I look back at my beautiful best friend. “Have I told you recently how much I love you?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “You tell me all the time. You know I would marry you myself if we both didn’t love the D so much.” She takes my arm and pulls me to the sofa. “Speaking of, what are you wearing for the honeymoon? Have you decided yet?”
I take the stack of extra sheets sitting on the sofa and set them in the open box next to me. I don’t know why it’s taking so long to pack up this house. I expected to be out weeks ago. “I think we’re going to skip the honeymoon. David has a heavy caseload right now and I have to be in court the Monday after the wedding. We might take a trip later.”
Sheba sits up on her knees so she’s a full head taller than me. “I thought you were kidding when you said you were on the fence about a honeymoon! I should’ve known better. You can’t get married and go back to work. That’s crazy! You need to sit on a beach in a tiny bikini somewhere. You won’t have this rockin’ body forever, you know. We’ll both be thirty soon and it all goes south from there.”
She has a point. It would be nice to have some down time with David before we get back into our hectic schedule. “Maybe we can do a little weekend trip to The Bahamas. That could be fun.”
Sheba rubs her hands together. “There’s my girl!” She jumps up and grabs her iPad. “Let’s book it right now. Then we need to order you all the skimpy bikinis and slutty lingerie.”
I like the idea of planning this trip for us. I can surprise him with it when I move into his house. Our schedules are always so full and it’s rare we have a chance to relax with no cell phones or laptops. I like the idea of starting our marriage off with some relaxation. “David is a fan of the slutty lingerie.”
Sheba laughs. “All men are fans of the slutty lingerie.”
I look over her shoulder while she unlocks her iPad. The cart on a party supply site pops up. “Why does everything in your cart have a hot pink penis?”
She opens a new search tab. “Don’t worry about it. You’re going to have the best bachelorette party in history.”
I form tiny spikes in her hair while she works. “You have seen a real penis before, right, Sheba? You know they’re not supposed to be hot pink, right?”
“I haven’t placed the order yet. I can still get the penis tiara.”
I really don’t want a pink phallus sticking out of my head like an X-rated unicorn. “I’ll shut up.”
“That’s what I thought.” She goes to a travel site and searches for packages to The Bahamas. There are plenty to choose from. “We need to find a place that has separate cabanas so you can scream as loud as you want.”
“I told you I’m not a screamer. Stop trying to convert me like it’s your religion.”
She clicks on a hotel that has little bungalows right on the beach. “You can be trained. Men love it when you’re screaming because of them and not at them.” She taps on the screen. “I think this place is perfect. You can go from the bed to the beach with only a five second commute.”
I take her iPad and scroll through the pictures. It looks like the most heavenly place I’ve ever seen. She’s right. She’s always right. It’s perfect. I grab my wallet sitting atop the stack of boxes along the living room wall. I think I’m more excited about this trip than I am the actual ceremony. Not that I’m not excited about the ceremony. It seems like more of a formality to validate my relationship with David. The ceremony is more for my family and his than it is for us.
I book the airfare and hotel. I can almost taste the tropical drink in my hand. David will be so excited when I tell him. We don’t go on many trips. He is determined to make senior partner by forty, so he works some long hours. I know I’m signing up for a lot of nights at home alone, but he’s worth it. We are going to build an incredible life together.
CHAPTER 4
PIMP CANES
MIRYAM
I bring breakfast to my grandma the next morning, like I do every Saturday. I like to check on her every couple of days, even though one of my aunts lives with her. She might not have her vision anymore, but she still has her spunk. Time is a weird thing. When I was a girl, she seemed so giant and unstoppable. Now that I’m grown, she seems so much smaller and fragile. It’s my turn to take care of her.
She’s the mother I remember best. My three aunts did more than their fair share of helping raise me, but Bubbie was the one who put her life completely on hold to raise another child. She never took a day off. She was there every night to tuck me in. She would tell me stories of all the mischievous things my mom would do when she was my age. She said my memories of her would fade, but at least I would have her stories. She was right. I can’t remember how she walked or what her hair felt like, but I know the stories of all the times she tried to pull a fast one on my grandma. That’s how it is in our family. We’re an untamable bunch, but you get a lot of forgiveness if your transgressions are at least funny.
I portion out her French toast onto a plate. I pour two glasses of juice before putting the new carton away in the fridge. Aunt Abagail likes to sleep in on Saturdays because she knows I’m here. I always leave a plate of food for her in the fridge as well. She’s the only one of her sisters who never married, so she was the logical choice to move in with Bubbie. Aunt Abagail is the most relieved of everyone in the family that I got engaged. She would always tell me I was far too pretty to be single. Bubbie said she saw a lot of my mom in me and didn’t want me to end up alone like my mom. My mom is a superhero in my mind, so having her life doesn’t seem so bad.
Bubbie comes padding into the kitchen in her robe and slippers. She gets around the house so easily, it’s hard to remember she’s blind. She moved into this house when my mom was little, so the location of all its contents are burned into her brain. She refuses to get a service dog. She says she’s gone eighty-one years without a pet and she’s not going to get one now.
