Match This! (The UnSocial Dater#1) (2 page)

No, not really mamacita, he was everyone at our church’s father, until you and he banged boots and he ‘divorced’ the church.

‘We are a strong Irish Catholic family,’
she has said.

Nonsensical.

When my father, Sean Brun, married Carry Anne Reuben, a Jew, they had a child, me, and they raised me to know both religions. My father made a big deal out of Christmas and Easter. And Mom went overboard with Purim, Pesach, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Hanukkah.

Just thinking about the amount of holidays I’ve celebrated, let alone the confusion it caused, makes me want to pop a Xanax and chase it down with a bottle of Jack.

When Dad died my mother was in mourning for months. She said it was expected after a death. She wore black for months. Attended mass on Saturday and Sunday, and went and prayed on Wednesday. The only things she didn’t do was wear the veil. Oh and we never celebrated another Jewish holiday, ever again.

I guess she didn’t get the memo, that she’s only Irish Catholic by injection. Doesn’t matter at all to her though. I had never met a more devout Irish Catholic woman in my entire life.

Then Father Samuel O’Dell, became stepfather Sam. Soon after that, a move to Albany, New York. Not much later, my half-sister Darby was born.

Darby cried all the damn time. I’m not gonna lie and say at a young age the thought of covering her head with a pillow never crossed my mind, because it did. Go fuck yourself if you want to judge me, saying and doing are completely different.

Darby also appeared with flaming red hair and green eyes. She looked exactly like that little Disney chick with the bow, same attitude too. Needless to say she was a handful and required a lot of their attention. But that didn’t matter to my Irish Catholic mother; she swooned over that little girl. Her ‘Red headed Irish princess.’

I’m not a redhead; my hair is naturally deep brown, black by choice. I can’t stand cabbage. I am not a beer drinker, and no matter how much you want to believe in "the luck of the Irish", that’s a line a shit. Perhaps it’s the Jew/Irish mix. Jews may be the chosen ones, but…Hitler. Enough said.

I look at Darby, she’s alive, I didn’t suffocate her. Her eyes are red, lip is quivering and her hair a tangled mess in a haphazard ponytail. I open my arms, “Come here.”

She hugs me and whispers, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone with those assholes.”

I can’t help but laugh inside. The girl is 10 and curses more than I do. “You’ll be fine,
Princess
,” I tease, knowing she hates it as much as I did being doted on by Mom, but she is a hell of a lot more rebellious than I was.

“Bitch,” she says back and I know she’s crying.

“Two and a half hours away, no big deal,” I say hoping to comfort her.

“Yeah, whatever.” Darby tries to act like it’s no big deal.

I hold her for a few moments when I hear my mother’s muffled cries. I cannot believe she is sobbing in Harvard Yard.

“Get her out of here for me?” I ask.

“Come home for Thanksgiving and don’t make some lame ass excuse to stay here and I will,” she counters.

I let go, hold up my middle finger so no one can see, she does the same, then we hook and shake, our version of making a
fucking promise.

****

The building is old but well maintained, I mean come on, it’s fucking Harvard University. One of eight schools in the country to be considered Ivy League. My parents wanted me to go to Brown.

I decide not to go into my dorm, instead I walk around a bit. I have no desire to go sit in my dorm, or the common room and what? Talk to people? No. Just no.

I end up in front of the John Harvard Statue that sits in front of University Hall, which houses the faculty of arts and sciences, and the graduate school of arts and sciences.

I should feel relieved, I am free of my mother’s reign, I am a full-fledged adult, I am at Harvard, but all I can do is look at old John Harvard and think, this motherfucker is my new mother. I scowl at him, as if it means a damn thing, and then flip him off as I walk away.

The next place I end up while I wander is the Tercentenary Theatre. Four long ass years from now I will be congregating with over sixty thousand people. That thought makes me sick too.

I decide to suck it up, fake a smile of sorts and go back to face the music.

Fuck, I hope these bitches have good taste in music.

“It’s about time you got here, New York,” the brunette with the big knockers, one of the two chicks I am stuck with for a year says when I walk in. “We have to hit Annenberg and grab dinner before heading to Beantown.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“Roommates bonding time,” the short little dark haired one says pushing up her glasses.

