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Marvin and Whizzer sat on their ornate couch, deeply engaged in their nightly bickering ritual. The fighting was playful tonight, a low simmer that was unlikely to boil over, but the thrill of knowing it could was enough for them both.
Whizzer could tell from Marvin’s smug expression that he had a particularly clever quip on the tip of his tongue, but it was rudely interrupted by the phone ringing. “Let me get that,” Marvin sighed, crossing the room to do so. “Hello?” He answered, a little annoyed at the interruption. “Oh, hi, Trina. What can I do for you?”
Bored, Whizzer grabbed his book from the coffee table and began to thumb through it. He’d just begun to tune out the conversation, slipping into the world of Mary Ann Singleton and the eccentric residents of 28 Barbary Lane, when…
“Neyn, Neyn.” Marvin’s voice suddenly caught his attention, yanking him back into the living room. Marvin only switched to Yiddish when he didn’t want Whizzer to hear. Marvin’s ignorance was his own fault, really. He’d been the one to assume Whizzer couldn’t speak Yiddish in the first place, teasing him for being half Jewish. Whizzer had almost corrected him, once, but. Well. What would be the fun in that?
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Marvin continued, still in Yiddish, casting a glance in his direction. Whizzer forcefully yanked his gaze back down to the book, even more curious. “I mean, I’m glad he’s taken a liking to him, but don’t you think we can convince him ourselves? I don’t want to drag him into all this.” Marvin fell silent as Trina spoke, inaudible from Whizzer’s spot on the couch. A surprised look spread across Marvin’s face as he listened, and his reply was in English. “Jason said that? Really?” Whizzer looked up at him, head tilted, asking a silent question. “Alright, then. We’ll head over.”
“What was that all about?” Whizzer asked once Marvin had hung up the phone.
“Jason has something to ask you, apparently.” Marvin sounded a little confused himself. “Would you grab my jacket?”
–
Neyn–No
–
One week later
“Now– now– now what exactly don’t you understand here, Whizzer? I mean really– why won’t you do the one damned thing you’re supposed to?”
Whizzer sighed. He wasn’t cut out for this. Marvin had come home, tossed his briefcase and coat to the ground, and immediately begun bitching about the lack of dinner on the table. Whizzer had plucked the coat off the floor, brushed it off, and folded it neatly, a calm expression plastered across his face. Twenty minutes later, here he was, arms crossed and jaw tensed as Marvin sputtered and raved.
“Well, Whizzer? Huh?”
“I forgot,” he shrugged, a little exasperated. “Look, Marv, it isn’t that big of a deal-”
Marvin shook his head, wringing his hands.“Y’know, I work all day so you can sit and look pretty, meanwhile you can’t be bothered to do the one thing I ask of you.” Whizzer sank into an armchair, putting a hand over his face. “Now, really, Whizzer! This had better be the last time.”
“Oh, c’mon, Marvin. Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Whizzer was looking down, trying not to think about how Marvin’s veins popped out when he was upset. He didn’t like to see him like this. Early on the fighting had been fun, a little game they played together that always had a happy ending, but those had become less and less frequent. The novelty was fading fast. Their fights weren’t for passion’s sake anymore; they were bitter, full of resentment.
“Oh, yeah? Well, if you’re so sorry, why aren’t you in the kitchen right now? Hm?”
Whizzer shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t even like my cooking. Whaddya say we just order in tonight? Chinese, maybe?”
“It isn’t difficult to have something edible on the table when I get home,” Marvin pressed. “Even my wife managed to get that right. Jesus.”
Whizzer turned around sharply to glare at him. “I’m not your wife, Marvin.”
Marvin glared back, challenging him. “Well you might not be my anything much longer, Whizzer, if you keep this up.”
“That won’t be my fault, then, will it?” Whizzer quipped, careful to keep any trace of care out of his tone. He hadn’t given Marvin the satisfaction of seeing him hurt yet, and he wasn’t about to start now. “It’s not like I couldn’t do better, anyhow,” he added, for good measure.
Marvin stared at him, paralyzed. For a moment, Whizzer thought he saw a flash of fear in his eyes, but it was gone just as soon as it came.
Marvin’s eyes hardened. “Sheyne boychik,” he spat. Pretty boy. He turned and skulked off toward his study, ego bruised.
