Family and Other Catastrophes

by Alexandra Borowitz

“I like it!” Mark said. “Connecticut ballin’. Bring it on!”

  David dribbled to the top of the key, pulling out Kevin to guard him. He took a hard dribble to the right, bullying past Kevin, accelerating to the hoop at top speed. He leaped with all his might, cocking the ball back, only to feel the rim rejecting him at the point of contact. The adrenaline surged through his veins, and for a split second he felt like he was flying. Then he fell backward, his body parallel to the ground, and then—crack.

  It all happened so fast—one minute he was looking at the rim and the clear blue sky, and the next minute all he could see was the ground and Mark’s and Kevin’s dirty sneakers. He breathed in the all-too-familiar stench of rubber and tarmac. It hurt more than anything he had ever experienced, an excruciating pain right in his ass.

  “Are you okay, man?” Kevin asked, coming over. He reached to help him up, but David tried to get up on his own. It was no use—the pain was agonizing. He lay back down.

  “Oh, fuck. It hurts like hell.”

  Mark bent down over him. “You landed on your tailbone. Let me see...”

  David recoiled as Mark touched his butt.

  “Dude, I’m a doctor. I need to examine your tailbone.”

  In a gesture more humiliating than David would have preferred, he rolled over to one side while Mark rubbed his butt crack carefully, making sure to apply pressure to his tailbone. David shrieked in pain. The only thing that would have made the situation worse would have been Kevin laughing. Luckily, Kevin managed to keep a straight face, but David knew it was a struggle.

  “Stop touching my ass!” he cried out to Mark, who had begun stroking his backside too lovingly for his taste.

  “We’ve got to get you to the hospital. This looks like a bruised coccyx.”

  “Bruised what?”

  “That’s the medical term for tailbone.”

  “You could have just said tailbone.”

  Emily

  Sitting on the couch in Marla’s office, Emily kept imagining the baby inside her. There were so many things to worry about, she could barely focus on one at a time. All morning she had thought about the various ways in which David could divorce her and leave town once he found out she was pregnant. How would she date as a single mom? Already she feared her premature worry lines would make her completely undesirable if she wound up single, and she could only imagine how brutal it would be if she also had saggy boobs, loose skin around her bellybutton and a baby.

  Even if David did stay with her, and even if the pregnancy completely overjoyed him, so much could go wrong. There was the drinking, the birth control pills, the soft cheese and half a sushi boat that she ate in June when they were celebrating their impending wedding. If her baby had any chance at survival, it might still be born with three eyes, or no eyes at all. How would she deal with a baby with no eyes? And fuck, it wasn’t just the eyes that could go wrong.

  She took a deep breath in but it was no use. What if the baby was a jerk? Not just a petulant toddler for a few years, but a full-blown asshole, and nothing she or David did would change things? Jason was ample evidence that her family carried the asshole gene. What if her baby grew up to be a serial killer or a guy who wore Ed Hardy tank tops with John Deere trucker hats?

  “You seem distracted, Emily,” Marla said.

  “I’m just a little nauseous. It’s nerves.”

  “I was quite nervous before my wedding too. I didn’t throw up, but given your anxiety, it’s hardly shocking. You’re not freaking out about diseases, are you? Don’t go to Dr. WebMD. I don’t think anyone here wants a repeat of the porphyria disaster.”

  “That’s the thing that makes you have purple shits and turns you into a vampire, right?” Jason asked.

  “Yeah, and it can strike anyone, for the record,” Emily said. “It’s not even that rare. But anyway, no, I wasn’t worrying about diseases. I’m just not feeling well. And it’s just WebMD. Not Dr. WebMD.”

  “Jason, you don’t look so good,” Marla said. “Are you coming down with something?”

  “I was out last night, Mom. Hung out with David’s weird brother, something nobody else is willing to do. That’s right, I’m a good person.” He crossed his arms and gave everyone a satisfied nod.

