Chapter 14

"What am I doing here?" she quietly responded, obviously displeased. "My son is injured, in the line of duty, no less, and he asks what am I doing here?" Mrs. Puckerman paused for dramatic effect before continuing, "Samuel called me, Noah. I got the first flight out and rented a car so I could be here to help you. And all you can say is 'what are you doing here?'" She looked cautiously at Rachel, still asleep. "What I'd like to know is who is she and what is she doing here?"

"Oh, yeah," Noah hesitantly (and quietly) replied, smiling sleepily albeit contentedly, "this is Rachel."

"And who may I ask is Rachel?" she indignantly queried. Noah paused for a moment; he realized once he confessed, there was no going back.

"She's my girlfriend, Ma."

"Girlfriend?! Why haven't I heard about this? Must you keep everything from your mother? How long has this been going on? Is she Jewish?" she rattled off a litany of questions, her left eyebrow cocking at the last one, and Noah could see by her expression that she was only warming up.

"Shhh!" he admonished her, "Let her sleep, Ma. She came straight from work and she's exhausted."

Deborah Puckerman was taken aback by her only son's defense of this stranger. She knew he had a steady stream of sluts and floozies, since…well, as far back as she could remember, and probably before that. She had met one or two when she was visiting and his band performed; they tended toward statuesque and were apparently artificial from the tip of their head on down, be it hair color, eyelashes, faux tan, surgically enhanced breasts, or G-d knows what else. He had never introduced any of them as "girlfriend", let alone "friend", and it was clear to her, to use the vernacular of the times, they were nothing more than "booty calls".

In the pre-dawn light, it was apparent that this woman was not tall and not blonde. Given the size of the body currently occupying the chair, she doubted that the girl was carrying around breasts the size of Mt. Everest. Based on her son's preferences, she wondered what kind of hold this mystery woman held over her son, unless…"Noah, did you get this girl pregnant?" she whispered indignantly.

Noah chuckled quietly, wincing at the pain in his side and now understanding what "it only hurts when I laugh" truly meant. "No, Ma, she's not pregnant," he confirmed. "We met about a month ago and, well…things happened and we kinda clicked, ya' know?"

Although Deborah was pleased that his son had met somebody who'd lasted longer than a night, her head was now buzzing with questions. "If you've known her a month, mister smarty-pants, I'd like to know why you have ever-so-conveniently forgotten to share this with me," she began her cross-examination.

"Ma, I'm almost 32 years old," he exasperatedly whispered. "There's lots I don't share with you…or anybody, for that matter."

Deborah frowned; it was clear that her son, even in his semi-medicated state, was not ready to "come clean". "And pray tell, then, when were you planning on telling me about this…this…" she gestured around the room, "little incident?"

He grinned slowly, replying, "Not 'till I was home and feeling better, if ya' must know. I didn't want to worry you."

"Worry me?" she agitatedly, (quietly) replied, "not only am I your mother, I'm a nurse. I can actually help you. And as for worrying…" she paused, looking testily at him, "that's a mother's prerogative, something, I assume, your little friend over there knows nothing about."

"Cut the guilt trip, Ma, it doesn't work any more," Noah advised her calmly. "And as for 'a mother's prerogative', I'd suggest you can the attitude, too, or when she is a mother…" Noah, realizing that he had revealed far more than intended, immediately stopped talking.

"Go on," she goaded him, "finish what you were going to say."

"Nothing, Ma. I'm sayin' nothing. I've talked too much and I ache all over. Would you mind seeing if they can give me something to take the edge off?" He looked hopefully at his mother, who acquiesced, getting up from her chair to pursue obtaining some relief for her son.

Deborah returned shortly with a nurse in tow. Rather than add to the IV, which would be removed later that morning, the nurse handed him a pill and, seeing as his left hand was temporarily incapacitated, waited until the pill was in his mouth to present him with a fresh cup of water. The movement on the bed and additional noise in the room finally roused Rachel from her brief and less-than-comfortable slumber.

