Naked

by Megan Hart

  “Huh. Really? Why now, all of a sudden?” In all the time I’d known her, Sarah had always been such a free spirit, definitely more a “Flesh for Fantasy” than a “White Wedding” sort of woman.

  “It’s not all of a sudden. I’m just freer about admitting it. I don’t want to be in a nursing home when my kids are in college, you know?”

  “I know. And I’m older than you, so shut up.”

  “Yeah,” Sarah said, “but you have a boyfriend.”

  The emphasis she put on the word split my mouth into an inappropriately huge grin. I stifled it, but she saw. She poked my plate with her chopsticks, but grinned, too.

  “You liiike him,” she teased.

  “What’s not to like?” I said in my mother’s voice. “He’s very pretty. He’s got a job, sort of, but even if he doesn’t, he’s got money. He’s a good dresser. Great kisser. Anyway, it’s only been a couple days. Too soon to make it into anything it’s not.”

  “Don’t forget great lay,” she added, and poured more tea for us both. “You ordering takeout?”

  “Yes.” I pulled the menu toward me and held up the teeny tiny pencil as I looked over the list. “He is a great lay.”

  “Well, there you have it. All the makings of a great relationship.”

  I sighed and checked off an order for three sushi rolls and a couple sashimis. “Yeah…well. The boyfriend thing. It didn’t work out so well for me before.”

  “Pffft. Wasn’t your fault. Now, not having a boyfriend since then? Your fault.”

  “I’ve had…”

  “Ah, ah,” she said. “You’ve had a couple fuck buddies, and you’ve had dates. But no boyfriend.”

  I swirled my chopsticks through the dots of soy sauce on my plate, making letters. “Yeah. Well…I don’t know if I want him to be my boyfriend. Once bitten and all that.”

  Sarah didn’t tease this time. “You can’t let what happened with Patrick scare you off men forever.”

  “Alex fucks guys.” I said it flatly, but quietly, so nobody else would hear. “I saw him getting head from a guy at Patrick’s Chrismukkah party.”

  “What?” Sarah’s shriek echoed around the restaurant. “What the fuck? You didn’t tell me that!”

  I shrugged uncomfortably. “I didn’t tell him I saw. It was dark. They didn’t know I was there.”

  She paused. “Was it hot? God, I bet that was really, really smoking hot.”

  “Sarah,” I said with annoyance. “Focus.”

  “Sorry.” She shrugged, a typical Sarah move. “Bunny, all this means is that you like a little gay in your guy. Nothing wrong with that. You said yourself he’s great in bed, and he’s really into you.”

  I sighed again, anxiety I’d managed to tamp down before now rearing up in my throat. “What if it’s not just a little gay?”

  “Honey. He rocked your world and made you come so hard you saw fireworks. A gay man doesn’t do that. I mean, a totally gay dude doesn’t.”

  “Patrick—”

  She cut me off. “It was never like that with Patrick. Unless you told me a lie. A bunch of lies. Don’t forget, Bunny, I’ve sat with you through more than a few too-many-margaritas nights.”

  This was undoubtedly true. “No. It wasn’t like that with Patrick.”

  “The sex was nonexistent, and he lied to you. Sounds to me like you’re ahead by two already with Alex.”

  I thought back over every word we’d ever shared, me and Alex. Every nuance. “No, well, he hasn’t lied, exactly…”

  “Have you asked him if he’s into dudes?”

  “No.”

  Sarah spread her fingers, eyes wide. “So? Are you gonna?”

  “I don’t know. What do I do if he says yes?”

  “Olivia, baby, honey. Sugar muffin—”

  I broke into laughter. “Stop.”

  Sarah grinned. “Poopsie.”

  I slapped my forehead. “You’re too much.”

  “Bunny, I am not enough.” She preened and dissolved into laughter herself.

  “Seriously. What do I do if he says yes?”

  “Same stuff you’ve been doing with him, I guess. You already know he’s okay with getting head from a guy. Which, by the way, I’m still sure was totally hot.”