I walk over and hug her. “Good morning, Bubbie. How are you feeling?” I take her arm and lead her to the breakfast table. She hates being helped, so I’m trying to get subtler at it.
“Good morning, Miri. I can find my way to the table. I’ve been walking this path longer than you’ve walked the earth.”
That’s her nice way of saying back off. She slides into the built-in bench along the wall. She feels along the table top for her silverware. She sniffs the plate in front of her. “Is this that French toast I like?”
She’s always had a good nose. Maybe that’s how she could sniff out my mom’s teenage attempts at deception. “The very one. I know it’s your favorite. Do you want me to cut it for you?” I know what’s coming.
“I wish you all would stop treating me like I’m going to croak any day now. I can cut my own food, thank you very much, and I plan to dance at all your funerals.”
Like clockwork. Strangers looking from the outside in would think she’s the meanest old lady. She’s got a tough exterior, but that’s for show. She’s a survivor. Inside, she’s the most big-hearted softie there ever was. I watch her cut her toast with precision.
“I can feel you watching me.” She tries to sound irritated, but her smile gives her away.
I start cutting my own toast. “I like watching you. I need more stories to tell my future grandkids.”
She smiles bigger. “Speaking of, how is David?”
My smile matches hers. “He’s good. He’s juggling two huge cases right now, so he’s working a lot of long hours. Longer than usual. One of them might settle, so things could slow down for him soon.”
She dabs at her mouth with the napkin from her lap. “When are you moving?”
My stomach drops every time I think about moving. I’m so excited to live with David, but it’s a huge change. “I’m not sure yet. Packing is going slow. I have a lot of memories in my house. There’s isn’t room for most of my stuff in David’s condo, so it will have to go into storage. It’s taking time to pare down.”
“Why don’
t you buy a new house together for your new life?”
This isn’t the first time she’s asked that question. I know she just doesn’t want me to sacrifice anything. But David is worth sacrificing for. “His condo is down the street from the firm. It’s more convenient right now. I’m sure we’ll move into a house outside of downtown at some point.”
She pauses before shoving another bite of heavenly French toast into her mouth. “Well, you’ll certainly have to move before you have babies. His condo isn’t built for children.”
She’s not wrong. David doesn’t want to have kids until he makes senior partner. Men don’t have a biological clock that is constantly being mentioned by three aunts. While children aren’t technically banned from his building, there are none living there by design. His condo caters to the young, single demographic. A few couples live there, but they are the minority. It’s not my ideal, but I would rather live closer to the office so I can see David more.
“How’s the wedding planning going, Miri? Do you need me to do anything?”
My bubbie is my favorite person in the world. She’s an eighty-one-year-old blind woman, but all she wants is to help me. “No, Bubbie. I don’t think so. Heather has it under control. Sheba’s been quite the taskmaster, making sure everything is perfect.”
Her brow furrows. “Who is Heather again?”
I swear she has a mental block on any names not of Hebrew origin. “Heather is the wedding planner, Bubbie.”
She nods. “That’s right. I don’t understand why kids these days don’t plan their own weddings. Your grandfather and I got married in my parent’s backyard and it only took three days to plan. I can’t understand dragging it out when you know you’ve got the right person. I’m not sure why you need to have a huge hoopla with a bunch of people blowing smoke up your ass.”
I wish I had her bluntness. I’m sure I inherited it and it’s lying dormant somewhere. It will manifest itself someday. “We didn’t purchase the smoke blowing package, but we needed someone to handle all the details. We invited a lot of people and we want everyone to enjoy their time. Heather came highly recommended and I’m sure everything is going to be top notch.”
Bubbie tilts her head as if she’s staring at something only she can see. “You know what I remember most about my wedding day? I remember feeling so beautiful in my dress. The way your grandfather looked at me when he first saw me… Well, I can’t even describe it. He looked almost enchanted. I will never, ever forget that.”
I love how much she still loves her husband, even though he’s been gone eleven years. He had a heart attack one day shortly after I went off to college and that was it. He took such good care of the person who took care of the rest of us.
“What does your dress look like? You still haven’t described it to me.”
I have to think for a second. I know Heather sent me a picture in an e-mail with a bunch of other items. I don’t recall opening it, though. “My dress is white. I think. I asked for something simple. I know I have to go in for a final fitting in a couple of months. I’ll try it on then. The tailor took super detailed measurements, so I’m sure it’s fine.”
She shakes her head and I know she’s about to voice her disapproval. “’I’m sure it’s fine’ is a heck of a way to describe your wedding dress, Miryam.”
“I don’t care about the dress. I care about marrying David.” I pick up our plates and move them to the sink. I turn on the water to heat it up. “I have lots of dresses. I don’t care what I wear as long as I get to be his wife.”
She brings the glasses and silverware to the sink and almost growls when I try to help her with them. “David makes you happy, so that makes him family automatically. We all love David and we want you to have the best start to your marriage that you can. This is your day and you have it however you want it. Don’t let an old woman talk you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”
I laugh because she has to know I would do anything for her. If she asked me to get married in a seafoam green ballgown, I would do it in a heartbeat.
