by Lance Rubin
“We’re good, Mom,” Dad says. “Sit down, relax.”
“Yeah, do you want anything to drink?” Mom asks.
“Oh, come on, it’s your birthday,” Grandma says, already opening the fridge, “I can get myself something.” I’ve always been in awe of my grandmother’s ability to say something as if she’s doing you a favor when it’s actually the exact opposite. “Is this fridge cold enough?”
My mom opens her eyes wide at Dad and me, like Kill me now.
Twenty minutes and twenty underhanded Grandma comments later, I’m finishing arranging all the bagels and spreads when the doorbell rings. Mom practically sprints to get it, and I’m delighted when I hear Leili’s and Azadeh’s voices. Of course they’re here right on time; Leili wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Hiiiiiii,” I say, bounding into the front hallway to greet them.
“Hey,” Leili says.
Azadeh just flips her chin up at me, like she’s pretending to be tough.
“I’m so happy you girls are here,” Mom says.
“Happy birthday, Mrs. Friedman.” Leili hands Mom a tray of Koloocheh, these amazing Iranian cookies, covered with Saran wrap. “Our mom made these for you. They’re really good.”
“Yeah, really really good,” Azadeh says.
“That’s so sweet,” Mom says. “Please tell Pari thanks.”
“My grandma’s here,” I say quietly, mainly to give them a friendly warning, as I steer Leili and Azadeh away from the kitchen to the family room, where we plop down on the couch. No sooner have we plopped than Azadeh has her phone out, smiling hugely, thumbs blazing.
“She’s so ridiculous,” she says, holding the phone out so Leili can read.
“Ha, she definitely is,” Leili says. “But put that away. We just got here.”
“Roxanne?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Azadeh says, shaking her head. “She’s just— Yeah.” She looks to Leili, like Should I tell her? Leili looks back: I don’t know, geez, do whatever you want! Azadeh puts her phone in her lap, leans toward me, and whispers something in an incredibly quiet voice.
“I couldn’t hear a single word of what you just said,” I say.
“Me neither,” Leili says. “And I’m sitting right next to you.”
Azadeh crawls to the far end of the couch, where she can see into the kitchen to make sure no one’s listening, then back to where she was. “So, um, Roxanne and I are kind of…”
“Ohmigod!” I say, definitely too loudly. “I knew you were flirting!”
Azadeh grins and covers her face. “We were.”
“This is amazing, Oz!”
“Well, it’s still new. It might not even be a big deal. I’m only telling you and Lay right now.”
“I’m honored,” I say, looking to Leili, who nods and smiles. “This is so freaking great, I can’t even handle it. Tell me everything!”
And of course Grandma Mitzie chooses that moment to join us.
“Hello hello,” she says, rattling the ice cubes in her juice glass as she carefully lowers herself onto the couch between Leili and me. “Wait, let me see if I can get this…” She narrows her eyes and darts them back and forth between Leili and Azadeh. “You’re Leili,” she says, pointing at Azadeh. “And you’re…Wait, no.”
She does this literally every time she sees them. And seeing as they’ve been my best friends since third grade, that’s a lot of times.
“Grandma,” I say.
“Wait, wait, hold on,” she says, one hand on her chin. “I think I can do this.” Leili and Azadeh remain politely still, as if they’re having their portraits painted. I get the same mortified feeling in the pit of my stomach that I always do when Grandma does this. “It’s those darn scarves that make it so challenging.”
There it is. I was hoping it wouldn’t be a headscarf-mentioning day. Alas, not to be. “You really can’t say that, Grandma.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Azadeh says.
“It’s not!” I say.
“What, mentioning their scarves?” Grandma asks. “They’re wearing scarves, what’s the big deal? Do you know how many little boys in yarmulkes I’ve confused in my lifetime?”
“What does that even mean?” I ask.
“It means that when multiple people wear the same piece of clothing, it can get confusing. But if you want me to not say it, I won’t—whatever you want.”
