“Ugh, I hate gin,” Rebecca muttered through gritted teeth, wincing and wiping her mouth before lifting the Star of David themed flask back up to her mouth for another swig. “What is this, Barton’s? Why do you drink this shit?”
          “It’s all my parents had L-M-A-O. I was in a rush.” Josh and Rebecca both shook their heads and smiled, Josh because he was 26 and still stealing alcohol from his parents’ liquor cabinet, and Rebecca because Josh had literally just said “lmao” out loud.
          “This reminds me of high school,” Rebecca whispered, passing the flask back to Josh.
          “My mom made me take my little sister to all her friends’ bar mitzvah services, and doing it sober was pretty much unbearable. God forbid I miss another middle-aged rabbi trying to shtup the mother of the bar mitzvah with his eyes because there’s not enough actual shtupping going on in his life.”
          “Say shtup again,” Josh said, taking a large swig from the flask.
          “Shtup!” Rebecca half-shouted, drawing a few dirty glances and several angry shushes from the members of the tribe sitting in front of them. This prompted Josh to choke and spray some of the gin out of his mouth, which just brought more side eyes from angry Jews muttering under their breath.
          “Sorry, sorry,” Josh whispered, kicking Rebecca, who was doubled over behind the bench, her body wracked with silent laughter. He shot a pointed look at the back of her head until she finally sat back up.
          “Wow, those meeskites hate you,” Josh whispered. “Meeskite is Yiddish for an ugly woman,” he explained, aware of Rebecca’s general lack of knowledge about most things Jewish. “Anyway,” Josh continued, settling back into his seat and passing the flask back to Rebecca. “Rabbis aren’t celibate. They’re actually obligated to marry. The first mitzvah in the Torrah is to ‘be fruitful and multiply.’” Rebecca gave him a confused look, to which Josh replied, “I had a huge crush on my rabbi when I was studying for my bar mitzvah. All those hours of private Torrah study, you get desperate. Besides, you know I love a good beard.”
          Rebecca snorted. “We did have fun, didn’t we?”
          “Ah, high school. What a fun time,” Josh pretended to reminisce. “How did I not know I was gay after the first time we had sex?”
          “Honestly though, not the worst sex I’ve ever had.”
          “Oh, yeah. I’ve definitely had a lot of pretty dreadful sex since then. Not the worst by far.”
          They both sat in silence for a few seconds, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden bench.
          “Fuck, you think Drew could’ve sprung for some fucking cushions, these pews are hard as fuck,” Josh whined. “My ass is getting destroyed.”
          “Zing!” Rebecca exclaimed, with a self-satisfied smirk, drawing another, angrier round of shushes from the surrounding rows. “Are they still called pews in a synagogue? That seems wrong, what about ‘Jew Pews’? That’s kinda cute!”
          Josh rolled his eyes and smiled, but didn’t say anything. The most Jewish thing about Rebecca was her name (Rebecca Goldstein. Talk about Jewy.), but he knew she loved
performing Judaism, and he didn’t particularly care.
          “Hey did you bring any wee-” Rebecca stopped herself short as a heavily bearded man wearing all black approached down their row. “Mazel tov,” Rebecca said, hiding the flask in a Torrah. “Mazel,” Josh repeated. The man said nothing to Rebecca, but nodded at Josh and continued along the row and sat down at the end next to his Hebros.
          “Did you see that?! He totally ignored me because I’m a woman!” Rebecca hissed at Josh. “Those fucking Orthodox kikes, they probably wouldn’t know what to do with me if they had the chance.”
          Josh raised an eyebrow, way up. “Maybe don’t say that? Besides, it probably had more to do with the fairly obvious flask you’re spilling all over the Torah and your dress.”
          “What, I’m Jewish! I’m allowed,” Rebecca said distractedly, attempting to mop up the pool of gin quickly spreading in her lap and at her feet.
          Half, thought Josh, but he didn’t say it. He knew he would need to save his energy for later.
          “Do you have weed?” Rebecca asked again. “I’m gonna need it to deal with this gay mess,” she said, gesturing towards the dais at the front.
          “No, but I have poppers. Want some?” Josh reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a tiny, unmarked, black bottle filled with an unidentified liquid.
          “What the fuck is that?”
          “Have you seriously never heard of poppers?” Josh asked incredulously. “I’m shocked, the fag hag that you are.”
          Rebecca smiled slightly. She self-identified as a fag hag, though she would NEVER say that, at least not out loud, despite the fact that she had a lot of gay friends and should really be allowed to say it, but she still would NEVER. She kissed girls sometimes when she was drunk, and so she was really part of the community, and as such totally could’ve said it if she wanted to, but no; she was a really good ally and a great friend.
