Cosmo's Deli by Sharon Kurtzman

dates! Don’t you listen to me?”
    â€œHer nephew is a very prominent podiatrist in the city. New York City. Just like you. Maybe you’ve heard of him? His name is Marty Toezoff?”
    â€œA podiatrist named Marty Toezoff. That’s classic! It’s almost as good as the last guy you fixed me up with.”
    â€œYou were in high school then.”
    â€œNo Ma, I was twenty-seven. He was in high school! Remember? His mother had to pick us up from the movies because he didn’t even have his driver’s license yet.”
    She shrugs, “His mother forgot to mention how old he was. You live, you learn. But Marty is thirty-two, and they say he’s very handsome.”
    Which Renny knows translates into one of three bachelor categories: Nerdo, Psycho or Cretin.
    â€œNot gonna happen, Ma.”
    â€œFine,” her mother says, flinging a cabinet closed. “If you don’t want to go out with Marty, you can tell him when he calls.”
    Renny bangs her hand on the counter. “You didn’t! You gave him my number already? I told you never to give out my number!”
    She feigns ignorance. “You did?” Defensively she adds, “Someone’s got to straighten your life out. Your father and I worry about you. Look at him. He’s very upset.”
    They look at her father, oblivious to the verbal battle on the other side of his newspaper.
    â€œHe’s fine,” Renny says. “Besides, the only way you’re gonna get Daddy to my wedding is if you print the invitation in the sports section.”
    Her mother wags her finger, “That’s not true.”
    Suddenly Renny’s father slams his newspaper on the table, silencing their argument. “Your mother’s right! After all, I read the comics, too.” He winks at Renny. Then he picks up the sports section and heads off to the bathroom, having realized that he needs more than paper to block out this argument.
    Renny watches him shuffle out of the kitchen and wishes that she could hide in the bathroom too. Only she knows that her mother would just yell her opinions through the door. The only escape is to put the Hudson River between them. She checks her watch. Only forty-five minutes until the next bus to the city.
    ***
    Renny walks down the narrow bus aisle toward the last pair of empty seats in the back row. She stretches out across the two seats, glad that the bus isn’t full. The bus revs away from the curb and Renny glimpses her mother’s car still parked on the street, making sure that Renny is safely on her way. Even with a thirty-year-old daughter, her mother is still over-protective.
    The bus passes through the center of Springfield. Many of the shops from her childhood have been replaced. She glimpses the darkened storefront where Ranwell’s Dance Studio had been, replaced now by a boutique that sells decoratively painted children’s furniture.
    When she was seven years old, a friend told her that there was a town named Springfield in almost every state and Renny assumed that all the towns were identical. Even the people were the same, only they wore different clothes depending on which Springfield they lived in. Usually, Renny Shuler from Springfield, New Jersey wore an acrylic crewneck sweater with jeans. Renny Shuler from Springfield, California wore a bikini and had a surfboard. In her mind, Springfield inhabitants around the country were like an army of Barbies with a myriad of outfits and professions.
    Only Renny never had a Barbie, she had Dolly instead. Dolly was the plastic Barbie knock off that they sold at the A&P for two dollars less than the famous doll. Her mother said, “She’s just as good.” Renny never quiet believed her.
    Renny pulls her laptop out of her bag to do work, but is distracted by a guy sitting two rows in front who has yet to figure out that you don’t need to scream into a cell phone for the other person to hear you. After