This Is Where I Leave You

a bomb on you. It’s a lot to absorb, and you need a little time.”
    “Absorb what?” Mom says. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”
    “There’s nothing to absorb, you dumb shit! You’re not coming to work for me!”
    “Well, technically speaking, we’d be partners. I’ll buy out Judd and Wendy. Judd’s not interested in the business, right, Judd? And Wendy, you’re going to be richer than God.”
    I steal a glance at Barry to see if he’s offended. He is not.
    “Baby brother, you can’t even buy a goddamn suit.”
    “People change, big brother.”
    Paul’s eyes settle on Tracy for a long, uncomfortable beat, and a bitter smile slowly spreads across his face. “Oh. It all makes sense now. Engaged to be engaged.” He shakes his head. “You’re a whore.”
    “What did you just call her?” Phillip says, jumping to his feet.
    “Not her, you. You’ve always been a whore.”
    “Why don’t you come a little closer and say that?”
    “Not in the house!” Mom says. She never broke up our fights, thought it was healthy for brothers to pound on each other every now and then, just not where they might break her things. Paul steps right over to Phillip, where his height and weight advantage is more readily apparent. He’s about two feet away when Tracy steps between them.
    “Okay, men. This is good, really good,” she says, her voice loud and clear, like she’s running a seminar. “You’ve each expressed a valid point of view that the other now needs to consider and internalize in a non-confrontational manner. Nothing has to be resolved immediately. And nothing can be resolved until each of you has come to appreciate the other’s position. So let’s agree, shall we, to table this discussion until everyone has had time to assimilate the new information and reconsider his own position. Okay?”
    We all stare at Tracy as if she just started jabbering in ancient tongues. We have always been a family of fighters and spectators. Intervening with reason and consideration demonstrates a dangerous cultural ignorance. Paul looks her up and down as if he can’t quite believe she’s there. Then he nods and looks over at Phillip.
    “Stupid. Little. Whore.”
    Phillip smiles like a movie star. “Infertile limp-dick.”
    Paul moves so fast that it’s impossible to say whether Alice’s shriek is in response to Phillip’s remark or the sudden ensuing violence. His hands latch on to Phillip’s neck and the two of them spin backward into the antique buffet, knocking over platters, candlesticks, and Tracy, who was still between them when Paul attacked.
    “Not in the house!” Mom shrieks, smacking at their backs. “Take it outside!”
    And who knows how much damage they might do, how badly Paul will beat Phillip’s ass, if right then Jen doesn’t appear like some kind of mirage, floating in from the front hall with an awkward smile. “Hi, everyone,” she says.
    At the sight of Jen, every person in the room freezes, along with most of my internal organs. Paul looks up at her in shock, his hand still cocked to punch Phillip, who has fallen to his knees against the wall.
    “The door was open,” Jen says. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
    “Jen, dear,” my mother says, suddenly composed. “What a nice surprise.” These are the moments when you really have to wonder what reality my mother is living in. She can go from casually watching two of her sons pummeling each other to graciously welcoming the woman who ruined her other son’s life without missing a beat. As for me, I’m shocked and self-conscious that Jen is here, that our broken marriage is now, in effect, on display. But I also feel an unbidden rush of excitement at her arrival, wondering at the speed of light if this somehow means we’ll be getting back together. In that instant, it doesn’t seem so far-fetched; the pregnancy was a false alarm, she’ll stay for the shiva, we’ll have some hard talks, I’ll yell and she’ll cry, but she’ll still 130bunk with me on that pitiful sofa bed in the basement. And when the shiva is over, we’ll go home and start again. I won’t even go back for my stuff at the Lees’, just bequeath it to the next desperate tenant. I’ll start fresh, all new things.
    Jen looks at me. I look at her. And then I remember the money, sixteen thousand dollars sitting at the bottom of my duffel bag, the money she threatened me with in her voice mail. She’s not here to get me back or even