That’s Grandma’s sorcery at work: somehow I’m the bad guy for suggesting she shouldn’t imply that my twin best friends look extra-similar because they’re in hijabs.
“Okay, wait, you’re Leili,” she says, pointing at Leili, “and you’re Azadeh.”
“Ding ding ding!” Azadeh says.
“I also have this freckle right here,” Leili says, pointing to her chin. “Which is a good cheat.” They tell her that every time, and it’s far more generous than Grandma deserves.
“Oh yes, that’s right,” Grandma Mitzie says. “But I like to try and get it without cheating.” She winks at them, another one of her uncomfortable trademarks. “So how are you two doing?”
“We’re good,” Leili says.
The doorbell has rung a couple of times since the conversation with Grandma started, though I’ve been too focused on damage control to pay attention to who’s shown up. Now Ed and Cory, two of my parents’ best friends, walk into the room.
“Hey hey,” Cory says, making ironic jazz hands, Ed sauntering in behind him holding a bottle of water.
I actually gasp in excitement upon seeing them, and I’m pretty sure Leili and Azadeh do, too. Cory and Ed are the best. They went to college with my parents, where they were in shows and theater classes together, and Cory was in Laugh Riot with Dad (he’s hilarious). Unlike my parents, Cory and Ed stuck with acting, and now they both have successful careers. Cory’s guest-starred on a bunch of TV shows and been in so many commercials, and Ed (who I should mention is a stunningly beautiful human) has been in the ensemble of a bunch of Broadway shows. It’s incredibly cool, and it also means they’re usually busy or out of town, which is why it’s so awesome whenever we see them.
Leili, Azadeh, and I bound off the couch like frisky puppies. “What’s going on, Winnie?” Cory says as he hugs me. I inhale the masculine musk of his cologne as his beard hairs rub against my forehead.
“Not much,” I say. “Actually, I just joined the school improv troupe.”
Cory pulls back so he can look at my face. “Whaaaat? That’s awesome!” Cory and Ed have always been two of my biggest cheerleaders. I’ve often thought that my bat mitzvah set might have played out differently if only they hadn’t had to miss it because Ed was in Kinky Boots and Cory was shooting an indie film. “Leili, up high,” he says, throwing up a hand that she doesn’t see because she’s too busy enjoying her hug with Ed.
“Oh, what?” Leili says.
“You got Winnie to join Improv Troupe with you,” Cory says. “Up high.”
“Oh! Yeah.” She lets go of Ed and slaps Cory’s hand. “It wasn’t totally my doing, but I’ll take the credit.”
“Gurrrrrl,” Ed says, giving me a hug with his muscular dancer arms. “That’s huge. You’re finally fulfilling your destiny.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I say, even though I immediately feel like he’s one hundred percent accurate.
“Hello, gentlemen,” Grandma Mitzie says, large smile on her face as she walks over. She loves Cory and Ed maybe even more than we do.
“Mitzie!” Cory says. He hugs her so hard he lifts her off the floor a little bit. I can never tell if he’s truly delighted to see her or just pretending. He’s a good actor.
“So glad you boys had a break in your busy schedules to come play with us.” Play with us? Ew. Grandma always says weird things like that when they’re around.
“Oh,
you know we would play with you all the time if we could, Mitzie,” Ed says in a flirty way, which is highly distressing even though I know he’s gay.
“No flirting with my mom in front of me, please,” Dad says (and thank god for that) as he walks into the room, giving his all to make it seem like a casual saunter before planting himself near the wall.
“Hi, Mr. Friedman,” Leili says.
“Hey, Leili.”
“Hi, Mr. Friedman,” Azadeh says.
“What’s new, Azadeh?”
“Not much.” I know my best friends are trying to act as natural as possible, but I catch them sneaking little glances at him, trying to spot evidence of his disease.
“Ohmigod,” Grandma says. “Russ, what happened to your head?” Guess it was only a matter of time.
All eyes turn toward Dad, but he’s ready for it. “I cut it shaving.”
“You…what? You were shaving your forehead?”
“You’d be surprised,” Dad says. “It gets pretty hairy.”