“Wait, Marv-” Whizzer called, standing and taking a few steps in his direction. Apart from the slam of the door, Marvin didn’t respond.
“Shucks,” Whizzer muttered, wandering off to the kitchen. He poured himself a drink. “How the hell did I end up with an asshole like that? How did I end up loving an asshole like that?”
He ended up making a sweet kugel, a dish he hadn’t had in years. He preferred it savory, like any reasonable Jew, but his suffering would be worth it. Marvin would hate it more. He poured the noodles into the buttered dish, picturing Marvin gagging on the first forkful. Ya know what else he can gag on? He thought, tossing in some raisins for good measure.
–
Sheyne–Pretty
Boychik–Young man, diminutive
–
One month later
Whizzer’s shirt was buttoned sloppily, his hair a mess, and his trousers rumpled. Carefully, he turned the key in the lock, praying that Marvin would be asleep already. It was two in the morning, and Marvin had to leave for work by seven. His odds were pretty good. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.
“Looks like someone had fun.” Marvin was illuminated only by his reading lamp. He was sitting in his favorite armchair, newspaper in hand. Whizzer cursed under his breath.
“Maybe I did. What’s it to you?”
Marvin eyed him, slowly folding the paper. “Well, for one thing, I’d rather be spared the trip to the pharmacist to clear up whatever you’ve brought home this time.” He placed it onto the coffee table, standing to face Whizzer. “You could have at least called, ya know.”
Whizzer rolled his eyes. “Can we not do this right now? I’m tired, you have work in the morning–” he reached out to touch Marvin’s shoulder, but his hand was batted away. “–Let’s just go to bed, huh?” He raised his hands in surrender.
Marvin snarled. “You can’t even act properly guilty. Won’t even make excuses or slink past me to the shower, huh, Whizzer? I– I– Well, I just can’t believe you can look me in the eye right now!”
Whizzer’s eyes darted away for a second before he could wrench them back into position. Just look between them, he thought. He won’t be able to tell.
As Marvin eyed Whizzer’s neck, his eyes grew darker. “And– and what, you let him leave a mark?” He blinked hard a few times, entire face scrunching up as if he didn't want to believe his eyes. “Jesus, Whizzer, what do you have against my sleep? Hm?”
Whizzer’s hands clenched. He hoped it read as angry. “What do you even want from me, Marvin?”
“Dayn piskeleh!” Marvin spit. If Whizzer hadn’t known better he would have thought it was a curse or a scathing insult, but it wasn't. Marvin wanted his…mouth?
“Your damn pretty lips, Whizzer!” Marvin continued, desperation peeking through his harsh tone. “It keeps me up at night, thinking about them! Why can’t they just be mine!?”
Whizzer didn’t even have to feign confusion the way he usually did after Marvin’s Yiddish schpiels, it made so little sense. I guess he just wants it all, he thought, but he can’t have my lips. They’re mine, and I can do whatever the hell I want with them.
He shook his head, too tired to argue. “I’m going to shower, and then I’m going to bed. You can join me or you can sleep on the couch.” He pushed past Marvin, shoving him slightly with his shoulder.
Marvin joined him in bed. He always did, when Whizzer had been out, no matter how angry he got. Each time Marvin tried to kiss him that night, Whizzer turned his head so that his lips would only meet his cheek.
–
Dayn piskeleh–Your lips/mouth, diminutive
–
Two years later
They'd been back together for two months. It hadn’t been easy, exactly, but it had been good. Surprisingly good, Marvin thought, as he watched his lover tinker with his camera at the kitchen table. Whizzer’s hair was shorter now, and though Marvin missed the mop of curls, the new cut accentuated his jawline beautifully. He had his sleeves rolled up, and his tongue was resting on his bottom lip as it often did when he focused. He was very watchable, Marvin thought.
They were at Whizzer’s apartment, old and a little cramped, but cozy and well decorated. They'd discussed the possibility of moving in together at some point, but they weren't in any sort of rush. Marvin was sure they would, eventually, but they needed to learn how to be their own people within their relationship first.
