CHAPTER 11

THE YELLOW ONE

BEN

I never thought a neck could be sexual, but hers is pornographic. I wanted to spend hours touching that soft stretch of skin. The first time I saw her, she had on a top that only left her nipple color to the imagination. Last night, she was covered up in a dress that only showed a little collarbone and some calf. But I’ll be damned if she didn’t look like a goddamn angel. She looked like she would bake me an apple pie one minute and let me fuck her senseless the next. I’m all about that life. Shit, I’ve got a semi again just thinking about it.

That night at the bar was some bullshit. I don’t think I’ve ever been punched by a stranger before. When Stephanie told me to meet a new client at Starbucks to discuss a unique event this week, the last thing I expected was to see her. I didn’t even recognize her. She looked terrible. I thought she was sick. I didn’t tell her, but she had a piece of food stuck in her hair. I recognized her bitchiness, though. The thought of spending the day with her toxic personality sounded as fun as having a toilet bowl brush shoved up my ass. She was paying a hell of a lot of money, but some things just aren’t worth it. Then she started crying. Not cute little lady crying either. How am I supposed to tell her to get bent when she’s legit sobbing? I have to do something about this weakness to crying women. It’s going to be the death of me.

I agreed to be her stupid fiancé, even though she wouldn’t tell me anything other than his first name. I can’t believe I agreed to help her lie to her elderly grandma. But, I guess I’ll do anything when I see tears. I’m a sucker. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Dad had his first chemo treatment two days before. He was still pretty sick. I stayed up with him all night and Jacob stayed with him all day. I know I was trying to make money for his bills, but I felt like a dick being on a fake date instead of taking care of my dad.

I spent the last three nights at Dad’s because Jacob needed to get some sleep. I slept on my old twin bed because Mom kept our rooms like a shrine after we moved out. My football trophies sit on a shelf above my head. High school seems like way more than eight years ago.

I hear Dad banging around in the kitchen, so I think that’s my signal to get up. He’s going to try to fry up two pounds of bacon, but his doctors want him to eat the opposite of everything he likes. I should’ve thrown out the bacon, but it’s bacon. You can’t throw that out. It’s bad luck.

“Morning, Dad,” I yawn. “Whatcha making?” I could sleep for a few more days.

“Coffee and bacon. Want some?” He looks like he could sleep for a few more days, too.

I click off the coffee maker before it can start brewing. “Those aren’t on your food list. How about some Greek yogurt and a banana?”

He shakes his head. “Why do you want to hurt me, Son?”

I turn the bacon off so it can cool. I’m going to pack that up and finish cooking it at home. He doesn’t need to know. “Go sit down and I’ll bring you food.”

He shuffles to his chair in the living room. Once he sits, he turns his head and yells back at me. “You know what you should be bringing me? Some of that designer marijuana. It’s supposed to help with the side-effects of chemo. A good son would do that.”

I glare at him while chopping the banana. I better not cut off a finger. “Jesus Christ, Dad, I don’t sell drugs.”

“Well, you’re selling something you’re not supposed to be selling. I know that much. Your brother would cut me in to his deal. That’s why I’ve always liked him better.” He turns around and flips on the TV.

Jacob will be back in a few hours and he can take over. I need to spend some time with plants to recharge. Today is my smallest building, so maybe I can sneak in a nap after.

***

I open the door and don’t hear any pattering of tiny paws. That can only mean one thing. Steed’s here. I set down my duffle bag and look at the two assholes sleeping on my couch. There’s a bag of chips wedged between Steed and the back cushions. Mr. T is snoozing on his neck wearing his “Try Me” shirt. All I want to try is getting some sleep. Dad seems like he’s feeling a lot better, so I’m sleeping in my adult bed tonight. Plus, he told me not to come back when he saw me sneaking out the bacon.

I don’t know what time it is or what year it is when the phone rings. I take my phone off the nightstand without opening my eyes and answer it. The ringing doesn’t stop and no one’s on my phone. At least not that phone. I forgot to drop my burner phone at Stephanie’s again, so I’m about to get an earful.

I find Stephanie’s phone. I’m barely awake enough to realize the number on the Caller ID isn’t hers.

“Hello?” I sound like a lifelong chain smoker.

“Ben? Stephanie gave me your number. She said I could call you directly.”

“Who is this?” Literally only one person has this number.

“It’s Miryam.”

The fuck? “Why are you calling in the middle of the night?”

“It’s 8:00 p.m.”

I rub my hands over my face and look at the phone. She’s right. It feels so much later. I was sleeping so hard I thought I woke up in the future.

“I knew that. What do you need?”

“I wanted to see if… we could… team up again. At the end of this week.”

My mind goes to a different type of teaming up. “Do what?”

“My grandmother has become obsessed with having a big Shabbat. She wants y—David there, too.”

I wonder if I would be more or less confused if I were all the way awake. “Can you tell me what a big Shabbat is because I know what I think it is and that’s probably wrong?”