“Tonight is one of the rare nights that freshman are the only ones on this God forsaken campus so if we have any hopes of making an impression on a hot townie it needs to be now.” The tall brunette rambles on again.

“Why would I want a townie when I’m here?”
What is she crazy?

“Oh honey,” she sighs, shakes her head and looks at me like it was a pathetic question. “Ivy league boys spend more time in front of the mirror, at the esthetician, and spray tan salons than any man should. Townies see hot young ass like ours and your ten-minute tryst in the Ivy tower, will seem like riding a pony at the county fair compared to what the Beantown studs will do to keep you satisfied.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I laugh it off and walk towards my room.

“Nonsense, get changed.” She totally dismisses me, leans in closer to the mirror and applies red lipstick.

The shorter brunette looks at me and mouths, “Please.”

I look at her like she’s nuts, and she does it again.

If she were a puppy I would have melted right then and there, but she’s not.

“Come on New York, let’s get changed,” she snaps her fingers, “Chop, chop.”

“Please,” comes out as an actual sound this time and she truly sounds as pathetic as she looks.

“Fine, let me change.”

****

The three of us walk into Annenberg Hall. It is straight outta Harry Potter. I swear it looks exactly the same as the Great Hall. I’m expecting to see, Albus Dumbledore standing in the front of the rectangular shaped room, to perform the Welcoming Feast.

The amount of food they’re serving promises to make each of us gain the freshman fifteen plus feed a small village. It’s gluttonous.

“So New York,” the big knockered brunette says sitting next to me, “Your name is Katherine?”

“Or Kat,” I say much preferring my nickname.

“I’m Cecilia,” she holds out her hand.

“The pushy one,” I smile fakely, and shake it.

“No the one who knows her way around here. My second cousin graduated last year and I visited her a few times. Her sorority is the one we’ll rush and —”

“Clearly you haven’t caught on that I don’t like...people.”

She cocks her head to the side, “Well you like us and we’re all going to be great friends.”

“That’s unavoidable, however kissing ass has never been one of my strong suits and I’d like to keep my lips ass virgins.”

The little dark haired one laughs, and all of the sudden, she’s my favorite person ever.

We stare at each other, she’s trying to wear me down and I won’t be worn.

Finally she sighs, “Well alright then, you’re the unsociable one, every group needs one I suppose. I’m just gonna warn you, it can get lonely around here if you don’t wanna go out.” She looks away from me and I feel her talons pulling out of my skin, “Jane, it’s you and me —”

“Josie,” the little brunette corrects her.

“Fine,” Cecilia throws her hands up and gives us both a tight-lipped smile, “Well we’ll all get along just fine.”

“Let me ask you something Cecilia,” I say sitting back and looking at her.

“I’m an open book,” she flashes the fake bright smile.

“Does it drive you crazy that everyone isn’t dressed the same here?”

She looks around and then back at me, “I don’t want to be judgmental.”

“It’s still judging even when it’s not coming out of your mouth.” I say and they both laugh. I wasn’t trying to be funny.

When heading out of Hogwarts, Cecilia is ahead in her skirt, matching jacket and heels. She turns to a girl, smiles, waves and says, “So good to see you.”

The girl smiles at her, but as soon as Cecilia walks by she rolls her eyes and whispers to her friends, they all giggle.

“Ball less bitches,” I say as I walk by.

****

We took the T and hit a place Cecilia found on YELP with a live acoustic band at a bar called, The Lizard Lounge.

“I have a credit card and a fake ID ready to trade for Townies and tequila.” Cecilia claps her hands together once. “You ladies ready to party?”

“I don’t have an ID,” Josie says when we walk around the corner and see the line waiting to get in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Cecilia says as she takes her jacket off exposing the silk cami that she un tucks and voila she looks like she’s dressed for a club as opposed to looking like she’s going to a stuffy ass society luncheon.

She still reeks of snob and trust fund.

Unable to help myself I reach up and pull the sticks out of her hair, it falls perfectly down her back.

She looks at me, “Problem with my hair?”

“Your bun was too damn tight.” So is her disposition but I’m not gonna pull the stick out of her ass too.

