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“Daniel, you know I’m always on your side, but this time Amit is right. You should take it easy.”
Daniel continued to object but was overruled. I heard him stifle an “ouch” with every step from the car to the front door. Inside, I shoved him into my shower and went to fetch a towel and some of my clothes. I heard him groan as he undressed and wondered if I should offer to help.
He came out of the bathroom wearing only boxers. His legs and arms were covered in cuts; even his back was scratched up. He limped over to the sofa, grimacing, and lay down. The endorphins were clearly subsiding, leaving him with the painful consequences of the game.
I got the bandages and ointments out of my cabinet. Naama had taught me all the tricks after she’d had to patch Liam up regularly last summer. Mister tough guy with no fear of pain had signed up for a Thai boxing group to get in shape before going to the army. Naama found out too late that it was a much rougher sport than expected.
I started dressing Daniel’s wounds and the ingrate just complained.
“That stinks! What is it?”
“It’s called Bengay. Just right for gay boys.”
“Cut it out with the word games. I’m better at it than you.”
“You cut out complaining. I’m nearly done, and the smell won’t last forever.”
“But our love will.”
“Don’t lie,” I said in English. I didn’t find that funny. Our love had less than a month to go. There was no forever.
“Okay,” Daniel tried to get up and I pushed him back down.
“What are you doing?!”
“You told me to stop lying.” Daniel said gleefully as if he’d won the lottery.
“You’re so dumb!”
“Told you I’d out-pun you.”
He rested his head on my lap as we watched the World Cup final. The game seemed to make him forget his woes. Keren called and I reassured her that Daniel was feeling much better.
“Babe, why don’t you have a nickname for me?”
“Why should I? I like Daniel.”
“Aha, you like my name! I’m starting to get under that armor.”
“You wish. I can call you Danny if you like.”
“No. That’s what everyone in New York calls me.”
“But you’re not in New York.”
“No, but the name makes me think of New York.”
“And that’s bad because?”
“C’mon babe, just think of a nickname. You can even call me babe!”
“Nope. Too American. You’re not my baby.”
“Hey. We invented Starbucks. That makes us genius material.”
“How come you’re so dumb, then?”
“You know, you’ve been giving me a hard time ever since we met. You must love something about me, or you’d have ditched me long ago.”