  I finished the last of my tea and waited for the server to set down my take-out carton of sushi and hand me the bill before I answered. “It was. But that was before I knew I’d be sleeping with him. It’s different now. I guess I have a hang-up.”

  “Who’d blame you?” Sarah looked sympathetic. She could be unflinchingly honest, but she was also the best friend I’d ever had. The best female friend, anyway.

  “Patrick says he fucked him. He’s all bent out of shape about me being with Alex—”

  “Wait up.” She held up a hand like a stop sign. “You told Patrick before you told me?”

  “He was pissed off because we were spending time together, and because we kissed on New Year’s Eve…”

  “What? Wait!” Sarah frowned. “You didn’t tell me that, either. You’ve been holding out on me!”

  “You,” I said, “didn’t tell me about that last great lay you had.”

  She puffed a breath that blew her bangs off her forehead. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. So did you tell Alex you not only saw him getting head from some dude, but that Patrick said they fucked?”

  “No.”

  “You’d better. If he admits it, then you have it out there between you. If he doesn’t, you know he’s a fucking liar and you cut your losses and get out while you still can.”

  “I don’t want him to be a liar.” The words caught in my throat, sticky like rice.

  “Bunny, of course you don’t. Just ask him. You’ll feel better. Do it like a Band-Aid, just rip it off and get it over with.”

  “I should go,” I said, catching sight of the clock. “Speaking of my own work. I’d like to actually do some, since I have to be at my other job the rest of the week.”

  “Foto Folks, photos of your mamas. Photos of your papas.” Sarah sang the theme song from the company’s superannoying commercial. “Pictures of fat ladies in tiaras and feather boas. Pictures that make you want to hurl!”

  “Nice. Thanks. That’s my livelihood you’re mocking.”

  “Not forever. You’ll be out of that place in a few months. I feel it. You’ll have so much business you won’t be able to handle all of it.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” I said as I got up and counted out the cash, plus tip, to cover the food.

  Sarah gave me a funny look, her head tilted. The light flashed on her multiple earrings, and in this light, her hair looked black, not dark blue and purple. “You been talking to your mom?”

  I hadn’t, not for a long time. Too long. But I’d been thinking about her a lot lately, from small things. Odd things, like the pepperoni pizza. “No. I should call her. Patrick tried to guilt me into it, but…”

  “Oh, Patrick can fuck himself,” Sarah said darkly. “Bunny, you know I love you, but that boy has got to step back.”

  I blinked, surprised at her vehemence. “What brought that on?”

  She stood, gathering her coat and bag from the back of the chair. “I thought you were pissed at him. I’m on your side.”

  “Well, I am pissed off at him.” We wove through the tables that had been empty when we came in, but now had plenty of customers. “I just wonder why you are.”

  In the sunlight outside, on the sidewalk, Sarah turned and gave me a sudden, hard hug. “I’ve always been pissed off at him. I just pretend otherwise for your sake.”

  I’d known she didn’t like him, but this was news. I hugged her back, then looked at her face. “Why?”

  “Because…” Sarah sighed. “Oh, Liv. Why do you think? Because I love you. You’re my friend. Why else would I put up with him, unless it’s for your sake? I sort of hoped…”

  “What?”

  Sarah shrugged, but looked me in the eye. “I sort of hoped you’d be do
ne with him after this last thing. That maybe you’d…And then when you told me about Alex, I really hoped…”

  It wasn’t like her to mush words, but even with the mumbling and stammering, I knew what she was getting at. My stomach tightened again. My mouth thinned. “Wow. I didn’t know you hated him so much.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, then before I could say anything added, “Don’t rush to his defense. Patrick’s been pretty crappy to you, and if you’re planning on forgiving him and being all merry la-la, huggy kiss and smooch with him again, I might have to smack you.”

  I blinked at her rapid-fire description of my relationship with Patrick. “I’m still mad at him, don’t worry.”

  “And now you’re mad at me, too.” She made a face. “Sorry.”

