Read Online Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It by Maile Meloy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maile Meloy
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he squeezed between Claire and Jonna.
“Eight bucks for a veggie burger,” he said. “It’s like Aspen around here. Rich doctors like you, crowding the slopes and driving the prices up.”
Aaron said nothing and started on his second beer. It was so good and so cold. His brother was only joking, looking for attention, having gotten so much from the rest of the cafeteria. His ski students clearly loved him, and that seemed touching. Aaron’s patients didn’t love him that way. People loved their GPs and their dermatologists, but not their orthopedists. They saw him only under duress, and he gave them frustrating news. “George,” he said. “We should ski together this afternoon.”
“All right,” George said warily, pounding the ketchup bottle over his yellowish soy patty.
“You act like I want to push you off a cliff.”
“Maybe you do.” George resorted to a knife, and the ketchup slid out along the blade.
“You should take me on the good stuff.”
“You can’t handle the good stuff.”
“Sure I can.”
“Honey, you don’t always do well at eight thousand feet,” Bea said. “And you’ve had two beers.”
“See?” his brother said. “Listen to your wise wife.”
Aaron didn’t like to be reminded of his debility—no one else got sick at this altitude—and he was doing fine. “Did you take Claire on the good stuff ?” he asked.
“Dad,” Claire said.
“Claire’s a really good skier,” George said, through a mouth full of soy.
“I know she is. I taught her.”
“ I taught her,” George said. “And she’s thirty years younger than you are.”
“But you’re only five years younger.”
“But I ski every day. Stop staring at my veggie burger. Eat your own goddamn burger. Your dead cow corpse burger.”
At twenty, George had dropped out of college to go cycling around France with a girl, and he became a vegetarian under her influence. At the time, Aaron had defended George’s decision to leave school to their parents. He had admired and envied his brother’s bravery—he was already in medical school and wouldn’t have known what to do without the structure of classes—and he thought it important that George be allowed to find his own way. Also, in his secret heart, he was glad his brother wouldn’t be a doctor, too; the medical profession wasn’t big enough for both of them. So he had told the parents to back off. But it seemed, so many years later, that it was time for George to drop the lingering no-meat affectation, or at least to stop proselytizing. “Look, you can eat soy protein if you want,” he said, “but why harangue other people?”
“I’m just thinking of your arteries,” George said.
“My arteries are fine. Who decides to stop eating meat in France ? You could have come back from that trip looking tan and healthy and full of steak béarnaise, and instead your skin was gray .”
“Boys,” Bea said. “Please don’t fight. For once.”
“We’re not fighting, we’re talking,” George said. “It’s not just about health. There’s a movie you should see, about slaughterhouses. Claire, you should see it. I’ll give you the DVD.”
“Please don’t give my daughter an eating disorder,” Aaron said.
“It’s not a disorder!”
Jonna stood, digging her coat out of the pile. “I’m going skiing,” she said, glaring at them both. She pulled her jacket onto one arm and rocked determinedly toward the door in her stiff-bottomed boots. She had a tattooed sun on the back of her neck, below the white-blond puff of hair, and it disappeared as she shrugged the coat up onto her shoulders.
Bea looked at George, as if expecting him to follow. “Aren’t you going?”
He held up his ketchupy hands. “She wants to ski alone,” he said.
Bea sighed, and dropped her paper napkin on her tray. “Claire, can you stand to ski the boring stuff with me?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” Claire said. She draped an arm over her father’s chest,
“Eight bucks for a veggie burger,” he said. “It’s like Aspen around here. Rich doctors like you, crowding the slopes and driving the prices up.”
Aaron said nothing and started on his second beer. It was so good and so cold. His brother was only joking, looking for attention, having gotten so much from the rest of the cafeteria. His ski students clearly loved him, and that seemed touching. Aaron’s patients didn’t love him that way. People loved their GPs and their dermatologists, but not their orthopedists. They saw him only under duress, and he gave them frustrating news. “George,” he said. “We should ski together this afternoon.”
“All right,” George said warily, pounding the ketchup bottle over his yellowish soy patty.
“You act like I want to push you off a cliff.”
“Maybe you do.” George resorted to a knife, and the ketchup slid out along the blade.
“You should take me on the good stuff.”
“You can’t handle the good stuff.”
“Sure I can.”
“Honey, you don’t always do well at eight thousand feet,” Bea said. “And you’ve had two beers.”
“See?” his brother said. “Listen to your wise wife.”
Aaron didn’t like to be reminded of his debility—no one else got sick at this altitude—and he was doing fine. “Did you take Claire on the good stuff ?” he asked.
“Dad,” Claire said.
“Claire’s a really good skier,” George said, through a mouth full of soy.
“I know she is. I taught her.”
“ I taught her,” George said. “And she’s thirty years younger than you are.”
“But you’re only five years younger.”
“But I ski every day. Stop staring at my veggie burger. Eat your own goddamn burger. Your dead cow corpse burger.”
At twenty, George had dropped out of college to go cycling around France with a girl, and he became a vegetarian under her influence. At the time, Aaron had defended George’s decision to leave school to their parents. He had admired and envied his brother’s bravery—he was already in medical school and wouldn’t have known what to do without the structure of classes—and he thought it important that George be allowed to find his own way. Also, in his secret heart, he was glad his brother wouldn’t be a doctor, too; the medical profession wasn’t big enough for both of them. So he had told the parents to back off. But it seemed, so many years later, that it was time for George to drop the lingering no-meat affectation, or at least to stop proselytizing. “Look, you can eat soy protein if you want,” he said, “but why harangue other people?”
“I’m just thinking of your arteries,” George said.
“My arteries are fine. Who decides to stop eating meat in France ? You could have come back from that trip looking tan and healthy and full of steak béarnaise, and instead your skin was gray .”
“Boys,” Bea said. “Please don’t fight. For once.”
“We’re not fighting, we’re talking,” George said. “It’s not just about health. There’s a movie you should see, about slaughterhouses. Claire, you should see it. I’ll give you the DVD.”
“Please don’t give my daughter an eating disorder,” Aaron said.
“It’s not a disorder!”
Jonna stood, digging her coat out of the pile. “I’m going skiing,” she said, glaring at them both. She pulled her jacket onto one arm and rocked determinedly toward the door in her stiff-bottomed boots. She had a tattooed sun on the back of her neck, below the white-blond puff of hair, and it disappeared as she shrugged the coat up onto her shoulders.
Bea looked at George, as if expecting him to follow. “Aren’t you going?”
He held up his ketchupy hands. “She wants to ski alone,” he said.
Bea sighed, and dropped her paper napkin on her tray. “Claire, can you stand to ski the boring stuff with me?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” Claire said. She draped an arm over her father’s chest,
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