She sighs into the phone extra loud. “It’s a meal. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“My mind likes the gutter.” I don’t have anything planned this week and if Stephanie gave out this number, the money must be really good. “Is this another family thing? Do I have to pretend to be that douche again?”

“He’s not a douche.” She huffs. “Okay, he’s a douche, but you can’t call him that. Only I can call him that.”

She’s straight up insane. “When is this thing?”

“Friday at sundown. But we’ll need to meet earlier than that so we can park a few blocks away and pretend to walk over.”

Insane. “Is there anything you don’t lie to your grandmother about?”

“This is all temporary. I just need to find the right time to tell her. Are you in or not?”

I’m too far in to back out now. Plus, I need the money. “I’m in.”

***

Friday is here before I know it. Juliana scheduled another mid-week “private party.” I know it’s only been twice, but I can’t keep getting tied to beds. She has Olympic stamina and my leg cramped up like a bitch before she was done.

I didn’t have time to eat lunch today, so I hope Miryam’s grandma is cooking up some kick ass food. Javier drops me off at an apartment complex right on time. I find the apartment number I’ve been given and knock.

Miryam answers. She’s wearing a colorful top tucked into long skirt and flat shoes. She’s more covered up than before and she’s still better looking than any of the women in bikinis on the beach. Not that I would say no to seeing her in a bikini.

Her smile is huge. “Oh, good. You didn’t bail.” She moves out of the way so I can step in.

“Do people bail on you a lot?”

I was only trying to make conversation, but her smile switches to a stone-cold stare. I realize too late what I’ve done.

“Lately, yes.”

I’m an ass. I look around for anything to change the subject.

“Did you just move?” The apartment is totally empty, except for a few boxes.

She walks into what has to be the bedroom and shuts off the light. “I sold my house. The furniture is coming from storage tomorrow.”

“Why did you put your stuff in storage instead of moving it straight in here?”

She stands up straighter and everything about her is tense. “Because I moved in with the love of my life for about two seconds before he decided he didn’t want me anymore. Do you have any more questions?”

Fuck. I should’ve guessed that she moved out of her ex’s. I’m on a roll. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

She cuts me off. “It is what it is. We need to go so we’re not late for Shabbat.”

I grab her arm when she walks past me to the door. “Hey, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She doesn’t pull away, but the look on her face says I better not touch her if I want this hand back. I slowly drop my arm.

“It’s fine. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Is this one of those women things they always say men can’t understand? “What does that mean?”

She opens the door. “You get paid to have fictitious relationships. I don’t expect you to understand love.”

Wow. I can’t believe she went there. If that’s not the pot calling the kettle out, or whatever the fucking saying is. “You don’t know anything about what I understand. Maybe he kicked you out for being a judgmental bitch.”

That was too far. I know it the second it comes out of my mouth.

She stares at me for at least twenty seconds. For the first time ever, I’m scared for my life.

She points outside the door. “I guess we’ll never know. Get in the car. We’re going to be late.”

I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I fucking hesitate. I don’t want to get in a locked car with her right now. She’s in mega bitch mode. She’ll have my balls hanging from her rearview mirror like an air freshener.

“Ben. Car.” She’s still pointing and I’m still hesitating.

I don’t know what kind of attorney she is, but I hope it’s not the kind that knows all the tricks to get away with murder. I remember Stephanie and Javier know where I am. I’ll remind her of that, too, if she starts murdering me.

I go downstairs and get in her car when she unlocks it. This is going to be a long night.

About fifteen minutes later, she parks her car on a residential street.

“Bubbie’s house is a few blocks away.” It’s the first she’s spoken since her apartment.

The sidewalks are narrow, so I follow behind her. I wish that ass weren’t attached to the same body as that mouth. She could be the perfect woman with a personality transplant.

She stops at a small, older one-story house. She uses a key to open the front door. “It’s just me, Bubbie,” she calls.

Her grandmother walks around the corner less than a second later. She walks so fast for someone who’s recently gone blind. Like she has no fear. Unlike me who’s scared of a woman half my size. I seem to be scared of a lot of women lately. Maybe I need to see someone about that.

“Miri! David!” She hugs both of us twice. “Come into the dining room. We just started.”

We follow her, which has to be the height of irony. The blind leading the… us. The lights are off in the room, but it’s bright as hell. Candles are everywhere. Are blind people even allowed to have candles? I don’t know.

I never had time to Google whatever Miryam said this thing was, but it looks like we’re having a seance. I did not sign up to talk to the dead. I don’t care what they have to say, unless it’s winning lottery numbers.

A bunch of people I recognize from the last thing are here. I think it’s her aunts and their families. A small folding table is set up in the corner for the kids. Her grandmother sits down. The only two seats left are right next to her. Miryam takes the chair directly next to her grandmother and I sit next to Miryam. The aunt sitting on my right winks at both of us. I don’t know what it means, but it doesn’t feel good.

“David, why don’t you say Kiddush?” her grandmother asks.

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.