A Brilliant Novel in the Works Read Online Free Page A

off serious discussions until the tensions
in the Middle East are over.
    Before we leave that night, Julia and Shmen give each other
hugs that last too long and I hear Julia say “I love you” to her
brother and I hear her brother say to his only sibling, “You’re
one of my favorite older sisters.”
    Ally and Shmen leave the bar first. Shmen is limping. It’s
something I’ve noticed over the weeks—not quite a limp as
much as a hint of a limp—and I hadn’t consciously thought
about it until just now. Even so, I don’t say anything about it
to Julia.
    “Let’s go, honey,” she says to me. “You’re looking far too
happy.”
    LOVERS AND THERAPISTS
    My first girlfriend told me that she loved me more than
anyone else in the whole world. My first therapist told me I was incapable
of love but that I should keep a journal of my emotions.
    My second girlfriend told me that I could give her a hotter orgasm than
anyone in the world. My second therapist told me that my emotional growth
was stunted at the oral phase of development and that I should find out if
I was breastfed.
    My third girlfriend loved how I stayed up as late as she did even though
I had class so early in the morning. My third therapist told me that I had
to get on medication so I could finally get some sleep.
    My fourth girlfriend told me that she loved doing happy hour with me.
My fourth, fifth, six, and ninth therapists told me that I had a drinking
problem.
    My fifth girlfriend told me that she really enjoyed our alone time. My
fifteenth therapist told me that I needed to get out more.
    My sixth girlfriend told me that I’m a coward, especially in the bedroom.
My eighteenth therapist told me that I had narcissistic personality disorder
but that I also had nice, full lips.
    My wife tells me that I’m the most insecure person she’s ever met. My
twenty-first therapist tells me to reconsider my writing career
.
    Chapter Four
Getting Wet
    I keep the window open as my wife drives us home so I can
feel the specks of drizzle against my arm. It feels like it’s been
drizzling for years. I’m glad Julia loves to drive, because I’d
rather get another circumcision than drive at night, in the
rain, under the influence of however many martinis.
    Even in my real life, I lose track of the plot. I can never
remember names or places or details. I have no idea whether
to turn left or right. I don’t know what time we arrived or
what time we left. All I remember is how everyone felt when
whatever happened happened. And even if nothing happens,
it still feels to me like something happened. “
Oof!
” my mom
used to say when I was a kid, “you care too much about how
everyone feels.
Hakol Beseder
. It’s all okay. If you don’t relax,
you’ll be dead before you can help anyone anyway.”
    I wave my arm up and down in the windy rain until Julia
says, “Roll the window up. We’re getting wet.”
    “But I’m having a poignant moment,” I say to her.
    “Have your poignant moment while I’m still dry.”
    Julia pats my thigh a few times and it’s a sweet enough
gesture for me to forget about how much we sound like a
mother and son and so I roll up the window.
    Julia doesn’t talk much about her mother and her father,
but I know how those two are deep inside her. And I know
that she watches her brother carefully for the signs. Whether
he’ll turn into the vicious mess of their father or the catatonic
mess of their mother. And I know she grows tired of me and
my insecurities. She is tired of how I look at every gorgeous
man on the street with the quiet threat that he might be the
one to steal my wife from me— as if my wife has no say in
the matter. And she is worried about her own aspirations,
whether we can really afford this nonprofit project that she
is taking on alongside my overdue-contractual-obligation of
a career, whether our rainy day fund can last through a rainy
season that seems to be going on forever.
    I say to