Page 94 of Flirtasaurus
“The Big Bang?” Dad says. “Uh-oh, is Suzie telling you about our activities from last night?”
He scooches his chair way too close to where Ralph is now sitting and leans into him in full bro mode. “She’s always bragging, Ralph. I’m constantly telling her, I tell her ‘Suzie Q, giving the play-by-play of our home dates only makes people jealous. What happens in our bedroom stays in our bedroom.”
“I wish,” Mark mutters. “Why do you insist on calling them home dates, Dad?”
My little brother is a punk, but I feel for him. Oh, the things he must see and hear in this house.
“Well, son, I’ve learned that in this family, home dates is a more acceptable term than bone dates even though that descriptor is the far more accurate. I’d use it if I weren’t surrounded by so many squares and prudes.”
“Pfft. The Big Bang!” As I expected, Mom can’t let this one go. “Everyone knows the Big Bang is a bunch of baloney! That’s why they call it a theory.”
Ralph chokes on a cookie.
I slap him on the back.
“You okay?”
“Fine, fine. Um. How so, Suzie?” Ralph sputters out, sounding like a cross between a prepubescent boy and a carburetor.
“Call me, Mrs. FitzGerald, please.”
Yikes. Mom is being a bit chilly all of a sudden.
“Alright then. I can do that,” Ralph says, sounding a bit hurt.
“Ralph, what is your background?” Mom asks as she pours coffee.
“Uh-oh. Watch out, dude.” My little brother coughs into his elbow.
“My background, ma’am?” Ralph asks politely.
“Yes.” Mom smiles, but it feels forced. “Your background.”
“Uh, what aspect of my—”
“She wants to know if you’re Catholic,” I interrupt. “Mom, I’m not even Catholic anymore.”
“Nonsense! You were baptized and confirmed, and when it’s your time to return to our Lord, you’ll receive last rights as well.”
“Is Mom finally trying to kill Calliope?” Scott gets in a jab.
“The kid is Jewish, Suzie Q,” Dad offers.
“You’re Jewish?” my mom asks as seriously as if she’s inquiring whether or not he’s on Philadelphia’s Most Wanted list.
But Ralph rolls right along with the punches. “I am, yeah. Emphasis on the ‘ish,’ though.”
“You knew this, Ken?”
“Yeah, Mom, Ralph mentioned upon our arrival that he was a Jewish vegan—hence the reason he couldn’t partake in the spiral ham tonight—and Dad threatened to throw him out because he killed Jesus.”
“It was a joke! Ralph, my apologies again. What I should have said was… ‘all are welcome here.’ Besides, it wasn’t really the Jews who killed Jesus. It was that punk-ass Pontius Pilot. What a piece of work that guy was, huh? Oh, and Judas, of course. Fucking traitor.”
Mom scrunches up her forehead. “Ken, you know I’ve always felt terrible for poor Judas. I mean, where would we all be if he hadn’t betrayed Jesus?”
“Doomed to the firepits of hell?” I say with enough snark that it should be obvious I’m being sarcastic.
“Doomed to the firepits of hell. That’s exactly right, baby,” Mom says proudly and smiles at me for what feels like the first time tonight.
