Read Online Why We Broke Up by Daniel Handler - Free Book Online

him?”
    “Boring,” I said instantly. Drum solo on the album.
    “Dating my brother,” she said, with a shake of her head. She stepped to the stove and stirred and licked the spoon, something tomato. “You’ll be a widow, a basketball widow, bored out of your mind while he dribbles all over the world. So you don’t like basketball—”
    It was already true, Ed. I had already wondered if it was OK to do homework or just read while you practiced. But nobody else was. The other girlfriends didn’t talk much among themselves and never to me, just looking my waylike the waiter had brought the wrong salad dressing. But it was so elegant and worthwhile to have you wave, and the sweat on your back when you all divided into shirts and skins.
    “—and don’t know music, what do you like?”
    “Movies,” I said. “Film. I want to be a director.”
    Song stopped, next one began. Joan looked at me for some reason like I’d socked her. “I heard,” I said. “Ed told me you were studying film. At State?”
    She sighed, put her hands on her hips. “For a little bit. But I had to change. Get more practical.”
    “Why?”
    The shower turned off. “Mom got sick,” she said, flicking her chin in the direction of the far bedroom, and there’s something that never came up with you, not on any night on the phone.
    But I’m good at changing the subject. “What are you making?”
    “Vegetarian Swedish meatballs.”
    “I cook too, with Al.”
    “Al?”
    “My friend. Can I help you?”
    “All my
life
, Min, for
eons
I have waited for someone to ask that question. I hope you agree that aprons are useless, but here, take this.” She went to the door and fiddled at the knob for a sec before dropping it into my hand. Rubberbands, you kept them there, every doorknob in the house.
    “Um.”
    “Put your hair up, Min. The secret ingredient is not
your
hair
.”
    “Then how do you make vegetarian Swedish meatballs? Fish?”
    “Fish is meat, Min. Oyster mushrooms, cashews, scallions, paprika I need to find, parsley, grated root vegetables, which you can grate. The sauce I did already, that’s bubbling. Sound good?”
    “Yes, but it’s not really very Swedish.”
    Joan smiled. “It’s not really very
anything
,” she admitted. “I’m just trying something here, you know?
Attempting
is what I’m doing.”
    “Attempted meatballs, you could call it instead,” I said, with my hair up.
    She handed me the grater. “I like you,” she said. “Tell me if you want to borrow my old Film Studies books. And tell me if Ed treats you badly so I can fillet him,” so I guess you’re on a plate somewhere with lemon and whatnot, Ed. Instead you came downstairs with crazy hair and loose clothes, a T-shirt from a stadium show, bare feet, and shorts.
    “Hi,” you said, and wrapped your arms around me. You gave me a kiss and took the rubber band,
ow
, out of my hair.
    “Ed.”
    “I like it better, no offense, it looks better down.”
    “She needs it up,” Joan said.
    “No, we’re hanging out,” you said.
    “Yes, and cooking.”
    “You could at least put on decent music.”
    “Hawk Davies crushes Truthster like a grape. Go watch TV. Min’s helping me.”
    You pouted to the fridge and grabbed milk to drink from the carton and then pour in a bowl for cereal. “You’re not my real mom,” you said, obviously an old joke.
    Your beautiful sister took the rubber band out of your hand and dropped it into mine, a loose worm, lazy snake, wide-open lasso ready to rodeo something. “If I were your real mom,” she said.
    “Yeah, yeah, strangled in the crib.” You snacked off to the living room, and Joan and I made the vegetarian Swedish meatballs, which turned out delicious and surprising. I told Al the recipe that night, and he said they sounded great and maybe we could make them Friday night or Saturday or Saturday night or even Sunday night, he could ask his dad for the night off from the shop, but I said no, I wasn’t going