We got in, underage and undetected. It may have had a lot to do with Cecilia flirting and giving her number to the bouncer.

“I’ll get the drinks, go find a table,” Cecilia says

“This is exciting,” Josie says and pushes up her glasses.

“There are a lot of people here,” I say looking around the crowded bar.

“I think there are more people in this bar than there was in my entire school.”

On the tiny stage is a man in skinny jeans, a cardigan sweater, and Birk sandals, with a guitar sitting in front of a microphone. I don’t recognize the song; it sounds like folk music. Not awful but not what I am used to.

It’s not loud which is all right, at least people who want to talk can. Which leaves me in a conundrum.

“Well, what have we here,” a deep male voice booms behind me, I turn to see a guy, who may possibly stand about five foot five on a good day. He has dark, spiky hair and a pointed nose. He walks over and sits down. “Two beautiful ladies and one me.”

Josie’s face immediately turns red, and mine immediately into a frown.

“What brings you ladies out tonight?” He asks as he sets his beer on the wooden table and pushes up his sleeves.

I wait for Josie to answer and she is waiting for me to do the same.

Finally, I cave, “We’re just a couple of lesbians who come out once in a while to remind ourselves why we prefer holes over tails. Have you seen enough lover?”

“That’s hot,” he smiles, “Interested in a threesome?”

“What part of lesbian did you not understand?” I ask him.

“What do we have here?” Cecilia says putting the tray full of shots and pints on the table.

“Well hello beautiful,” Spike says looking her up and down.

“Hello cutie,” she smiles like it’s her duty to be polite.

“So are you like them?” He points to my new ‘partner’ and me.

“Yes she is. Now go find Snow White and the other dwarfs.”

“Clam lickers,” he snaps as he jumps down from his booster seat and storms away.

“What the hell was that all about?” Cecilia half laughs as she passes out the shots.

“That was grumpy, he’s going to meet the other six,” I grab a shot and toss it back.

“Are you a lesbian?” Cecilia whispers lesbian like it would get her hung in Harvard square if said out loud.

Sometimes I just can’t help myself, “Didn’t they tell you? On my application, I asked for the two hottest freshman as roommates.”

The look on their faces is priceless and if I was a giggly girl I probably would giggle...but I’m not, so I don’t.

“I’m not an actual lesbian. I am bi curious. The only reason I came to college was to experiment.” I take another shot. I’m not sure it’s for me, but it’s there.

“Bi what?” Cecilia whispers.

“Curious.” I answer after the burn of the tequila simmers down. Neither say anything at all, they just look at me. “It was a joke.”

“So you aren’t...curious?” Josie asks.

“I’m not a fan of anyone else’s vagina but mine. Hell I’m not a fan of people in general. You’re both safe.”

It goes without saying or notice that I am much more a conversationalist when I have a buzz going.

“Maybe you should switch to beer,” Cecilia suggests.

“I hate beer,” I tell them and apparently I am slurring or extremely funny because they both laugh.

“You’re Irish,” Josie snorts.

“Half, the dead half. The other half is Jew,” I look at Cecilia and point my finger. “Don’t judge me because I’m Jewish.”

And for some reason that is hysterical. They both start laughing again.

“What else don’t we know about you?” Cecilia asks but more to herself than to me. “Okay, since Kat here has driven away every man that has approached us —”

“Oh paleeessseee, like your high society ass really wanted any one of those losers,” I laugh out loud, which startles me and I reel it in.

“It’s still judging even when it’s not coming out your mouth,” Cecilia throws my words from The Great Hall back at me.

“Yeah, well that was just a stupid thing to say, who doesn’t judge?” I ask leaning in. “This shit is important. Judgment sucks when you’re on the receiving end.” I stand up. “But only if you give a fuck.”

“Kat, maybe you should sit down,” Josie stands next to me and the room starts swaying a bit.

“Fuck that Smalls, let’s have some fun.” But sitting was seriously a better idea.

Cecilia’s eyes nearly pop out of her head, “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Blaine Hawthorne is here.”

I turn and follow her eyes as best I can. “Pfftt he —”

“Please be on your best behavior, Kat,” she pleads.

“This is my best behavior,” I grumble.