Jeff and I eat our treats as we walk past the Tech Museum, through César Chávez Park, and then back toward campus. When we pass the Fairmont Hotel, Jeff stops and stares at the people coming in and out.
There is a homeless man camped out ten feet from the entrance, with a sign that says, ANYTHING WILL HELP. He’s been here at least as long as I’ve lived here but probably much longer. I’ve seen him in various places, but he stays within the same three-block radius.
You can’t miss him, because he has a white rabbit on a small pink leash. Passersby take one look at that adorable bunny, and they want to pet it. Women make an “aah” sound, or the children squeal, and then they bend down and touch its well-groomed fur while ignoring its owner. A while back, the man started charging a dollar to pet the rabbit. Sometimes I hear people walk by and complain that they don’t like how he exploits animals.
I wave to him, throw a dollar in his cup, and keep walking.
“There’s so much money here, but there are homeless folks everywhere,” Jeff says.
“This is nothing. Wait till you see San Francisco.”
Jeff shakes his head and walks on, hands in his pockets. “Do you think I’m a sellout working in finance?”
“Why would you say that?”
“The whole damn family is a bunch of do-gooders. I feel like a slacker.” His tone is light, but I can tell he means it.
“You love what you do. How’s that selling out? You work super hard, and you’re good at it. It’s gotta be nice having security. I’m always nervous my car won’t start or that my tuition will go up.”
“You should be nervous about your car, and I’m going to fix it before I leave,” he says. “And hell yes, it feels good to have nice things and not worry all the time. We did enough of that as kids. It’s weird though, because I never felt poor.”
“Me neither. Probably because our friends were in the same boat. The thing about living here is that it seems like everybody has money—even kids. So if you’re broke, you’re going to feel it.”
Jeff gazes up at the blue sky and the fluffy clouds. “At least you have this sunshine. Man, it’s addictive.”
I give Jeff a big hug before we head back to my suite. “It’s so good to have someone here who understands. Who sees what I see. I’m glad you came.”
He hugs me back even tighter. “Sure thing. I couldn’t wait to meet these boyfriends of yours.”
“Be nice, Jeff.”
“I’ll do my best.” He smirks, and I know he has no intention of keeping that promise.
Ryan
I head to Lizzie’s to pick up her, Sam, and her brother for dinner.
I’ll admit I’m nervous to meet Jeff. I know older brothers have strong opinions, and Jeff’s mean a lot to Lizzie. Still, I’ve heard so many stories about her brothers, I’m eager to meet one in person.
Right away, I notice how Jeff shakes my hand. Firm, brief, but definitely assertive. He sizes me up as we shake, but not in a rude way.
We squeeze into my Honda Fit, and Sam doesn’t seem thrilled to get up close and personal with Jeff in the tiny backseat.
My favorite Mexican restaurant is in Mountain View, which is twenty minutes away, so we jump on the freeway and Lizzie points out highlights: Google headquarters, the Moffett Field hanger, NASA Ames. I can tell Lizzie loves showing off this place. She’s taking Jeff to San Francisco on Friday, and then they’ll hit the coast over the weekend.
“Hey, I forgot to tell you. Jude said he doesn’t need anything for t-tomorrow,” I say. “He already has the turkey and everything.”
“Tell him I bought some pies. And I’ll help cook,” Lizzie says.
“I’ll tell him, but you know he’s not going to w-want you near the kitchen.”
“It’s too much for one person. And you and Jeff can watch football, which I can’t stand.”
“But you like playing it,” I say.
“Playing, yes. Watching, no. Lots of sports are like that.”
“This from the girl who watches tennis—the most boring spectator sport ever,” Jeff chimes in from the backseat.
“I like tennis,” Sam says. She’s been quiet so far, which is unlike her. I always have fun with Sam because she’s smart and opinionated. She is direct, but not in a mean or off-putting way. It doesn’t hurt that she likes me and Lizzie together. Always nice to be in the good graces of your girlfriend’s best friend.
“Golf is more boring to watch than tennis,” she finishes.
“Yeah, but that’s not in the same league as things like ice-skating or gymnastics,” Jeff says. “Those don’t even seem like sports.”
