Free The Big Dream by Rebecca Rosenblum

something with Hugh Grant or Eddie Murphy falling down.
    â€œIt sort of rhymes with Cal. But not really. You sorta have two syllables.” The clothesline suddenly whirled back into the reel. Cal jumped and finally turned. Yaël was surprised that he had a wide, handsome face and small fashionable glasses. He gestured with his beer. “My full name is Callum, rhymes with Alan. That’s why we’re roommates.”
    â€œThat is not why we’re roommates.” Alan had been listening after all.
    â€œThat doesn’t really rhyme, either. Al- an. Cal- lum. ” Yaël tried out the words like sour milk on her tongue. Sasha rubbed her shoulder.
    â€œNot when you say it like that. It’s slant rhyme, anyway.” Cal moved towards her, gesturing with his beer bottle.
    She straightened, re-centering herself over the heels of her boots. “What’s slant rhyme?” The music in the other room was getting louder. She was thirsty, even though she hated the carb-y beer smell all around her. She actually really liked Hugh Grant.
    â€œWhat?” Cal backed off, startled, and then jumped backward onto the washing machine. One of his elbows dug hard into Alan’s belly, knocking him half to the floor, half onto Sarah. “You don’t know what slant rhyme is? What are you in ?”
    Sarah pushed Alan upright. He tugged his coat and looked at Yaël expectantly. They all did, except Sasha who already knew and just petted Yaël’s sweater like a kitten.

    â€œI’m a brand manager for a family of lifestyle magazines,” Yaël said slowly.
    Cal flinched as if he had been struck. Alan whispered into Sarah’s hair.
    Sasha’s voice shrilled. “Hey, you want a beer? Yaël? I’ll bring you a beer. Better, I’ll bring you to the beer, then you can choose. There’s lots of kinds.” Sasha slid down, gripped Yaël’s shoulder, and pulled her to the kitchen.
    â€œI don’t like beer.” Yaël was half-watching the strangers bickering by the stove, half-watching Sasha’s pink T-shirt curve the faded words Alpha Girl across her chest. They stood close together. The kitchen was more crowded now.
    â€œOh, right, I forgot. I did know that, though.” Colour was sliding towards the roots of Sasha’s pulled-back hair. “Something else then. Wine? Maybe there’s wine?”
    â€œThere’s a bottle of wine in the bathroom,” said a boy in a green fedora. “I don’t know where the corkscrew is, though.”
    â€œI don’t want wine.” Yaël shook her head and the ends of her waves brushed Sasha’s face. She could smell the beer in Sasha’s bottle, in her mouth.
    â€œI want you to have a good time.”
    â€œI’ll have a good time. I’m having a good time. I only just got here.”
    â€œThis isn’t much of a party. Nothing but beer, no food but chips . . .”
    â€œSomebody said you were making guacamole before.”
    Sasha wrinkled her small nose. “It came out weird. I think it was because the avocados were in Hassid’s car all week.” She seemed to be talking without listening to herself. She sipped her drink, kicked her toes against Yaël’s, put her free hand on her hip, then on Yaël’s hip, squeezed. Yaël squirmed, wishing she’d worn better stockings, and Sasha put her hand in her own pocket. “It’s in the fridge, though. I’ll get it.” She turned.

    â€œNo, thanks.” Yaël reached out and touched the overwashed cotton of Sasha’s T-shirt shoulder. Sasha startled and turned back just as the guy in Kodiaks tried to pass between them. He kicked hard into Sasha’s ankle, and Sasha jolted, her arms flailing out for balance. A foamy spurt of her beer jumped across the air and onto Yaël’s thin white angora, soaking her sheer peach bra quickly, cold against her hot right breast.
    â€œOh, shit,