Azadeh laughs loudly, then covers her mouth once she realizes she’s the only one.
“Don’t joke.” Grandma strides toward Dad. “You’ve got a Band-Aid on, what happened?”
“It’s nothing, Mom,” Dad says. “I bumped into a door when I wasn’t paying attention.” Mom and her longtime best friend, Paige, walk into the room, with Paige’s seven-year-old daughter, Ava, right behind them.
“Okay,” Grandma says, seeming entirely unconvinced.
“Mitzie, you remember my friend Paige,” Mom says, not so subtly trying to change the subject.
“Hi, Mitzie,” Paige says.
“Nice to see you,” Grandma says, flipping back into the same mode she was in with Cory and Ed, as if the last couple of minutes never happened.
Paige nods, and there’s an awkward silence of at least five seconds.
“Anyway,” Dad says, “food is ready, so head into the kitchen, everybody.”
It’s another five seconds before anybody moves.
16
The eating part of Mom’s birthday brunch is pretty uneventful. I mean, there’s definitely some tension between Mom, Dad, and Grandma (who at one point says through a mouthful of bagel, “Good thing you’re not seated near any doors, Russ. Wouldn’t want one to bump you again!”), but it’s subtle enough not to ruin everyone’s good time.
With most of the food consumed and the table littered with used napkins and muffin crumbs, Paige holds up her mimosa and toasts Mom for being “a superwoman in every respect,” whatever that means, and her personal hero, and Dad follows that up with his own toast, recalling for maybe the eight hundredth time how he first met Mom in a student-directed production of Romeo and Juliet. She was Juliet, Cory was Romeo, and he was Mercutio. “I’m just so grateful Cory isn’t into women,” Dad says, and we all laugh even though he’s made that joke before. “This story might have turned out very differently if he were.”
“No way,” Cory says. “The chemistry between you two was undeniable. I mean, Dana and I might have slept together a couple of times, but it wouldn’t have been a long-term thing.”
“You wish,” Mom says.
Leili and Azadeh are playing it cool, but I assume they’re just as shocked as I am to hear adults casually talking about sleeping together.
“No, but seriously,” Dad says. “Happiest birthday to my smart, beautiful wife. Dana is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I feel so lucky that she’s—” For a moment, I think he’s choking on a stray piece of bagel, but then I realize he’s holding back tears. Oh god.
“Look at you, Russ, getting all emotional,” Ed says.
Of course now there are tears in my eyes too, and a quick peek at Mom confirms that she’s not holding it together either.
“No, no,” Dad says, smiling, “I just thought of something sad I read in the news. Totally unrelated to Dana.”
“Oh sure, yes, of course,” Ed says.
Dad finishes up his toast and never actually releases any tears. I help him put candles on the chocolate peanut butter ice cream cake we got Mom (it says “Happy Birthday to the Queen”). We all sing to her, barely on-key. I slice and serve the cake. Grandma brings the chocolate babka to the table. I offer to refill people’s coffee. Only Ed and Leili take me up on it. (Leili drinks coffee, Azadeh and I don’t. We’re not as sophisticated as her.)
After cake, Leili, Azadeh, and I hightail it up to my room, not realizing seven-year-old Ava has followed us. I give her my phone to play with, and her attention is instantly absorbed, her index finger flying across the screen at lightning-fast speed while she sits cross-legged on my bed in between Leili and Azadeh.
“Sorry for the weird parts down there,” I say as I rotate back and forth in my spinny desk chair.
“Nothing was that weird,” Leili says.
“I love it,” Azadeh says.
“Your grandma is a little intense.”
“You mean racist?” I say.
“Eh. Our grandmother’s pretty much the same person, just racist and judgmental about different stuff.”
“Are all grandmas that way?” Azadeh asks. “That’s eerie.”
“You think your dad’s gonna tell her about his—” Leili starts to ask.
I rapidly shake my head, not wanting Ava to hear.
“About his what?” Ava asks, not looking up from the phone.