“So, sports where women dominate, in other words,” Sam says, her tone icy.
Lizzie shoots me a look but she’s smiling, so I can tell she’s going to enjoy what’s about to happen.
“Did you roll your eyes at me?” Sam asks Jeff.
Jeff scoffs. “Why do women always have to assume it’s a sexist thing?”
“Because it usually is,” Sam replies. “Or maybe it’s more accurate to say it’s ignorance.”
“So it’s ignorant to prefer something or express an opinion?” I can see Jeff in my rearview mirror, and he is leaning away from Sam.
“No, your comment fell more into the sexist category. I was being nice with the ignorance thing.”
“Wow. That’s quite a judgment you made there, sweetheart,” Jeff says in a condescending drawl.
“Be nice, Jeff,” Lizzie says. “You’re making Utah look bad.”
“No, he’s making himself look bad,” Sam says.
This argument takes us all the way into the restaurant, where Jeff tries to pull Sam’s chair out for her and she glares at him.
The girls order a pitcher of virgin Margaritas. I buy Jeff a shot of tequila—some of the good stuff. Seems like he needs it.
Lizzie tries to smooth things over by telling Jeff about Sam’s work at the hospital, and how hard she has to study for her MCATs and her classes. I love watching Lizzie as she defends something she’s passionate about—in this case, Sam. Her face gets animated, and she gestures with her hands. It’s a full-body experience for her. As fun as it is to hang out with Sam and Jeff, I sort of want to get Lizzie home—like, immediately. I notice Jeff watching me stare at Lizzie. I try to think about something else—like, immediately.
After dinner, we walk down Castro Street in downtown Mountain View, and Lizzie heads straight for the gelato place.
“How can you eat anything else?” Jeff asks Lizzie as she orders.
“I’m a growing girl, and Ryan needs me to keep my strength up.”
Jeff shakes his head, as Lizzie busts up laughing.
When we get back to Lizzie’s house, she waits until Sam and Jeff are inside the apartment and shuts the door on them. She stands up on her toes and gives me a kiss, which turns hot in a hurry. Everything still feels urgent and surprising between us, and I never want this phase to end.
“I w-wish I could steal you for an hour.” I kiss her again, rubbing my hands over her soft, thin sweater.
“I better get back in there or one of those two might not make it out alive.”
“Your b-brother is cool and all, but my money would be on Sam.”
“Me too. Better go. Family loyalty and all that.” Before I leave, she kisses me again for good measure.
Thanksgiving day, I wake up to find Jude already cleaning the house. He barks out some orders and then heads to the kitchen to start cooking. It takes me almost no time to finish cleaning and get the table set, so I invite my friend Jim over to shoot some hoops before he goes to his parents’ for turkey. I met Jim in tenth-grade biology. Thank God he was my lab partner, because he helped me pass the class. I returned the favor by helping him get a prom date with Rachel Martinez senior year, and we’ve been good buddies ever since.
I was happy Jim stayed local, like I did. He did two years of college, got a real estate license, and started working. It’s frustrating that I’m st
ill in school and he’s driving a BMW.
“Dude, I sold that house over in Willow Glen, so I’ll take you to dinner this week.”
“The big one? That must have been good c-commission.”
We ease into playing, dribbling the ball and taking practice shots.
“Yeah, I needed it, too, because things have really slowed down.”
We start to play for real, and I shoulder Jim out of the way to score. He responds by outmaneuvering me for an easy layup and then heading to the sidelines for a time-out.
“I have to quit smoking. I can’t breathe worth shit when I play.” Jim leans over on his knees and sucks in some air.
“Yeah, no k-kidding. Hey, we should go to an Earthquakes g-game soon. Maybe invite Jude.”
“That would be cool. I thought you said you two had a big fight?”
“We got over it. He was f-feeling pissy because I haven’t been home as much.”
“You sure he’s not still hot for your girlfriend?”
Jim was one of the only people I had told about that, and now I’m not sure it was a great idea, because he keeps reminding me of the whole drama.
“No, he got over that a long t-time ago.”