Rachel moved around a bit, stretching her back and picking up her head. Noah looked at her bemusedly, and she smiled shyly. "Good morning, Noah. How are you feeing?" she asked tenderly, lightly stroking his right arm where it rested on the bed.

"I've been better," he admitted. Before he could continue the conversation, Deborah cleared her throat.

"Ma, this is my girlfriend, Rachel Berry. Rachel, this is my mother, Deborah Puckerman," he introduced them.

Rachel sat up straighter, acknowledging the older woman: "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Puckerman."

"You, too, dear," Deborah replied, thinking to herself, "Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry…where have I heard that name before?" "How did you two meet, dear?" she inquired, barely covering her intense curiosity at this apparent new addition in her son's life.

"Actually, it's kind of amusing, if you think about it…" Rachel began, but Noah cut her off. "There's plenty of time to get acquainted, later," he interjected. Rachel looked at him curiously and decided not to pursue the matter.

"Then if you'll excuse me, I'm going to freshen up," she quietly announced, bending down to take the handle of her tote bag. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Noah," she reminded him, leaning over for a kiss. As she headed out toward the public restroom on the floor, Deborah's eagle eye noticed the light bounce off of Rachel's gold Star of David pendant, and her face broke out in a small, self-satisfied smile.

"She's a tiny little thing, isn't she Noah?" his mother commented, as he looked at her quizzically. "Never mind about that; a couple of babies, and she'll fill out," she stated rhetorically.

"Ma, that is about the most absurd thing I've ever heard you say," Noah responded, glaring at his mother. "Rachel is fine exactly as she is," he defended her, "and who said anything about babies, anyway?"

Deborah smiled enigmatically, replying, "Why, no one, of course, bubbeleh. I was just making an observation."

Noah considered his words carefully before instructing, "Well, going forward, I would appreciate it if you'd keep those observations to yourself, Mother."

By the time Rachel had returned, mother and son were at a conversational impasse, and Rachel could sense tension in the air, which she hoped was not at her expense. "Mrs. Puckerman," Rachel said, softly, serving to announce her presence and immediately (if unwittingly) drawing the attention to herself, "would you like a cup of coffee or tea, maybe a bagel or a muffin? I'd be happy to pick up something for you."

"That would be lovely, dear," Deborah acknowledged her offer, "but why don't I go with you and give Noah a little privacy?"

Noah's eyes popped open and he frantically tried to get Rachel's attention. All he needed was his crazy mother pumping Rachel for information and, most likely, mentally measuring her for a wedding dress. "No, Ma, stay and keep me company," he pleaded. "I haven't seen you since Passover. We…we need to catch up…what's going on at Temple? Is Mrs. Mandelbaum still schtupping the mailman?…"

"Noah, stop rambling," his mother spoke up, ending his well-meaning and obviously unsuccessful attempt to curtail her. "I expect somebody will be in shortly to take your vitals and disconnect the IV, and you'll probably need to use the bathroom." She looked at him pointedly. "They'll just kick us out, anyway. And if you must use a Yiddish term, dear, technically, he's the one scthupping her."

Rachel suppressed a giggle as she watched the mother/son interaction. It reminded her of conversations she had observed between her fathers and their respective mothers. And as she recalled, her grandmothers always had the last word, and usually, the last laugh.

"Come on, Rachel; let's get some breakfast. You look like you could use a good meal." Rachel's eyebrows puckered in consternation as she considered the odd turn-of-phrase. For Noah's sake, she decided to ignore it and take advantage of the opportunity to become better acquainted. Rachel inserted her tote in the closet/locker and removed a $20 bill, placing it in her pocket and joining Noah's mother in the hallway while he rolled his eyes in anticipation of the grilling he expected that Rachel was going to receive.

Author's Note: "Scthupp" literally means "stuff" in Yiddish. It is often used as a slang term for sexual intercourse.