Accidental Man Whore

by Katherine Stevens

  There’s a long silence because I’m waiting for David to say whatever she asked him to. But I’m David tonight and I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  I look at Miryam for a clue, but she looks sick. Is this where the table starts floating? Because I am fucking out if it is.

  “I’d like to say Kiddush, Bubbie.”

  I don’t know what’s happening, but I think Miryam is trying to save me.

  “Don’t be silly. You hate saying the prayers. David can do it.”

  I think Bubbie just sabotaged my rescue.

  “David’s not feeling well.” Miryam’s almost yelling.

  “It will take two seconds, Miri. I’m sure he will be fine.”

  This is the weirdest stare-down I’ve ever seen.

  Her grandmother looks at me like she can see me. “David, Kiddush, please.”

  I only understand two of those words. Shit.

  Miryam jumps up, knocking her chair to the ground behind her. She holds up her cup of wine and starts singing a bunch of words not in English. It sounds like a foreign national anthem, so I put my hand over my heart.

  Miryam fixes her chair, sits down, and takes a gulp of her wine.

  “What has gotten into you, Miri? You’re acting meshuganah.” Her grandmother is pissed. I recognize the tone because she sounds like Miryam and I have some recent experience with that.

  “Nothing. I said I wanted to say Kiddush, so I did.” She sets her cup on the table and crosses her arms. The rest of the table is staring at our end.

  Her grandmother crosses her arms. I wonder how long these two have been twins. “Fine. David, please say N’tilat Yadayim.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Miryam whispers in my direction. “I want to sing it together,” she says out loud.

  She stands up and sings like a first grader at a recital. While she’s singing louder than a police siren, she washes her hands in a bowl. I don’t know the words to this song, or even if they’re real words. I hum next to her.

  I’m freaking starving and I want to know how many more chores we have to do before we get food. I should’ve made Javier stop at a Burger King on the way.

  Ten years later—by my stomach’s clock—we eat. I was hoping for some lasagna and a loaf of bread, but we have some stuff that looks like it was made by people who hate food. I can’t even tell what some of it is, and I can’t ask because David would know what this stuff is. I force down a polite amount. Javier is so stopping for food on the way home.

  Miryam’s grandma gets up, taking her plate with her.

  Miryam jumps up. “Bubbie, let me clear the table. You sit down and rest.”

  “Miri, I’ve lived in this house since before you were a thought. I can take a plate to the sink.” Her foot catches on the doorjamb, but she catches herself two steps later without falling.

  Miryam runs to her grandmother and puts her arm around her. Everyone else at the table starts stacking dishes.

  “Bubbie, can we please talk about getting you a cane?” Whatever else Miryam is saying is drown out by the clanking dishes.

  One of the aunts, whose name I can’t remember, announces she’s going to bed and walks out of the room when the dishes are cleared. I assume she lives here. The other family says their good-byes and leaves not long after.

  Miryam has her purse on her arm, which I hope means we’re leaving and I can get food.

  “Bubbie, we’re going to take off. Are you going to be okay?” She wraps her arms around her grandmother.

  “I’ve lived through a World War. I think I’ll make it through a night in Florida.”

  Her grandma has the clapbacks.

  Miryam turns her toward the hallway. “At least let me walk you to bed.”

  Bubbie shrugs off Miryam’s arm. “I don’t need vision to find my own bed that I’ve been sleeping in for decades. You kids think you need all these things you can do without. Why do I need my sight anymore anyway? I’ve seen the love of my life. I’ve seen my beautiful girls. I’ve seen my grandchildren. I’ve seen everything any person could dream of seeing. Asking for more is just plain greed.”

  Miryam smiles. She’s probably heard that speech before.

  “Okay, you can put yourself to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kisses the top of her grandmother’s head.

  “Why don’t you two stay the night? It’s way too far to walk back to David’s. You can stay in the spare bedroom. It’s a small bed, but I’m sure you won’t mind being on top of each other.”