“New job,” I say. “He got a new job.”
“Oh,” Ava says, disengaging as soon as she hears it’s something she doesn’t care about.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I hope so. I feel like she should know.”
“Well, I don’t want to be there for that,” Azadeh says.
“Dad was telling us the other day,” Leili says, “how not so long ago in America, they used to not tell cancer patients that they had cancer.”
“Wait, what?” I say.
“Yeah,” Azadeh says. “They would tell the parents or the spouse, but not the person who it was happening to. They thought it would only make things worse if the person knew they had cancer.”
“Does your dad have cancer?” Ava asks, this time looking up from the phone.
Dammit. We keep forgetting Ava has ears.
“No,” I say quickly. “He doesn’t. His new job involves working with kids who have cancer.”
“Oh,” Ava says. “A boy in my school had cancer. Jake Reese. But he’s better now.”
“That’s good,” Leili says.
“What are you even doing on there?” I ask Ava.
“Playing Feather Frenzy,” she says. “It’s really fun.”
“I didn’t know I had that.”
“You didn’t. I downloaded it.”
I give Leili and Azadeh a look like What the hell? Which reminds me of what I actually wanted to talk about up here. “Wait, so, Oz…you and Roxanne!”
“Yeah,” Azadeh says, smiling down at my bedspread.
“That’s— This is— Like, Roxanne is so cool! How long has this been going on?”
“We started getting closer at summer practices,” Azadeh says, “but it only became something…more…like, in the last two weeks. It’s really new.”
“I just found out three days ago,” Leili says.
“You were so relieved,” Azadeh laughs.
“I wasn’t! Well, maybe a little. If Roxanne’s your girlfriend, I don’t have to be jealous the same way I would if she’s your best friend.”
“You don’t have to be jealous in either case,” Azadeh says, reaching past Ava to playfully shove Leili. “She’s not, like, stealing me away from you, dodo.”
“I thought Roxanne was straight,” I say.
“So did I,” Azadeh says. “I’m the first girl she’s ever been attracted to.”
I put both ha
nds on my head and make my Whaaaaat? face.
“I know, right?” Leili says.
“This is the best thing ever,” I say. “Can I…be nosy for a second?”
“Maybe,” Azadeh says.
“You two have, like…kissed and stuff?”
Azadeh gets red, smiling with her hand over her eyes. “We have.”
“Aaaaaahhhhhhhh! Oz!”
“I really like her.”
“My parents kiss sometimes,” Ava says, in between dramatic swipes.
“Hey, are you gonna tell your parents?” I ask. (Azadeh came out to them last year. “I think Mom’s gonna need some time to get used to the idea,” she had said, “but of course Papa’s fine with it. He’s always trying to show how ‘woke’ he is. His words.”)
“At some point,” Azadeh says. “I just don’t want to tell them I’m in a relationship until I’m sure it actually is one. Same with the field hockey team.”
“Oh wow,” I say, the realization dawning on me, “this is like on Friends when Monica and Chandler started secretly dating!”
“That’s what I said!” Leili practically jumps off the bed.
“Uh, yeah,” Azadeh says, “except not, because I’m not keeping it a secret from you two.”
“Don’t ruin it,” I say. “This is exactly like Friends.”
“It really is,” Leili says.
“Um, you’re getting a text,” Ava says, holding my phone out. “From Evan.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral even though I’m actually thinking, Gimme my phone back, what did he say?!
How was the peacock? he’s texted, followed by a bird emoji and a fork-and-knife emoji. We were texting all day yesterday, a delightful distraction from Dad’s supermarket fall. When I mentioned we were having a birthday brunch for my mom, he asked if we’d be serving any meats. Only peacock, I said. Hence his text.
“What super-funny thing did Evan say today?” Leili asks.
I can’t help but hear the sarcasm, but I pretend not to. “Oh, it’s stupid.”
“Seems like you’re sort of seeing somebody too,” Azadeh says, but unlike Leili, her tone is playful and affectionate.
“Oh no,” I say. “It’s not really like that.”