The Marvin of two years ago would have played every card he could to get Whizzer moved in as fast as possible, and had, but the urge to do so was all but gone now. Now Whizzer reassured him, told him how badly he wanted to make this work, how much he valued and cherished his companionship. Whizzer didn't hide his feelings anymore when they fought. He’d let Marvin see how much he cared, even when it was hard. They’d communicate, pick the pieces up together, and look after each other. For the first time in his life, Marvin felt secure.
Fading rays of sunlight filtered in through the window, dancing across Whizzer’s exposed forearms. The strong arms that had carried him to the bed the first night he'd seen this apartment, the warm arms that he’d grown used to waking up in. Whizzer was lost in concentration, adjusting parts with near surgical precision. A lazy smile draped itself across Marvin’s face. He didn't mean to say it, really, but it slipped out nonetheless.
“Kh’lib dikh,” he mumbled, and, to his surprise, Whizzer jolted. Focus quickly shifting, Whizzer pulled a screw out of his mouth, placed it on the table, and turned to face his lover.
Marvin expected a ‘huh? What was that?’ Or maybe a ‘what’s that mean, Marv?’ He was ready to laugh it off, say ‘Oh, nothing. It's nothing.’ What he wasn't ready for was…
“Dertseyl oyf English, Marvin.” Whizzer’s voice was quiet, quieter than usual. Marvin was too stunned to place his expression.
“E-excuse me?” He stammered, taken aback. His entire body went rigid. Noticing this, Whizzer stood to meet Marvin by the counter, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. A calloused thumb ran across Marvin’s biceps. Whizzer was sporting a small, lopsided smile, and his eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement.
“You heard me, Marv,” he beamed. “Unless you're too chicken.” There was no bite to his voice, no cruelty, only a touch of wit. He sounded incredibly fond. And, G-d help him, Marvin really did.
“I– I–” he stammered, gathering his courage. He could do this. He could do this for Whizzer. Marvin gulped, and managed despite the odds to form a coherent sentence. “I love you.”
Whizzer’s smile widened into a grin. “Well guess what, Marv?” He leaned in close, resting his free hand on Marvin’s back. “Kh’lib dikh oykh.”
His words were soft, almost a whisper. They wrapped around Marvin like a blanket, and all the tension in his body evaporated. For this moment, nothing could touch him. He couldn’t be bothered to worry about the paperwork waiting for him at the office, the baseball game he’d have to sit through tomorrow, or even Trina’s taste in table runners. Whizzer loved him. Whizzer loved him, and very little else mattered. Marvin reached up to touch his lover’s cheek, and kissed him, softly. Whizzer followed eagerly, humming in satisfaction. When his arms wrapped around his lover’s waist, Marvin couldn't think–couldn't breathe– for some time.
“Oh, Whizzer,” Marvin sighed as their lips finally separated. “You don't know how long I’ve…” Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. "Wait," he began, leaning back to meet Whizzer’s eyes. “Now, wait, hold on a minute, Whizzer. Since when do you speak Yiddish?”
Whizzer couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “That’s your question, Marv?”
“Well, yes!” Marvin blurted.
“Since my bubbe taught me.”
Marvin’s jaw dropped in shock. “I hate you sometimes, you know.”
“You love me,” Whizzer teased.
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
That night, Whizzer dried the dishes while Marvin washed. “Well here’s the thing,” he said, letting the dish towel flail as he gesticulated. “My family shoot package doesn’t have a set limit, but I wasn’t expecting twenty people to show up!”
“Oh my g-d,” Marvin laughed, rinsing a plate. “How’d you handle that?”
“So I tell her, either narrow it down to ten, which I feel is very generous, or pack it up and go. Which isn’t very smart of me, because now I’m watching this lady and her husband bicker over which ten family members they like the least.”
“In front of them?”
"In front of them," Whizzer nodded. “It got pretty ugly, actually. I had to kick ‘em all out. Anyway…”
Marvin had no idea what he’d done to deserve something as great as this. A simple, quiet night with his lover. His gelibter. Nothing before had ever compared to the bliss he felt in these moments, sharing his life with another, going through all the little mundane rituals together. It was passionate, soft, loving. He wanted to savor every moment he could.
–
Dertseyl oyf English–Tell me in English
Kh’lib dikh oykh–I love you too
Gelibter–Lover