Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(8)
“What meeting?”
“But not until seven. I mentioned it. You probably would’ve come back by then, anyway.”
“We’ll never know.”
“It’s annoying that it’s on a weekend, but it’ll only be an hour or two.”
“That’s fine.”
He gave her arm a squeeze and said, “Take what’s left.”
“What?”
“The day.”
—
The drive home was silent, save for NPR, whose omnipresence took on the character of silence. Jacob glanced at Sam in the rearview mirror.
“I went and done ate a can of your tuna fish, Ms. Daisy.”
“Are you having a stroke or something?”
“Movie reference. And might’ve been salmon.”
He knew he shouldn’t let Sam use his iPad in the backseat, but the poor kid had been through enough that morning. A little self-soothing seemed fair. And it deferred the conversation that he didn’t feel like having right then, or ever.
Jacob had planned on preparing an elaborate brunch, but when the call from Rabbi Singer came at nine fifteen, he asked his parents, Irv and Deborah, to come over early to watch Max and Benjy. Now there would be no ricotta-stuffed brioche french toast. There would be no lentil salad, no shaved brussels sprout salad. There would be calories.
“Two pieces of rye with creamy peanut butter, cut diagonally,” Jacob said, handing a plate to Benjy.
Max intercepted the food: “That’s actually mine.”
“Right,” Jacob said, handing a bowl to Benjy, “because you have Honey Nut Cheerios with a splash of rice milk.”
Max examined Benjy’s bowl: “Those are plain Cheerios with honey on them.”
“Yes.”
“So why did you lie to him?”
“Thanks, Max.”
“And I said toasted, not immolated.”
“Imlated?” Benjy asked.
“Destroyed by fire,” Deborah said.
“What’s with Camus?” Irv asked.
“Leave him alone,” Jacob said.
“Hey, Maxy,” Irv said, pulling his grandson into him, “someone once told me about the most incredible zoo…”
“Where’s Sam?” Deborah asked.
“Lying is bad,” Benjy said.
Max let out a laugh.
“Good one,” Irv said. “Right?”
“He got into a little trouble at Hebrew school this morning and is doing time up in his room.” And to Benjy: “I didn’t lie.”
Max peered into Benjy’s bowl and told him, “You realize that’s not even honey. It’s agave.”
“I want Mom.”
“We’re giving her a day off.”
“A day off from us?” Benjy asked.
“No, no. She never needs time off from you guys.”
“Time off from you?” Max asked.
“One of my friends, Joey, has two dads. But babies come out of vagina holes. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“No one lied to anyone.”
“I want a frozen burrito.”
“The freezer’s broken,” Jacob said.
“For breakfast?” Deborah asked.
“Brunch,” Max corrected.
“Sí se puede,” Irv said.
“I could run out and get you one,” Deborah offered.
“Frozen.”
Over the previous months, Benjy’s eating habits had veered toward what might be called unrealized foods: frozen vegetables (as in, still frozen when eaten), uncooked oatmeal, unboiled ramen noodles, dough, raw quinoa, dry macaroni with unreconstituted cheese powder sprinkled on top. Beyond adjusting shopping lists, Jacob and Julia never talked about it; it felt too psychological to touch.
“So what did Sammy do?” Irv asked, his mouth full of gluten.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Frozen burrito, please.”
“There might not be a later.”
“Apparently, he wrote some bad words on a piece of paper in class.”
“Apparently?”
“He says he didn’t do it.”
“Well, did he?”
“I don’t know. Julia thinks so.”
“Whatever the reality, and whatever each of you believes, you guys have to approach it together,” Deborah said.
“I know.”
“And remind me what a bad word is?” Irv said.
“You can imagine.”
“In fact I can’t. I can imagine bad contexts—”
“The words and the context of Hebrew school definitely didn’t jibe.”
“Which words?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Of course it really matters.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Deborah said.
“Let’s just say the n-word was featured.”
“I want a frozen—What’s the n-word?”
“Happy now?” Jacob asked his father.
“He used it actively or passively?” Irv asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” Max said to his little brother.