  “You two probably went out to pick up random girls,” Emily said. “Don’t act like you were there on a charity mission.”

  “We didn’t go out to pick up girls, actually, but so what if we did? I’m not even dating anyone.”

  “Yeah, but it wouldn’t matter to you if you were,” Lauren said. “I’m all for polyamory but that’s when all parties are on board. As long as we’re doing this therapy, you need to at least come to terms with why you always cheat on women.”

  “None of you understand what it’s like. You’re all women. Imagine that you only got to eat mashed potatoes for the rest of your life, no salt and no butter. And all around you there are burritos and ice cream sundaes and roast chickens. Eventually you’re going to slip up.”

  “Then why don’t all men do what you do?” Marla asked. “Why has your father been faithful to me?”

  “Because he doesn’t have the options. I don’t want to be disrespectful because obviously I love Dad, but he’s a total fucking beta.”

  “I don’t know how anyone expects me to trust men when this is the kind of stuff I have to listen to,” Emily said, her head collapsing into her hands.

  “Interesting,” Lauren said. “You have a hard time trusting people. So this means that other people should trust you, right? That you’re always honest about everything?”

  “Oh, just stop it. You know I’m not feeling well today, hassle Jason or Mom about something instead.”

  “I’m just saying that people who lie, even by omission, aren’t to be trusted, so if you’re going to distrust other people, maybe you should look at your own behavior?”

  “What are you talking about?” Marla asked. “Did Emily lie to you about something?”

  “While we’re on this,” Jason said, “Lauren, when are you going to be honest with Matt about not really being attracted to him?”

  “Classic projection,” Lauren said.

  “What, I’m saying you’re not attracted to Matt because, in reality, I’m not attracted to Matt? That’s true, I guess.”

  “Mom, he’s being ridiculous, get him to stop.”

  “This is a safe space,” Marla said. “You may not like what he’s saying, but I can’t tell him what he can and can’t say. Personally, I think honesty is a very good topic for today. Especially since you’ve probably all lied to me more than anyone else you’ve lied to.”

  “Mom, what have I ever lied to you about?” Jason asked.

  “That job at IBM you supposedly got before even graduating. That one was so obviously ridiculous, I don’t know why I fell for it.”

  “I only told you that because I lied to Christina about it, and you called me while I was hanging out with her.”

  “Ah,” Lauren said. “Kill two birds with one lie.”

  “Don’t be so quick to criticize, Lauren,” Marla said. “I still remember a certain someone denying that she was related to Arthur Berger during her Communism phase. You’ll take the money, no problem, but you don’t want to be associated with it.”

  “That was in college, Mom. And I didn’t claim not to be related to him, I just never mentioned it. I don’t have to announce to everyone I’m related to the Berger’s Relish guy.”

  “I thought lies of omission were just as bad,” Emily said.

  “Mine didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “It hurt me,” Marla said. “It was hard enough for me to grow up in that strange world of money and privilege. How do you think it feels to suffer through that, only to have your own children deny it?”

  “How on earth is it hard to grow up with money?” Lauren asked.
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  “This is the reason I’m careful not to give you kids too much. My father’s money was like a prison. I was never free to be...motivated the way other kids were. If I hadn’t been getting an allowance from my father, maybe I would have gotten my medical degree. I could have accomplished so much more if he hadn’t coddled me.”

  “Well, Mom,” Jason said. “If you don’t care about money, why aren’t you speaking to Aunt Lisa?”

  Marla stiffened. “That was not about money. That was about your grandfather writing his will in such a confusing way that it was bound to create conflict.”

  “His will was pretty clear,” he said. “Half to Grandma, one-quarter to you and one-quarter to Aunt Lisa.” He karate chopped the air in front of him to illustrate the fractions.

