says, “Do what you need to do,” and I realize Grandma Mimi isn’t going to say hi to Shira and her family.

  She’s going to say hi to Aunt Yael.

  Mom mutters something under her breath, and I follow Grandma Mimi with my eyes as she meets a woman I recognize immediately, even though I haven’t seen her in seven years: my Aunt Yael.

  They talk and laugh and squeeze each other’s hands, and when Grandma Mimi gestures over to us, I see Aunt Yael’s eyes flicker in our direction.

  So I wave.

  And why shouldn’t I? Grandma Mimi clearly doesn’t think she’s a terrible person—she takes her out to lunch every month! And it’s not like anybody has ever told me why Mom stopped talking to her seven years ago, but I guess Mom thinks I should blindly follow her lead, because as I wave to Aunt Yael, Mom pushes my hand down. “Oh, look at that, Hannah,” she says in a voice all high and fake. “I found our seats!”

  She grips my hand a little too tight and leads our family to our spot: RESERVED FOR THE MALFA-ADLERS.

  Second row, center left.

  That’s right behind Shira’s grandparents but in front of the rest of my class, and three different people—Dahlia Schulte, Jafari Williams, and Jeremy Brewer (who looks extra cute in one of those little round hats they have at the front of the temple)—all ask, “Why do you get to sit up there?”