  I look at Miryam. She looks at me. We’re looking at each other. I don’t want to get in a small bed with her. Do I?

  “I—we got a hotel room down the street.” She plays with the edge of her sleeve. “The yellow one.”

  “Miri, why spend that money when you can stay here?”

  Miryam twists her sleeve around her finger. “We don’t want to inconvenience you, Bubbie. We already have a room.”

  I’m still thinking about being on top of each other in a small bed. I can’t decide if I’m rooting for Bubbie or Miryam.

  “Family is never an inconvenience, unless it’s your cousin who married that shiksa.”

  Miryam hooks her arm through mine and nudges me to the door. “I think that’s our cue to leave before you get up on one of your soapboxes.”

  I hug her grandma with one arm as Miryam pulls me to the door. She locks it behind her without letting go of my arm.

  We walk down a few houses, arm-in-arm, before I say anything. “The yellow one? Adding more details to your lies now?”

  She bumps me with her hip. “That just came out in a moment of panic. I’m starting to think I have a serious problem.”

  She seems a lot calmer than when I walked into her apartment this evening. I bump her hip back. “Oh, the thought of sharing a bed with me caused you to panic? I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. It sounds like windchimes or some corny shit.

  “I need to apologize for earlier.” She pulls my arm tighter to her. “I had a bad day and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

  A woman apologizing to me is like a dog walking on its hind legs. That’s not a thing that happens. I don’t know what to say, so I bump her hip again. “Forget about it.”

  She unlocks her car when we get to it. “I mean it. I’m sorry. I was a bitch.”

  Her dark hair is so shiny under the street light. Neither of us move to get in the car. I thought she was wearing lipstick earlier, but I think her lips are naturally that pink. She has a tiny scar near the corner of her mouth that I hadn’t noticed before. It’s so small you wouldn’t notice unless you were really looking. And I guess I’m really looking. The tip of her tongue comes out and wets the edges of her lips. Now they’re pink and shiny. I can see her pulse in her neck and it’s hammering like mine. I don’t think I’ve ever been this worked up over anything above a woman’s boobs before.

  I lean a little closer and wait. She closes her eyes and swallows. She’s backed against the passenger side of the door. I put my hands on the frame on either side of her. I move closer so the sides of our noses touch. Her eyes are still closed. I feel her open her mouth, and her bottom lip brushes against mine. I run my tongue along her bottom lip, tasting a little of the wine we had with dinner. It tastes better on her.

  Her mouth smashes to mine. Her left hand slides up my back, over my shirt. I press her harder against the car, putting one hand on her hip. I wish we had taken up the offer of that bed right about now. Her tongue moves into my mouth and I kind of hope it never leaves. The hand on my back curls and scratches its way down to my pants. She doesn’t have those scary claws. She has short, trimmed nails. Like the kind of nails angels probably have. My fingers dig into her hip. It’s taking all my willpower not to throw her on the hood of this car and fuck her until she screams my real name.

  It’s like I threw a bucket of cold water on myself. This isn’t some hot stranger. I know her more now and I�
�ve gotten to know her family. And she might still be in love with someone else. I can’t fuck this girl and never see her again. As much as I want to get a real reservation at that yellow hotel for a one-night stand, I can’t. My dick hates me for that.

  I pull back and look at her. Her lips are swollen and pinker. I know I’m going to think about the things those lips could do while I’m in the shower later. Maybe a few times. I’m having weird thoughts about wanting to do filthy things to her, but also thoughts about how gentle and loving she is with her grandmother and maybe she shouldn’t be bent over a car with me ramming my cock into her. I’m a fucking animal. Maybe she only likes missionary style once a month. She doesn’t kiss like she only likes missionary, I can tell you that.

  Maybe she’s only kissing me because Douchebag David isn’t here. That would suck. I guess there’s only one way to find out.