  “Yes, but Aunt Lisa doesn’t have kids, and she lives in Brookline. Her cost of living is significantly lower than mine, and she didn’t have the decency to split up the estate fairly between us. What does a childless woman need millions of dollars for? New shoes? Besides, your grandfather left Aunt Lisa the grand piano because she enjoyed playing it, but that was twenty thousand dollars in her pocket instead of mine. I never got a grand piano. I didn’t even get a painting! Aunt Lisa got two Chagalls.”

  * * *

  “Hey, Glass kids!”

  Outside Marla’s office, the three Glass siblings saw an older man pouring himself a cup of coffee in the waiting room. It had been more than ten years since Emily last saw Dr. Abe Leibowitz. He had been attractive when she was in high school in that “older man” way—barrel chest, tortoiseshell glasses, tweed jacket and a full, well-groomed brown beard. Now in his midsixties, he had gray hair and a paunch, but he still held himself with as much confidence as he always did, like a Jewish Sean Connery.

  “Emily!” he said, hugging her. “You look exactly the same.” Emily didn’t know whether to be flattered because it meant she hadn’t aged since she was a teenager, or insulted because the last time he saw her she was gawky and pimply.

  “Hey, Dr. Leibowitz,” Jason said. “Any chance of a refill on that Adderall prescription?”

  Leibowitz laughed. “I don’t think I can ethically refill a prescription that is over twenty years old.”

  “I’m just messing with you, man. How are you?”

  “Outstanding. Just returned from Machu Picchu. I nearly passed out from the high elevation and a sherpa had to revive me with indigenous herbs. You really haven’t lived until you’ve traveled outside of your safe zone.”

  “Everywhere is outside of my safe zone,” Emily said.

  “I always liked your sense of humor, Emily. Where are you going on your honeymoon?”

  “Probably Cabo, but not right away. I need to accrue more PTO.”

  “Got it. Well, I am looking forward to meeting the lucky groom on Saturday.”

  It took a moment for this to sink in. It would be awkward having the man who used to prescribe her Zoloft at her wedding, but apparently that had not stopped Marla from inviting him. She tried to hide her surprise. “Um, you’re coming?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  * * *

  Later at home, Emily lay on her bed, attempting the deep breathing exercises she learned two therapists ago. She could hear Ariel and Mia playing in their makeshift nursery down the hall. As guilty as it made her feel, she couldn’t stand their high-pitched squeals. How on earth could she be a good mother when the sound of children playing made her want to rip her hair out? She closed her eyes tightly and tried to ignore them.

  Why had her mother invited Dr. Leibowitz? It had been years since she’d last seen him, and the only times her mother dealt with him was when she needed him to write prescriptions for her patients. Combined with Judy Stein, who knew who else Marla invited? Perhaps the guy who fixed the roof last year would lead the wedding party down the aisle.

  She looked to her nightstand and saw the pink velvet notebook that she originally got for vow writing. She couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t horribly generic. She would have to come up with something soon, but everything she considered seemed wrong. She couldn’t talk about honesty when there was a secret fetus between them, and she couldn’t say anything about “forever” because that would be presumptuous, and possibly a jinx. One time in seventh grade she wrote in her diary that she felt she was starting to become popular. Later that day, the popular girls she thought were hanging out with her because they liked her poured a bottle of Fruitopia on her head in the cafeteria. Never again.

  She heard the front door open, and the sound of someone groaning. Downstairs she found David in the front hall, supported by Kevin and Mark. He looked pale and drained and had an inflatable doughnut-shaped pillow hanging from his neck by a string.

  “Oh my God, what happened?”

  “He injured his coccyx,” Mark said like a doctor on television. “He’s on three hundred milligrams of Vicodin. He’s going to be fine.”

  “He injured his what?”

  “Tailbone,” David said weakly.

  “What’s the giant doughnut for?”

  “It’s a butt doughnut. He has to sit on it. His coccyx needs to heal and he can’t put pressure on it.”

  “Are you—how did this happen?”

  “Basketball,” David said.

  “Your fiancé here got a little aggressive and landed on his ass,” Kevin said. “It happens to the best of us, man.”