“I don’t know, man,” Jim says, taking a drink of water. “Your brother seems like a simmerer.”
“I’m trying to get him to g-go out with a girl for more than one or two nights. It would be g-good for him.”
“And keep his hands off your girlfriend.”
I throw the ball at Jim, hard enough to make him take a step back.
“Damn, dude.”
Jim dribbles down the court, but it’s no use. I beat him six to two.
Jeff and Lizzie show up right on time. I’ve already got the game on, and Jude has laid out snacks. He’s in the kitchen in his apron basting the turkey. I snap a picture of him like that, and he flips me off. That’s the one I post on Facebook.
“So did you pass inspection by the brother?” Jude asks, chopping celery.
“His name is Jeff, and I think s-so.”
“Oh, goody. Only three more brothers to go until you’re kidnapped and raised in the Utah clan.”
It’s my turn to flip off Jude, which I do as I leave the kitchen to answer the door.
Jeff and Lizzie come in carrying pies. They dump them in the kitchen, and I introduce Jeff to Jude. When we come back out to the living room to watch the game, Lizzie asks, “How come you don’t help with the cooking?”
“I don’t know. Jude’s always d-d-does it. It’s his thing.”
“Typical youngest child,” she says, giving me a peck on the cheek as she heads back to the kitchen. Sometimes she treats me like a kid, and it annoys me.
“So what t-teams do Utah-ians, Utahuns . . . Shit, w-what’s the word?” I ask Jeff as we settle onto the couch.
“Utahns,” he says, trying not to laugh at me. I appreciate the effort.
“Yeah. What teams do you s-support?”
“We’re in Broncos territory, but I’m a Cowboys fan. Tell you the truth, I’m more into baseball.”
We sit and watch the football game. The sun shifts, and Jeff glances out the window. “You sure it’s November? I can’t believe this weather. No wonder Lizzie loves it here.”
“I h-hope she does. It’s not Utah, though. She misses you guys.”
Jeff laughs. “I don’t even want to know the stories she’s told you about us.”
If he only knew. “Seems like she’ll want to go back after she f-finishes school.”
Jeff takes a sip of beer. “Is that what she says?”
“Uh, I h-haven’t actually asked her.”
“Ah. But you’re already thinking about it.”
No way am I answering that. We watch the game again and drink our beers.
“Just so you know, dude, I’m not so sure Lizzie will come home,” he says.
“Why not?”
Jeff fiddles with the cap from his beer.
“We all love her, and she loves us. But that’s a lot of expectations to live up to. I’m beginning to think I could use more distance myself.”
“Well, there’s always C-California.”
Jeff lifts his beer in a salute and then finishes it off.
Jude
There’s another knock on the door; my stomach dips, because I know who it is.
“I’ll answer it,” I yell, and I leave Elizabeth in the kitchen.
When I open the door, Tara is standing there, all exotic five feet seven inches of her. Tara is Persian, with dark hair and big brown eyes. I like it that she’s not blond. I met her through some people at work six months ago, and we slept together once. Since I’m trying to get my shit together, I thought I should try and date someone on the regular for a change, so I gave her a call to see if she wanted to go out. There’s an edge to Tara, but she’s wicked smart and great in bed. It will feel good not to be the third wheel today, that’s for damn sure.
When I walk Tara into the living room and do the introductions, Ryan gawks at us. Then he recovers and beams like a kid getting a puppy. Since it’s Thanksgiving and all, I try not to let that annoy me. Elizabeth walks in, and she seems shell-shocked too, but she puts on a good face. I try not to read into the fact that she’s a lot less pleased than Ryan.
I start to put food out on the table, glad to have the cooking portion of this day over. It was torture rubbing up against Elizabeth as we moved around in the kitchen. Worse yet was how natural and easy it seemed cooking with her, joking around about the turkey, bickering about the best way to make yams. At one point, she made fun of my plain apron and said she was going to buy me one with ruffles. I threw flour at her and almost licked it off her face. So yeah, I’m glad Tara is here.
“I’m seriously impressed you made all this,” Jeff says to me. Even though he doesn’t have many of Elizabeth’s features, they have similar mannerisms and expressions.