  “I’m sorry I’m not David.” That’s not exactly what I meant to say, but she can read between the lines.

  Her head jerks back. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m not David. You know, in case you thought you were kissing him.”

  She shoves against my chest. I back up a step.

  “So you think I’m delusional?”

  “Delusional?” I never said anything about that. I’m lost.

  She shakes her head. “Man, you can really pick ‘em, Miryam,” she mutters.

  She didn’t answer me, but I guess I didn’t really word it like a question. “Where do we stand on whether or not you wanted to be kissing your ex?”

  I see her fist coming at me and I don’t do anything to stop it. Because I’m a pussy. She clocks me across my jaw. It’s not as hard as last time, but some bitch-ass sound still comes out of my mouth.

  “Find your own ride home.” She stomps around the front of the car and gets in. She’s gone three seconds later.

  I sit on the curb while I text Javier. This seemed like an easy job, but it’s been a lot of getting punched and tied to beds. Early retirement sounds good right about now.

  CHAPTER 12

  PENIS SNIPPINGS

  MIRYAM

  “Why are you hitting everyone lately?” Sheba pants into her Bluetooth as she rides her stationary bike. I can hear the whirring of the pedals. She’d sooner miss her own wedding than miss an evening on the bike. She calls me most nights while she rides and makes me feel lazy, albeit unintentionally.

  I tuck a blanket around my feet on the couch. “Not everybody. Just one person. Twice.”

  Why do I feel defensive? He deserved it. He grabbed my boobs without asking. Then wanted to know if I was thinking about my ex while I was making out with him. I should’ve punched him harder. That kiss was intense, though. I wasn’t in my right mind. I felt that kiss down to the soles of my feet. On the one hand, he’s a professional. He should be a good kisser. On the other, I don’t think prostitutes kiss people on the mouth. Maybe that’s just in movies. I should watch Pretty Woman again.

  “Do you think maybe you overreacted because you had to deal with that cunt yesterday?”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Ew. That word is vulgar. Stop using it.”

  “That word fits. And you have every right to be pissed. You should’ve taken it out on her, though, and not Ben.”

  “I can’t punch someone at work.” Is she crazy? I’d lose my job and get arrested.

  “I hate to break it to you, Miss Attorney, but you can’t punch people anywhere. But I would defend your right to punch that c—whatever her name is.”

  I lie back on the throw pillows. “I don’t know it either. I refuse to learn it.” The whole office had to attend a meeting about changes to our retirement plan. That bitch cornered me and told me to stop looking at her man. She said my presence put a damper on his happiness. She’s like twelve. David could probably date her mom and it would be more normal. I wanted to punch her stupid face with her stupid wide-set eyes so bad. I’ve never seen anything more punch-able.

  “Okay, maybe I was a little worked up and maybe I took it out on Ben. A little. But he was still an ass.” The tiniest admission of wrong makes my soul burn like a vampire in the sun.

  “Maybe?”

  I bang my head on the pillows. “Fine. I was wrong. At least I never have to see him again.”

  ***

  “Guess who had their baby.”

  I stop reading Of Mice and Men out loud to look at Bubbie. “I didn’t know anyone was pregnant.”

  She’s been in the hospital for almost a week and she still knows more about what’s going on in the outside world than I do.

  “Your cousin, Liora.” She says it in that hopeful voice that I have some clue who this person is. I do not.

  I shake my head, even though she can’t see it.

  “You know Liora. She’s the one who leans to the left a little because of the vertigo. She’s your third cousin.” She uses the controls on her bed to flip through the TV channels so fast you can only hear half a syllable on each station.

  “Oh, that Liora!” I sort of remember her. I can’t keep up with all the ailments this family thinks it has.

  She settles on one station for five seconds. “She’s always looked up to you, you know.”

  I have no clue how someone could look up to me when I couldn’t identify them in a police lineup. Bubbie always thinks random people idolize me. She inflates my ego and Sheba pops it like a balloon. They’re a team.