  “No. I’m not mad. You’re not wrong.” I clutched my box of sushi tighter as a chill breeze kicked up the hem of my coat and made Sarah’s hair, brilliant blue now, fly around her face. “I just…It’s complicated with me and him.”

  “I know. I know.” She hugged me again.

  Sarah is a hugger. Anyone can fall prey to her embrace. I let her squeeze me even though she was right: I was angry. A little at her and a little at myself because I knew she was right.

  “He’s been a part of my life for a long time. I almost married him.”

  “But you didn’t. And, pumpkin…” She sighed and hugged me again, patting my back. She pulled away. “I get it. I do. But I just hate that he makes you feel so…bad.”

  “He doesn’t—” I stopped myself. I had never thought, or never admitted, that Patrick made me feel bad about anything.

  “I’m zipping my lip. That’s it, I’m done. You have to get home to that luscious new boy toy so you can screw him once more before you go to work and I…I must make my rounds cleaning lawyers’ computers of virus-ridden Internet porn. Did I tell you I found some guy’s stash of tranny panty hose porn? Man, that was a day I needed some bleach for my eyeballs.”

  “Yikes.”

  “You said it.” She nodded. She hugged me yet again. She added a kiss to my cheek, though she had to jump up a few inches to reach it. “Let me know when you want to do some more work on the studio. Or if you need me for some shots or anything.”

  “I have a job lined up next week. I think I’ll need someone with pretty hands.”

  She waved her fingers at me. “I gots pretty hands.”

  I laughed. “Go on now, go. I’ll call you later.”

  “Later, gator.” With a wave, Sarah headed off to her car. Her hair blew back in the wind. She walked as if she owned the parking lot, and she turned heads. I envied her that confidence.

  I envied her ability to say what she meant, and mean what she said.

  My phone rang as I watched her drive away, and I pulled it from my pocket. I knew the number, and I recognized the photo. But instead of answering Patrick’s call, I thumbed the phone off and stuck it back in my pocket.

  There wasn’t much of a crowd for the afternoon service at Congregation Ahavat Shalom, but that was fine. Fewer people I’d have to make small talk with. I hadn’t been to services here in months, either, but I took my usual spot in a pew near the front and to the side, where I could watch the rabbi. Most of the congregation sat behind me, and that was fine. I didn’t always sing along with the prayers, at least out loud. I was still learning.

  Today I was happy to hum along with the tunes without trying too hard to stumble along with the Hebrew. I knew it only phonetically, anyway, and had to read the English translation to get any sense of what was going on. But I didn’t necessarily go to synagogue to mumble mindlessly without really trying to seek out meaning from the words. I could’ve gone to church for that.

  “Shalom, Olivia.” Rabbi Levin put my hand between both of his to shake it. None of that no-unmarried-male-female contact for our rabbi. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Shalom, Rabbi. I liked your talk today.” The afternoon service didn’t usually feature a sermon, but Rabbi Levin had spoken briefly of fresh starts, new beginnings and how the recent New Year, the secular one, was a second chance for traditional Jews who celebrated their new year in the fall. “I liked what you said about celebrating the holidays of the community even though they might not technically be yours.”

  “We have to live in the world. Yes, it’s important as Jews to maintain our heritage and identity. But at least here in Harrisburg, we don’t live in a community where everyone worships the same as we do. It’s important to recognize how we can merge the secular and religious aspects of our lives,” Rabbi Levin said with a broad grin. “I’m glad you liked the sermon.”

  He touched my shoulder and moved off to greet the other congregants.

  We have to live in the world. I could get behind that. Keeping hold of my identity, that was something I could get behind, too, if only I could figure out what my identity was.

  The first few times I’d come to a service here, nobody’d known what to say to me. I overheard whispers suggesting I was maybe one of those “Ethiopian Jews” but nobody had the courage to come up and flat-out ask me. I knew how I looked, with my café au lait skin and hair in shoulder-length Nubian locks. I didn’t fit in with these women in expensive pantsuits, the men in their handwoven talliths. They couldn’t know I’d been raised at least half Jewish, with memories of lighting a menorah and spinning the dreidel as equally prominent as those of sitting on Santa’s lap. I was scary to them.

