My mother called one day asking if I remembered a "Lev" from high school. I thought back to my Randallstown, Md., childhood and recalled a yucky Russian immigrant (I considered myself a nonyucky Russian immigrant) I had met in seventh-grade science, the boy whom I'd designated to do my computer labs in 12th-grade advanced physics and to take me to the junior prom when my college boyfriend wouldn't. I wrinkled my nose at the image of a short, pimply, pasty, kinky-haired but muscular boy and answered: "Vaguely. Why?""I bumped into his mother at a party," she explained in Russian. "I didn't recognize her, but she recognized me and asked if you were married yet. I said you were still single and asked about Lev. She said he was also single, so we exchanged your numbers."
Great."So you might be hearing from him soon, because he has a friend in New York he'll be visiting.""That's fine," I answered apathetically. He was sweet enough, a pitifully adorable munchkin, and the prospect of seeing someone from high school appealed to the nostalgic in me. I hung up, went back to my life as a write...