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Yael
Iwasn’t so callousthat I couldn’t admit Alex Murray on a skateboard was almost as delicious as Alex Murray playing guitar. I’d seen him skate on sidewalks and in parking lots a thousand times over the years, but I’d never witnessed him at a skate park. If he hadn’t covered his fiery hair with a low-brimmed hat to make himself as indistinguishable as he could, seeing him like this might have surpassed the itchy-crawly feeling I got when he performed on stage.
He was impressive, but I felt sort of stupid, hanging out on a bench, cheering him on. I’d had every intention of working on my own skills—what little I had—but once we arrived at Pier 62, I became far too intimidated. The place was full of real skaters doing big tricks, and I wasn’t about to fall on my face in front of a hundred witnesses.
For now, standing upright on my board was my biggest trick, but I was determined to land an ollie by the end of this debacle for no other reason than to say I could.
Alex checked in with me every few minutes, making sure I wasn’t being bothered and I was content staying. And I was. I watched little kids taking a lesson and listened to the tips their teacher gave them, but my eyes kept finding Alex. When he went almost vertical into a bowl, my heart caught in my throat, but he nailed it, rolling around the big, concrete hole in the ground like a pro. I guessed that came from having an actual professional as a dad.
My buzzing phone pulled my attention. I didn’t want to answer my mother's call, but she’d only keep calling until I did.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Hello, my love. How are you?”
“Fair, as always. What are you up to?”
She sighed, and I knew I was in for some drama. My mother’s phone calls tended to go that way, but I always held out hope that one day we’d engage in normal parent-child conversations rather than me being her sounding board.
“Your father has insisted on going golfing with Will Schwartz, so naturally I’ll have to hang out with his wife, Ava, as if it doesn’t kill me to pretend I don’t know she gave your dad a blow job at the Hesserman bar mitzvah last month.” She hiccupped a soft sob. “It’s humiliating, Yael.”
“Mom.” My chest constricted like it always did when she unloaded on me. I didn’t want to know this. Ishouldn’tknow this kind of stuff about my parents. No kid should. And yet, here I was, my mother’s confidant. “Don’t go. You don’t have to stand for that.”
“What would the Schwartzs think if I didn’t show up?”
“Uh, they’d think you don’t want to be around the woman your husband cheated on you with?” I rubbed my forehead, the headache already coming on strong.
“Please, honey, I’d never be able to go anywhere if I wanted to avoid women your dad has slept with.” Another sniffle, but I doubted she was crying. She only did that when she wanted attention. The woman loved to put on her show, and I always got sucked into it.
And yet...I kept answering her calls and coming through when she needed me.
I groaned. “God, please don’t tell me things like that. I think I’ve made it pretty clear I don’t want to know the details.”
“You just don’t understand. This is what love looks like. Loving a man will kill you a little each day, but you’ll take it because he’s your entire world.”
She’d told me this before, and each time, her words tattooed on my heart. I knew it wasn’t true for everyone. I had to look no further than my brother and Michaela to see all love wasn’t like my mom and dad’s. But they just might be the exception and my mom and dad were the rule.
“Wouldn’t you be better off alone?” I asked.
My mother gasped, even though I’d said this to her multiple times. “No, Yael. No, baby. I love your dad. He’s imperfect, but so am I.”
She told me a little more about my dad’s “whores,” as she called them, and all the while, I could hear her rustling around, putting on makeup, primping herself beautiful to go to the country club. I wondered if this was the phone call when she’d ask about how I was doing.
Alex dropped on the bench beside me. “Who’s that?” He nodded at my phone.
“My mom,” I mouthed.
He grimaced. He’d been around Mo and me long enough to know our parents were the very worst. When Mo announced he was eschewing college to be a full-time musician, they cut him off in every way. In some ways, I was jealous, wishing they’d cut me off too just so I didn’t have to have front row seats to the Curtis and Bev Aronson shitshow. It was a lonely, bitter place to be, and I was tired of it.
“I’m going to Allie and Jamie’s wedding in a few weeks. Remember Allie from NYU?” I asked.
“Hmmm? The blonde?”
“No, Allie has dark hair. She was my roommate...she’s marrying Harris’s brother.”
“That’s nice. Anyway, I’ve got to jet. Love you, honey.”
She hung up without waiting for my response, and I was tempted to throw my phone down on the concrete to watch it shatter.