“Yeah, Jude, so many hidden talents,” Tara says, winking at me.
“How did you and Jude meet?” Elizabeth asks. Her voice seems formal and strained, although I could be imagining that.
“Through mutual friends.”
“Do you g-go to SJSU?” Ryan asks, which makes sense because Tara looks younger than she is.
“I graduated from Berkeley three years ago. I do ad sales now.”
“Well, thanks for c-coming,” Ryan says. He looks like the guy in those old cartoons who rubs his hands together and twirls his moustache as he hatches his plan. I can see his pea brain spinning all kinds of ideas and double dates. Right fucking now he’s envisioning our children playing together in the yard.
“Jeff, you liking California so far?” I ask, mostly to change the subject.
“Just got here. I like putting a face to all the people Lizzie has told me about.”
“Bet you heard a lot about us,” I say without thinking.
“Sure did.” He glares at me, and I recognize it for the warning that it is. After all, I’m an older brother, too. I nod back to him to let him know the warning has been noted, and he goes back to eating his turkey. It’s actually a relief to get a rise out of him, because the Mormon Tabernacle Choir has more of a dark side than this guy.
“Maybe you’ll love California so much that you’ll move out here. That would be amazing,” Elizabeth says.
“Is that your way of telling me you’re staying here after you graduate?” Jeff leans back in his chair and squints at Elizabeth like an interrogator.
“Well . . .” Elizabeth squirms in her seat and then glances at Ryan. He smiles at her, like the sun rises and sets on her. “I’m thinking I might, but it’s too early to tell. It’s a big decision.”
I see Ryan slip his hand under the table so he can hold Elizabeth’s. Even I think that’s kind of cute, in a sickening way.
Jeff doesn’t say anything, but he notices, too.
“Tara, are you f-from the Bay Area?” Ryan asks.
“No. My parents are from Iran. We moved to LA when I
was six.”
She leans into me and rubs her hand down my arm. Elizabeth’s eyes follow the motion. I put my arm around Tara and draw her in closer. She smells good and feels even better.
“Does your family celebrate Thanksgiving?” Elizabeth asks.
“Of course. We’re Americans,” Tara snaps.
“Oh, sorry—” Elizabeth starts to say.
“They’re in Iran for a couple more weeks,” I jump in. “Hey, Tara and I are going to Vegas for New Year’s. Anyone been there before?”
Ryan is so surprised he drops his fork onto his plate. “You’re going together?”
“Yep.”
“I go a bunch for trade shows. It’ll be fun to go just for vacation and to have some company,” Tara says. “Not that it isn’t always a big old drunken sex fest. But been there, done that.”
The table goes quiet, so Jeff decides to save the day. “I’ve been. It’s a crazy town but lots of fun. Where are you staying?”
Tara and Jeff make small talk about the Cosmopolitan. I glance over at Ryan, who gives me a nod of approval. I shake my head at him and avoid Elizabeth’s gaze.
When there’s a lull in the conversation, Ryan pushes back from the table and looks at Elizabeth with a gleam in his eye.
“Lizzie, you told me once that you and Jeff can sing ‘Row, Row, Row, Your Boat’ in pig Latin. Now is a good time to prove it.”
Elizabeth sits there staring at Ryan, her arms crossed. Jesus, why is he trying to embarrass her? No one would ever . . .
“Owray, owray, owray, ouryay oatbay,” Elizabeth sings, her voice strong and sure. Jeff smiles and, amazingly, joins in.
“ . . . entlygay ownday ethay eamstray,” they sing in unison.
Tara squeezes my arm as she makes a mocking face behind their backs. I realize she might be more mean than edgy.
Not that I don’t think this is weird, too, but I can’t help but laugh. Where in the fuck do these two come from?
“Errilymay, errilymay, errilymay, errilymay, ifelay isway utbay away eamdray.”
Instead of finishing, they sing it one more time, but this time in a round, with Elizabeth singing first and Jeff jumping in after “oatbay.” When they’re done, Ryan and I clap, and Tara is forced to, as well.
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