MASHA
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CHAPTER THREE
At the door of Valhalla, a tattooed, muscular man in plaid boxers squints at me, like I am a too-bright sun. Or like he hasn’t seen the sun in a while, more likely. He lets out a noisy exhale, the cigarette hanging out of his mouth nearly falling to the floor.
“Whoa,” he says, eyebrows thick with confusion. “Masha?”
I’m surprised too, admittedly, but I hide it better. “Hey, Liam. Can I come in?”
Liam steps back, still blinking profusely, and opens the door wider. I follow him inside, while three huge dogs circle and sniff me in a frenzy, then get bored and crash down onto the floor. Liam presses pause on a remote and points at the flat screen, where a bald man is standing out in a desert with no pants on. “Have you seen this show yet?” he asks. “Breaking Bad? It’s the shit.”
“No,” I say, sitting down. “I don’t really watch much TV, to be honest.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Liam says. “Everyone says that, and no one means it. Come on.”
“Believe what you want,” I shrug. I could explain how American TV takes forever to get to Israel, and even when it does you often have to pirate it. Pirating shows may be fine for most people, but when your boyfriend works for the government, you don’t exactly want to do anything illegal, no matter how small. But what would be the point? More importantly, do I really need to defend myself to a guy who still uses blankets as drapes?
Liam shakes his head, then starts packing a bowl into a massive red bong on the table, his long, curly black hair falling around his shoulders. He still doesn’t ask me what I’m doing there. Like it’s perfectly normal for me to show up out of the blue and sit down on his dog-hair infested couch. “Always such a hipster,” he says with a smirk.
“Says the guy growing not one but two kombuchas.” I nod my head in the direction of two large jars filled with a yellowish-green liquid. He turns and looks.
“Those are not mine,” he explains.
“That’s what all the hipsters say,” I joke, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, that, and that they aren’t hipsters.”
Liam, still busy with the bong, allows himself a little chuckle. “Ha. Very astute, as usual.”
Unaware of how to transition to the subject more naturally, I get to the point. “So, uh… have you seen my sister around, by chance?”
Liam is already taking a hit from the bong, so I have to wait a ridiculously long time for him to inhale and exhale. When he’s finished, instead of answering, he looks up and asks me if I want some. I shake my head no.
“That’s a first,” he snorts. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
I roll my eyes. “Liam. My sister? Have you seen her? I heard she might be here.”
“A lot of people hang out here.” He shrugs and packs down the bowl again with the edge of a lighter. “Who’s your sister?”
“Anna?” I say. I lean forward, sinking further into the couch. “Anastasia Gold.”
He stops mid-bong hit, his eyes widening like he’d inhaled too much, before opening his mouth again. Smoke engulfs the already smoky room. “Anna’s your sister?”
“She goes by my mom’s maiden name,” I explain before he can ask. “I honestly don’t know why. She claims it sounds better. Maybe it’s a feminist thing… Anyway, have you seen her?”
He takes a moment to let this sink in, then shrugs. “Not lately.” He tries to sound casual but comes off slightly venomous. “I mean, I don’t really know her, I’ve just seen her at shows.”
“You don’t seem happy about that,” I say, curious.
“Like you’re the paragon of happiness over here,” he snaps, his mood souring. He pushes the bong away and lights a cigarette. Then, he finally looks at me. “What are you doing back, anyway? Aren’t you too good for us common folk?”
“What? No. I’m only trying to find Anna.”
“Well, I don’t know where she is,” he says, annoyed.
“Okay. Fine. If you hear anything…” I begin to stand up, but Liam comes over and stops me by sitting down. He smells like sweat and cigarettes and a hint of whiskey; it takes me a second to realize what the combination is, I’ve grown so accustomed to Israelis’ over-generous use of colognes. In Riverwest, the closest people get to wearing perfume is using soap in the shower.
“So, are you back now, or what?” he asks, a squint in his eye.
“No, no, no. Just visiting.” I move slightly farther down the couch, away from his half-dressed tattooed body and all those familiar pheromones. One of his dogs, a pitch-black lab with streaks of gray near his ears, jumps up onto the couch between us and starts sniffing me curiously. I pet his thick fur, feeling slighter better. I think I remember the dog from when he was a puppy; and he must remember me too, the way he is so happily licking my arm.
“Get down, Bingo,” Liam barks at him. The dog whines and resettles on the floor.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” I ask, sliding farther down the couch. “What’s her name—Melanie?”
Liam shrugs. “In Chicago. On a date, I think,” he says.
“Oh. You’re still doing that open relationship thing?” I ask.
“I am…”
“But?”
“Lately, Mel’s been… questioning the whole concept,” he complains. “It’s frustrating. We broke up for a while, and I was seeing someone else, but now we’re trying again.”
“What’s the point of open relationships, again?” I really can’t remember, though I was the same when I’d first moved to Israel. David wouldn’t have any of my wishy-washy stances on commitment. He wears a kippah and works in a top-secret unit of the IDF, I don’t even know what country he is in half the time, but the hardest thing about our relationship was agreeing to be monogamous. Now, I am no longer sure exactly what I spent so much energy fighting him over. Riverwest has a way of seeping into all the crooks and nannies of your brain. But what works in one place, doesn’t work in others.
“You’ve been living in the holy land for too long, girl,” Liam says, shaking his head, amused. “You’re no fun anymore.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about things,” I shrug.
Liam moves his hand slightly, so it’s touching my shoulder. “What’s going on with you? You seem… emotional,” he says, watching me, as if genuinely concerned. “It’s so not like you,” he adds, with a nervous laugh, then takes his hand back.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. His focused attention is unsettling. Not just because he isn’t David. But because he’s Liam. “Have you ever considered maybe you don’t know me as well as you think?” I ask. “I mean, you always did most of the talking between the two of us.”
Liam laughs, his whole body shaking with amusement. “Of course I did. Are you kidding me? You would never tell me anything.” He hands me his cigarette, and I take a drag without even thinking about it, an intimacy that confuses me more than his close presence. It’s a shock to the lungs and I try hard not to cough. Sometimes I forget how much I once loved mindaltering substances. I want to slap that version of myself in the face, and tell her to get it together. There are better ways to learn to live with yourself, and most don’t leave you feeling worse the next day.
And all of them involve staying far, far away from Liam Knox.
“Masha?” he is asking me. “Hello?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “That’s not how I remember it,” I mumble, handing back the cigarette. My head starts buzzing from it, and I stand up; I haven’t had one in years, not since we were together. Sober and tired, all it does is give me a headache, turn things fuzzy at the edges.