  “She called me today because she doesn’t have your number. She wants you and David to carry her son to his bris.”

  I drop the Steinbeck novel on the floor. This woman whom I don’t know wants to give me one of the biggest honors in her son’s life? And she wants me to bring my ex that she doesn’t know is my ex?

  Fuck.

  She starts flipping channels again. “I told her you would be honored, of course.”

  Other than my bubbie and my aunts, I never see the rest of my family. How in the actual hell is there another Jewish event in this family? Jews haven’t spent this much time together since The Exodus. My wedding was going to be the first time in years that I would see most of them.

  I have to get out of this. “I’m not sure if I’ll be in town. And David is so busy at work. If you have her number, I’ll call and give our regrets. We so would’ve loved to have made it.” I’m glad she can’t see me picking at the hem of my shorts. It’s a dead giveaway for my nervousness.

  She stops flipping channels. She’s been through the couple dozen channels five times now. “You’ll do no such thing! Liora named the baby after David. His middle name anyway. The only thing she’s talked about for months is your wedding and getting to meet your David. She invited Sheba, too, because you know how she loves her.”

  No, I don’t know. I’m not one hundred percent certain I even know the cousin she’s talking about. This is a disaster on multiple fronts. I can either confess to my grandmother while she lies in this hospital bed, or call Ben. Not much of a choice.

  ***

  The phone rings so long, I expect voicemail to pick up.

  “You hit me. Again.”

  At least he answered. I wasn’t sure if he would.

  “But not hard.” I cringe because that’s the worst thing I could’ve said.

  The line goes dead.

  Fuck.

  I press the number again. It rings just as long this time. He picks up, but he doesn’t say a word. I take a deep breath. I need to get over myself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

  “So, you called to apologize?” His voice is flat and I can’t tell his tone.

  He’s going to make me work for this. “I did. I was upset about something else and I took it out on you. I am really sorry.”

  “I accept your apology. It would mean more if you showed up at my door in nothing but a trench coat, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  I have conflicting reactions to that statement, but I can’t think about that now. I have a favor to ask him. “I sort of have
a business proposal. I need you again.”

  He’s silent for a couple of seconds. “You need me or you need David?”

  He’s made it clear how much he hates doing this. I am the queen of assholes to ask him to join in my web of lies again. But I can’t break Bubbie’s heart. I just can’t. “I need you to be David.”

  “Why haven’t you told your grandmother yet? Are you going to fake a wedding, too? I’m not helping you with that.”

  Queen. Of. Assholes. “She got sick. She was in the hospital with pneumonia for a week. There’s no way I could tell her. I might as well wheel her down to the morgue myself.” I’ve never been so scared of losing her.

  “I’m so sorry. Is she okay? When did she get sick?” He sounds genuinely concerned. I think he really likes Bubbie.

  “She’s fine now. Still a little weak. It happened a little over a week ago.” I’ve stayed at her house every night since. She keeps telling me to go home, but I don’t think I can ever leave her again.

  “I haven’t seen you in a month,” Ben says. “What have you been doing all this time? Why couldn’t you tell her before then?”

  I only have one answer for that. “Because I’m a chicken.”

  “Admitting it is the first step.”

  “Will you help me?”

  He sighs. “I don’t know why I keep doing this, but I’ll help you.”

  I close my eyes and exhale. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

  “What’s the dress code for this thing?”

  “The men will be wearing suits.” Now’s as good of a time as any to stop being a chicken and start telling people things they don’t want to hear. “Oh, and you have to carry a baby to get the tip of his penis cut off.”

  “What?”

  ***

  We pull up in front of the address Bubbie’s given me. It’s a one-story bungalow-style house on a quiet street. I’ve searched through some old photos to figure out which one is Liora, to no avail. At this point, I’m looking for the lady holding the baby. Ben’s asked a few thousand questions about his role in this day. I think he feels like he’s delivering an infant to his executioner.