  In comparison, when I’d gone to Mass, the man next to me in the pew had turned and given me the handshake of peace with such wholeheartedness I worried he might crush my fingers. A gaggle of people had stopped me after the service to welcome me to the church and ask if I was a new member, or if I was considering joining them. They’d circled me, their smiles bright and sincere and just a little desperate. They were scary to me.

  I didn’t feel I fit in either place. The services were unfamiliar, as were the prayers. I took comfort in the ritual sameness of both church and synagogue, even though their messages were so vastly different.

  Yet something drew me back to Ahavat Shalom, and I think it was the lack of overwhelming welcome. I didn’t have to prove myself to anyone there. I didn’t have to pretend I knew what was going on, because nobody asked me how I felt about God the way the church folks did. I didn’t feel I had to step up and proclaim anything.

  Maybe this was the year to figure out what I wanted to proclaim.

  Maybe this would be the year to do a lot of things, I thought as I pulled into my parking lot and didn’t see Alex’s vehicle. Disappointed, I shivered as I left the car, and not just from the freezing air and gray skies promising snow. In the warmth of my apartment I stripped out of my coat and hat and gloves, and made a huge pot of Earl Grey.

  Then I picked up the phone.

  “Happy New Year,” I said when my mother answered.

  “Olivia! Happy New Year to you! I’m so glad you called.”

  I believed her, of course. She was my mom. She’d changed my diapers, bandaged my knees, held my hand crossing the street. She’d taken pictures of me before every school dance. My mother loved me, despite everything that had happened and how I’d disappointed her. I loved her, too, but I found it hard to forgive her for the things she’d said and done. Maybe she found it hard to forgive me, too.

  Silence fell as I thought of what to say that wouldn’t be too heavy. My mom cleared her throat. My gaze fell on the book I’d been reading.

  “I picked up the new Clive Barker last week. I’m about halfway finished with it.”

  She paused. “I haven’t read it.”

  “It’s really good.”

  Another pause and clearing of her throat. “I haven’t read him in a few years.”

  Oh. I hadn’t forgotten the minefield of “don’ts” between us, but now I became extra aware of how treacherous every step would be. “I didn’t know.”

  I should’ve. I might’ve, if we’d been as close as we used t
o be, but who could I blame for that? Her? Or myself?

  “But tell me about you,” my mother said. “How’s the new business going?”

  She had to have heard it from one or both of my brothers, or their wives, but I didn’t mind. It let her pretend she knew more about my life than she did, so I could act as if we still spoke every day. I told her about the business, and my job with Foto Folks and with the school photo gig.

  My mom, in turn, told me about Chaim’s job, their new house, the synagogue, the trip they were planning to Israel. She talked a lot about friends I hadn’t met, and of the classes she was in charge of at their shul.

  “I’m teaching the aleph class,” she told me proudly. “Religious schoolkids, kindergarten and first grade. I love it.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You could visit, Olivia,” she said finally, which was what I’d been waiting to hear since the conversation began. “We’d love to see you. Both of us would, Chaim, too.”

  That might be true. I didn’t know my mother’s husband well enough to say. “You could visit me, too. If you wanted.”

  “You know that’s not possible.”

  The coffee in my stomach sloshed. “Well, I’d better get going. Happy New Year, Mom.”

  “Olivia—”

  “Bye,” I said, and hung up before she could say more.

  At least we hadn’t argued, screaming and accusing each other of awfulness. At least we’d been civil to each other. At least we’d managed that.

  A knock on my door got me up off the couch, and I opened it to find Alex.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” I said, and I let him in.

  Chapter

  10

  It was a good time to work at a photo studio catering to families with children. Most people had brought their spawn in for holiday portraits way back in October and November, which was also the busiest time of year for school portraits. I’d run myself ragged then, driving miles every day and coming home to work until the mall closed at night. Now I could sit back a little and relax.