Free The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green by Joshua Braff

Everyone but Gabriel looks down at their food.
    My father waits.
    Three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . .
    “Not now,” she says gently, and resumes eating.
    My father nods his head, his eyes still pinned on my mother.
    “Did you ever get back to that fella at the dry cleaners?” he asks.
    “Yes. They said they’re still looking. The vest, right? The blue?”
    My father slowly blinks his eyes. “The vest that goes with the
suit,
Claire. I told you eight times which vest.”
    “They said they’re still looking.”
    “If you can’t remember something as simple as a color, I’ll help you. I’ll get the jacket right now.”
    “Don’t go now, Abram. Eat your food.”
    My father stands and walks quickly from the room. My mother touches the corners of her mouth with her napkin and follows him. We all stop eating to watch her leave.
    “Mom?” I say.
    “I’ll be right back,” she says from the door.
    “He’s gonna rip her in two,” Asher mumbles.
    “Don’t say that,” I say.
    “Don’t tell me what to say.”
    I point at Gabe and Dara. “You’re gonna teach them that.”
    “Mind your own fuckin’ business.”
    “I’m telling Dad you said ‘fuckin’,’” Dara says, and slaps Gabriel’s hand away from her food. “Get a
way,
Gabe.”
    “I don’t give two shits what you do,” Asher says.
    “I’m telling Dad you said ‘two shits,’” she says.
    “Great. Throw this in while you’re at it.” He stands and begins to unbuckle his pants.
    “Asher, don’t.” I say.
    “Look who’s scared.”
    “I’m not scared.”
    “Yes, you are. You’re fuckin’ scared. You’re scared to death.”
    “Why are you trying to make him mad?” I ask.
    “Why are you trying to make him
proud?
Michigan. You know he wants to hear that.”
    We stop as we hear him holler upstairs. I turn that way and stare at the door. It’s a thunderous and sudden bark, as familiar as any learned prayer. “I’m not trying to make him proud,” I say.
    “Oh, you’re not? Mr. Michigan. You tell him what he wants to hear.”
    “You’re no different. You don’t stand up to him.”
    We hear them coming down the stairs. Asher buckles his belt and sits down.
    My father walks back in the room, his napkin flapping from his collar. My mother follows slowly behind, her face a pallid stone. She smiles at me as she passes, mostly with her eyes, and I think to touch her, but know it’s a mistake. She lifts her fork and brings a carrot into her mouth to chew but not taste. Underneath the table, I rest my finger on her knee.
    “I have an announcement,” my father says, pulling his chair close to his plate. “Tomorrow morning I want to clean this entire house. Every inch. There is
so
much crap lying around it’s making me
sick!
I want to be unpacked. I mean every single box and every single thing put away. If I even
see
a box tomorrow night there’s gonna be trouble. We’ll sort out the attic, the closets, the garage, all your rooms, and take everything we don’t need to the dump. Jacob and Dara, your job is to bag all the clothes and toys you no longer use and make your rooms spotless. Asher, you are to begin the day by cleaning everybathroom in the house. Got it? Hello? You in there? If I see a single hair on the toilet seat I’ll know exactly who to contact. We’ll do it as a team, we’ll do it as a family. No one leaves or makes plans before this place shines, yes? Help me write my gratefuls for next week’s Shabbat. I’m grateful we’re finally unpacked and there’s some order around here. Who in God’s name put those wet towels in the laundry room? They smell like one of Aunt Ida’s wigs dipped in piss.”
    A laugh seeps from my lips. Asher tries to prevent it too, but he can’t; he lowers his head. My father’s eyes light up from the reaction. He smiles from ear to ear. He grips the back of Asher’s neck, then ruffles his hair. “Okay, Greens? If cleanliness is next to godliness, then tomorrow we meet