  “Shut up,” David snapped.

  “Aw, sweetheart.” Emily hugged him, trying to ignore the inflatable doughnut between them. She moved it to one side and he grunted. She helped him to the family room. He positioned the doughnut on the couch and sat on it.

  “I’ve ruined the wedding.” His words were slurred and his head bobbed to one side. “I love you.” He closed his eyes and dozed off.

  She looked at him. He was in pain and on drugs, sitting on an inflatable doughnut. There would have to be a time better than this to tell him he was about to become a father.

  NIGHT 4

  Emily

  “STOP THAT,” DAVID GRUNTED.

  “Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” She lay next to him in bed, wearing loose white pajama shorts and a tank top. It was so hot that she would have preferred to be naked, but she didn’t want to risk running into Matt in the shared bathroom.

  “You’re putting too much weight on your side of the bed and it’s hurting my tailbone. I can’t be on an angle.”

  “Too much weight? Really?”

  “I’m not calling you fat, if that’s what you’re insinuating. You’re just moving around too much. I need to be completely still, and I can’t have any friction on my tailbone.”

  She lay on her back and crossed her arms like a mummy. There was no way she would be able to fall asleep like this. Already he had nixed the idea of actually sleeping underneath the covers because apparently he needed all the sheets and blankets under him to cushion his tailbone as well as a pillow under his butt and two under his head. She had gladly sacrificed her pillow to make him comfortable, but his grumbling hadn’t stopped.

  “You know, you could just let me take more Vicodin,” he said.

  “I texted Mark and he told me you can take more tomorrow. You’ve had enough today, and people overdose on it by accident all the time. The last thing I need is for you to die on our wedding week. It’s like a story right out of the Daily Mail.”

  “Fine. Well, if you’re not going to let me take it, then don’t roll around in bed.”

  “What about putting the doughnut underneath you?”

  “It doesn’t work so well when I’m lying down. It keeps sliding around.”

  “What if I...” She started sitting up. He winced as the weight on the bed shifted. “...made this...very special for you?” She began to trace her fingers along his inner thighs. “Nature’s Vicodin.
”

  “Unless you’re offering me actual Vicodin, stop. I don’t want a blow job.”

  “Get out. You’ve never turned me down before.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a bruised ass before.”

  Emily’s heart raced. She thought about all the articles she had read that cited “less sex” as the first sign of a failing relationship. What man turned down a blow job? Obviously one who was no longer in love. Or perhaps not even attracted! She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Please tell me this isn’t your way of getting out of the wedding. Oh my gosh, I should have seen this coming. If you’re having second thoughts, just tell me.”

  David rolled his eyes. “I’m not having second thoughts. I’m just in a lot of pain. Stop making everything about you.”

  She wondered for a moment if he had not actually injured his tailbone. The only people who had corroborated his story were Mark and Kevin—his two best friends, who would gladly help him invent a ridiculous fiction to get out of something. Maybe it went beyond second thoughts. It was a full-on runaway groom ruse.

  “I’m going to ask you something that may sound silly,” she said. “Just bear with me.”

  “Seriously, not now.”

  “I can’t even ask you something?”

  “Usually I’m happy to reassure you and comfort you, but right now, I’m the one who needs to be comforted. I need to know that you can go thirty seconds without worrying about something because you’re not making me feel any better.”

  “I tried comforting you and you got annoyed because I was moving too much!”

  “I just need quiet right now. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Would you feel better if I left you alone for a while?”

  “Yeah, that would actually help. I just need to be able to fall asleep. Thanks, babe.”

  She hadn’t anticipated him actually accepting her offer to leave him alone. Now she was stuck: she couldn’t sleep in bed with him where she actually wanted to be, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anywhere else. She heard the television buzzing from downstairs. She got out of bed and walked downstairs. She just prayed that whatever was on television wasn’t an episode of Two and a Half Men.