Robin’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks grew pinched, and it made Daniel love her less in that moment. Those faces she made never did her any favors, but there was no way to actually tell her that. You had to take the good with the bad: that was how Daniel felt. Later on, when her arms were wrapped around his back and her fingers were in his hair, the way she stroked his face, the kisses she laid on his neck, he wouldn’t be thinking about that weird squint she had when she was pissed off.
“I’m sympathetic to your pain, but that’s not enough of a reason to reject religion outright,” he said. “We all had a lot of pain growing up.”
Daniel had been a boy genius, and then a teen genius. (Though now as an adult, after a dozen years of drinking and a long-standing romance with Adderall that had ended only in the last year, he was probably just pretty smart.) He wasn’t sure why being smart necessitated being tortured by his classmates. He remembered in particular a football player who sat behind him in Spanish class sophomore year, who at least once a day stabbed him in the back of the head with a pencil until one day his barber discovered a dripping green hole there and he was rushed to the emergency room, and there were shots, the whole nine, and when he returned to school the next week, he found that the seating chart had been reorganized and he had been moved to a corner by himself, which, as he looked back now, should have bothered him, but at the time it just gave him a giant sense of relief.
Still, he never complained about it, because he now made a living off the thing that was once a source of his pain. He also knew that the football player, husky, yellowing, was now a waiter at the McCormick & Schmick’s at Old Orchard—Daniel had seen him last year while holiday shopping with his mother—and even though he had never thought that he needed any resolution in his life of those dark years, that did not make the moment any less sweet. In fact, it might have been the air-conditioning in the mall, but he was pretty sure he had tingled.
Robin started to say something that seemed like it was going to be important: the deep inhale, the bunched-up fists, the grim set to her mouth. But instead she simply said, “I just felt like it got shoved down my throat.”
His girlfriend was making excuses. Maybe he’d hear the real story later, and maybe he wouldn’t, though he suspected he would. There was so much dramatic tension built up all over her, in every tight cell of her body, and he loved watching it unfold. Whatever emotions she was experiencing—and they were not entirely bad; in fact, they were sometimes so delicate and passionate that it was as if he could see right through to her soul—she made it count. On a daily basis, she took great big gulps of feelings, and whatever was left over she would pass on to him. All that Adderall had taken its toll on Daniel: It was simply harder to feel things now, so he would grab sensations when he could get them. Being with Robin was like being stabbed with a million pinpricks at once. He was shocked by how good that felt.
“I’m sure it was awful,” he said.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” she whimpered.
“It sounds like something you should talk about in therapy, if you ever decide to go to therapy,” he said.
She began to protest, but he had already had this discussion with her. It was not her problem, of course. It was theirs. He already knew how to finish the sentence.
“Not that I’m telling you you need to go to therapy,” he continued. “Because I’m not. But in the meantime, I think you can come have dinner with my family.”
*
There was a small card table set up in the living room and then a longer table next to that and then another long table in the foyer between the living room and the dining room, and then finally there was the long, gorgeous oak dining room table, and all of Daniel’s family members were distributed among these tables, the children at one table, the adult children at the next table, the parents of both groups of children at the next. Both rooms smelled intensely of brisket. Except for the children, who dined on plastic, everyone had matching silverware and plates and wineglasses, and the tables were beautiful, they shimmered flawlessly in the candlelight. At every place setting there was a printout of a Haggadah, and a green rubber frog finger puppet. Robin put one on her pinkie and waved it at Daniel.
“They’re supposed to represent the plague,” he said to her. She stretched her memory, and recalled that it was something to do with the Exodus; she had blocked it all out so long ago.
“What happened to the fancy Haggadahs?” yelled a cousin from the living room. It was the only way anyone could hear anyone else from one room to the other.
“Those were gorgeous,” said another.
“There was a flood in the basement,” said Daniel’s father.
“Why were they in the basement?” asked Faye, from the kitchen.