Page 93 of Not Safe For Work

“So, Gavin,” he continues. It’s clear he’s been drinking for a while from his breath, but I imagine in this line of work he can really handle his booze. “Passover is all about wine.”

“Dad!” Liv scolds. “It’s not about wine. It’s literally about the Jews escaping slavery and returning to their ancestral homeland.”

“Yes, yes, that. Andwine,” he repeats, holding up his glass like he’s giving a toast.

Liv rests her chin on my shoulder.

“Sorry, he’s drunk.”

“It’s all good.”

Deacon and the other brothers start bringing out the food. It looks like we’re about to have a feast. I’m not sure what anything is, but I’ve never had an issue trying something new.

“All right, Liv, you’re up,” Deacon says. “You’re still the youngest.”

“You know there are like ten other steps before the four questions,” she replies.

“But the food’s ready and we’re hungry so just give us a little taste of what weshouldbe doing, okay?”

“I swear, it’s like I’m the only person in this family who went to Sunday school,” she mutters. “How about this?” She stands. “Why is this night different from all other nights? Why do we eat unleavened bread and bitter herbs and dip the herbs and lean back in our chairs?” She finishes with a curtsy and sits back down. No idea what that was.

“Amen,” her brothers all chant.

“NotAmen, you’re supposed to answer the four questions, you idiots.”

“Can we eat now?” Owen asks.

Liv’s dad stands up and holds out a glass. “L’chaim. Let’s eat.”

Liv drops her elbows to the table and covers her face in her hands. I can hear little grunts wafting off of her.

“You’ll have to explain that to me some other time,” I say.

She picks up her head and looks at me. “If a Jewish person ever asks what you know about Passover, do not use this night as an example.”

“I’m having fun.”

She beams. “You’ll love the food. Deacon’s an insanely good cook. Mom, can you pass the brisket?”

The whole table falls silent as everyone takes their first few bites. It really is delicious, especially these little dumplings that I’ve never heard of. I’m trying to pace myself with wine, but her dad keeps refilling my glass after every sip.

“So, Gavin,” Sandra starts in. “Tell us about yourself. Where are you from?”

I should have been prepared for this but I’m not. Just another reason I don’t get close to people. Then I never have to talk about my past. But I don’t want to hide shit from Liv, not anymore.

“I was born in Argentina, actually. That’s where my mom’s from. We didn’t move to California until I was nine.”

“Oh, we love Argentina. Mendoza has some of the most wonderful vineyards in the world.” Sandra goes on some tangent about her favorite South American vineyards, mainly talking to her friends. Her hand gestures grow bigger with every word, like she’s sculpting an Argentine vineyard from invisible clay.

“Sorry, she’s high,” Olivia mutters. Sandra already offered me a joint on our tour, so this doesn’t shock me.

“You don’t have to apologize for your family,” I whisper. “They seem great.”

Sandra finishes her air-sculpture and turns back to me. “Do you still have family in Argentina?”

“No.”

Liv must hear the clipped tone in my voice because she grabs my hand under the table. We haven’t discussed my childhood before, but I know she can infer enough.

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