Page 1 of Man Hands
1Sandwiches andSorrow
Brynn
“What you need isto befucked.”
Ashley says this to me, and I sorta can’t breathe. The not-breathing is because I’m winded from giving Ash and Sadie a very long monologue about how desperate and alone I feel now that my divorce is final. A divorce I wanted, mind you, but the end of my marriage isdevastating.
I’ve failed atmarriage.
My Monologue of Despair was so all-consuming that I haven’t even taken a bite out of my crisp, gooey Cuban sandwich with garlicky mojo sauce. That’s how bad things really are—I let that slice of salty ham heaven just sit there and get soggy and cold, like mylovelife.
Because I am indespair.
So after Ash says, “You need to be fucked,” I can’t breathe. It’s partly because my nose is filled with snot over my sorrow, and also because, goddamn it, she’sright.
I take a bite of the sandwich, just so, you know, she’ll continue with this line ofthought.
“…and I’m not talking that kind of ‘Oh you complete me’ bullshit and ‘Can I touch you here’ lovey shit. I mean the growling, fumbling,grunting—”
“Biting,” Sadie adds as she steals one of myfries.
“—bitingkind of hot fucking. You know, headboard-knocking fucking. The kind whereyou’reall…”
“Sweaty?” Iguess.
“Yes! Sweaty, but that good kind of sex sweat, right? Like when you’re done and you’re starving and you go to the store for ice cream, people take one whiff of you and they know.Theyknow!”
“They know you got the dick,” Sadiefinishes.
I sort of giggle-burp because I’m really emotional right now and this sandwich is so good, and Sadie, a therapist and a mom to newborn twin girls, isn’t one to use the word “dick”. Usually, it’s penis, if she says anything at all. She’s my most anatomically correctfriend.
“What I’m saying is—” Ash holds up one finger to mark her place while she drains the rest of her beer. “—stop wallowing and let’s find you someone toscrew.”
I swallow another bite of my sandwich, and then I realize a bearded waiter is leaning over the adjacent table, mesmerized. He’s polishing the same few inches of the wood surface over and over again with a dirty gleam inhiseye.
Also, he’s wearing really tight hipsterpants.
That’s when me and my friends—my dear friends from college, my soul sisters—share a secret glance of amusement. We’re at eye level with his crotch and the evidence therein. He’s not our waiter, but it’s clear that he’d still like to help us out with anything we want…and not just food andbeverages.
Ash leans forward, maybe to get the waiter’s attention by hoisting up her boobs, or maybe she just wanted to rest them on the table. “You, sir. I can see you’re invested in this conversation. Can I ask you a rather blunt hypotheticalquestion?”
I try to kick her under the table, but I am on my second mojito and the first mojito went straight to my fine-motor skills, meaning I am one mojito away from drooling, two away frompeeing.
He blinks, and then he blinks again. He moves his skinny hips closer to the end of our table and I have to avert my gaze. “Hit me. I love thisconversation.”
“Well then.” Ash shoots me a look. “Hypothetically,” she asks, “would you fuck my friend? Like, a good fuck? Not aromanticfuck?”
Blink. Blink. Blink. Then: “I’m working a double shift,”hesays.
“I’m not talkingreality,” Ash scoffs. “I’m talking hypothetically. You know that hypothetically means in the supposed universe, right? As in,just intheory?”
He adjusts his pants. There is a marked swelling on one side of his leg, and I can’t help but do a double take. That enlargement travels almost to his knee. I mean, it’s a fuckinganaconda.He could jump rope with thatthing.
“Sure,” he says. “I mean, not that I would, I’m totally engaged to my girlfriend. It’s on Instagram and everything. We had chalkboards with our names on it and the date and all. But yeah. I’d totally fuck her.” He leans down and whispers, “Against.A.Wall.”
There is a pregnant silence, by which I mean I could almost get pregnant just basking in his stare. His eyes are on my generous cleavage. Sometimes I find that sort of behavior from a waiter rude. But he’s not our waiter. And since we just invited him to hypothetically boink me, I can’t really hold itagainsthim.
Hypothetically.