We wash and dry the dishes together in silence. About once a month I bring up an issue she hates. It’s about time to bring it up again. I’ve given up on getting her a service animal because she will absolutely not allow it. As I watch her pad her way to the couch in the living room, I know she’s going to need more help soon.
I sit next to her on the couch. “Bubbie, I worry about you falling or running into something.”
Her back stiffens instantly. “I’ve never once fallen when I wasn’t tripped!”
She says that all the time and one day I’ll ask her who was tripping her so much. I suspect my aunts when they were growing up.
I cover her wrinkled hand with mine. “You’ve made that clear. But I worry it could happen in the future. I think it’s time to talk about getting a walker.”
“Over my dead body. I’m as agile as I ever was.” She pulls her hand out from under mine.
I overshot on the walker. I should’ve known that. That was my bad. “No walker. Got it. What about a cane? That’s smaller and almost distinguished.”
“Canes are for pimps, Miryam. Do I look like a pimp to you?”
I wish someone in the room could see the look on my face because I bet it’s one for the books. It takes me a second to remember that Aunt Abagail got cable last year for the first time in both of their lives. There’s no telling what my grandma has been watching. I have no idea how to answer my grandmother when she asks me if she looks like a pimp, so she’s won this round. Again.
CHAPTER 5
NIPPLE SHIRT
BEN
“On the plus side, that was a very nice hospital.” Dad, Jacob, and I walk into Dad’s house. I snag an apple out of the bowl and sit on the couch. I made Jacob come with us to this appointment because I learned my lesson at the last one. We can take turns once he starts treatment and we all know what we’re supposed to do.
“It’s highway robbery is what it is. There’s no way it costs that much for a little surgery and some chemo. I could buy ten cars with that amount of money.” Dad flops into his recliner and kicks up the leg part.
Dad hasn’t bought a car in I don’t know how long. He couldn’t tell you the current cost of an average car. He has no idea how any of this works for normal people. Normal people don’t get consultations with the heads of departments at the hospital. Normal people don’t get a detailed estimate of their costs up front when there are so many variables. People off the street don’t get told things like “We can take care of the surgical portion for $15,000.00.” I saw the insurance’s explanation of benefits for Mom. Just one round of chemo for her cost more than three times what they’re charging Dad. But she had insurance to pay for all of it. I’m not sure I want to know what kind of favors Barry had to promise to get this treatment for fifty grand and some change. It’s probably not legal.
On top of that, they offered a payment plan. They want to do the surgery right away and then aggressively attack any remaining cancer cells with chemo. They diagnosed him with stage two colorectal cancer. As far as cancer goes, that’s the second-best stage there is. He’s not bad, but they want to kill the cancer before it gets bad.
“I thought they had to treat you whether you could pay or not,” Jacob asked.
Jacob hasn’t broken his shoulder doing a keg stand. He didn’t learn about hospital bills the hard way. “This is a private hospital. If you can’t pay, they transfer you to the county hospital.”
“What’s wrong with the county hospital?”
I look to Dad for help, but he’s already flipping through his TV Guide. He’s the oldest fifty-three-year-old ever. I didn’t know they still made TV Guide in print form, but he finds it somewhere.
“The county hospital is okay, but a lot of people don’t pay at the county hospital and, well… You get what you pay for.”
Dad speaks without looking up from his magazine. “None of this should cost money. Barry doesn’t charge
money and look at him. He lives in a nice house and drives a nice car. He’s doing fine. They shouldn’t get to charge money unless they offer a valuable service.” He thumps his magazine. “Like this TV Guide. They offer a valuable service for only $5.00 a week.”
I turn my back to him and face Jacob because Dad has worked himself up and he’s not going to be a productive member of this conversation anymore.
I can’t ask Dad to pull money out of his retirement savings. He lives off his tiny salary and Mom’s social security. He doesn’t have much extra. Jacob and I will have to pay for this.
“How much do you have in savings, Jacob?”
He looks at the ceiling for a second. “Well, it’s less of a savings account and more of a change jar.”
That’s what I thought. I take a bite of my apple to help me think. I had savings, but I used it to start my business. I have about $500.00 in there now. It’s not much, but it’s one-one hundredth of what we need.
“I could get a night job.” Jacob puts his foot on the couch and immediately puts it back down when Dad glares at him.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll get one too. And I can pound the pavement a little harder to get new clients.” Even if we both work a few hours a night, it’s still going to be years before we save that much money. I have a small 401K I can borrow from. Jacob might be able to cut a few expenses, but that won’t get us far.
Dad puts down the TV Guide. “As much as I like seeing you both wanting to do extra work and not be a drain on society, all of this is unnecessary. I’ll call the hospital tomorrow and barter with them. You two cut me off every time I tried to make a deal today.”
I wonder if we should get a psych eval for him while we’re already racking up debt. “Dad, they made a deal with us already. This is the deal. It costs fifty smackers to keep you from getting sicker. Jacob and I can help you pay for it.”
Accidental Man Whore Page 3
