We Are Gathered by Jamie Weisman

Author:Jamie Weisman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

The fucked-up nipple

Elizabeth Gottlieb has one nipple that dimples inward. I know this because my sophomore year of college I got to second base with her. I think I may have been the first one to get that far even though she was already a junior in high school and I would have thought someone would have at least fingered her by then, if not more. She was pretty hot, so this must have been because of her saying no instead of a lack of interest from your average high school boy who is, in general, not super picky. Don’t ask me why I’m at this wedding. I’ve barely seen Elizabeth since that night when I got her drunk (also maybe a first for her), and that was more than ten years ago. My mom said I had to come today because my sister Debbie is a bridesmaid and Mrs. Gottlieb was my mom’s sorority sister a million years ago, so they are tight. I feel ridiculous in this suit; I can barely breathe; it’s way too small for me. I’m just hoping I don’t see anyone I know because they’ll probably freak out at the sight of me. The meds make me fat and pimply, and if Elizabeth Gottlieb remembers me at all, she probably remembers a pretty good-looking guy, popular, on top of his game.

So here’s how I met Elizabeth. I was talking to my cousin in front of the frat house, and he mentioned something about Debbie, and one of my brothers overheard and asked who Debbie was, and when I said she was my little sister, he said, How little? And I said, Sixteen, and he said, That’s the good kind of little sister. He told me I should have her come up for the party that weekend and tell her to bring friends. I said I didn’t want him touching my little sister, and he said, Duh, that’s where the friends part comes in. Then he asked if she was hot, and I said, How should I know, she’s my little sister. He said, C’mon, you know. I looked at him like he was crazy, and then he said she must be a dog, so I said she was pretty. He asked if I had a picture of her, and I said no, which was true; what nineteen-year-old has a picture of his little sister in his dorm room? Debbie had been begging for an invite since my freshman year, so we lied to Mom and Dad, and said she was coming to go to the Georgia-Florida game—which is huge, and I am just lucky that my dad was on call that weekend or he would have wanted to come too—and then she was going to look around the campus because it was time for her to start thinking about colleges.

The truth was we didn’t have tickets to the game—it was huge, like I said, and had been sold out for months, mostly to rich alums and season-ticket holders.

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