          “Just hold your nostril and hold the bottle up to your other one and inhale. I usually do both nostrils,” Josh said, handing the little vial to her.
          “But what is it? What does it do?” Rebecca asked, taking the tiny bottle carefully. She held it up to her eye, but could make out very little of the insides through the dark glass.
          “Well, technically, it’s keyboard cleaner,” Josh started. “But it’s really a gay sex thing. It makes you really horny and loosens your butthole up. For our purposes though, it gives you an awesome head rush for like 30 seconds. Like whippits, but condensed into half the time.”
          By now, the pool of gin had wafted into the air, drawing whispers and not-so-subtle glances. Rebecca was completely unaware, lifting the bottle to her nose and inhaling deeply as the same Orthodox man from before walked over.
          Rebecca looked up at him, poppers still firmly planted below her right nostril. She brought her hand down, put the cap on the bottle and looked back up at him.
          “It’s a gay thing. Don’t be homophobic.”

“I still can’t believe you got us kicked out.”
          They were sitting at a table tucked away in the corner of the reception area. The reception was outside, in a space whose only real selling point was the view of the Brooklyn Bridge, but a view that let people know exactly how much money it cost to rent this space. Despite their table’s distance from anything relevant (the bar), they were both on their third Long Island iced teas. Rebecca and Josh didn’t believe in pacing themselves.
          “We didn’t get ‘kicked out,’” Rebecca mimicked, holding up air quotes around “kicked out.” “We were politely asked to leave the service, which, honestly, you’re welcome. That was boring as fuck. I thought the gays were supposed to be fun. And before you say it, the rabbi wasn’t even cute. I checked.”
          Josh shot her a look, which she missed. “I thought it was sweet. It was boring though, you’re right.”
          Rebecca squinted up in the general direction of the sun. “Fuck, it’s bright. Why didn’t the invitation say to wear sunglasses?”
          “You didn’t get an invitation, Becks.”
          “Okay, well, did yours say to bring sunglasses?” Rebecca countered.
          “It did not,” Josh stated matter-of-factly, accepting defeat. “That’s not really something you put on an invitation though, is it? ‘Black tie and also wear sunglasses maybe.’”
          Rebecca snorted and looked around. The rest of the guests were now beginning to arrive. After being “asked to leave” the ceremony, she and Josh had decided to just go to the reception early so they could start drinking and skip the crowds of balabustas asking for ‘seltzah’ who would then complain about it being too bubbly.
          “Do you even know anyone here?” Rebecca asked Josh without looking at him, still judging the throngs of people milling about. “Who’s gonna be at our table?”
          “They probably invited a few other people from college. I didn’t ask anyone though,” Josh said. “I haven’t really spoken to any of them in a while. Really I just came for the free drinks and cause I want to hook up with Jacob again.”
          Rebecca snorted again. “Jacob? As in one of the grooms Jacob? As in just married Jacob?”
          “What!” Josh exclaimed. “We fucked in college once, he had a beautiful dick. Whatever, that ship probably sailed after the little scene you made in there.”
          “Ok first of all,” Rebecca began, clearly getting ready to be outraged. “That was your flask, your poppers. I am but a victim of Judaic circumstance. Besides, don’t you think the moment passed when, you know, he and his now husband said ‘I do’ and kissed?”
          “Interesting you bring that up, seeing as we didn’t even see that happen, thanks to you.” Josh tried to give her a wicked side-eye, but felt bad, but not bad enough to apologize. They usually got a little nasty when they drank, but this was different. Nothing being said was that awful, which somehow made it worse. Rebecca had been annoying Josh all day, and Rebecca didn’t feel like she was being appreciated or being given enough attention, which in turn made her be more and more annoying. Instead of talking about it, they drank. They always drank instead of talking about it. As they’d grown older, they’d started annoying each other more and started drinking more. It wasn’t clear if one influenced the other.
          Rebecca stood up. “I’m getting more drinks,” she announced. Upon standing, she stumbled a bit, and grabbed onto Josh’s head for support. Once upright, she reached out her hand and demanded, “Poppers.” Josh looked up and then back down at his phone and absentmindedly handed her the bottle. Rebecca’s “Thank youuuuuu” sounded as she walked away, already fading and insincere before it left her mouth.
          “Two Long Islands, please,” she barked at the bartender, eyes firmly planted on her phone. “Actually, make that three, I’ll get Josh one too.” The bartender did not know who Josh was, nor did he care, but he made the drinks because he was getting paid to, and he could spit in the drinks of rude guests when they weren’t looking.
          “Jacob or Andrew’s side?” A new voice interrupted her scrolling. Rebecca looked up, putting as much annoyance into her face as possible. She was greeted by a tall, very attractive Jewish man wearing a yarmulke and two tight ringlets of hair coming from just above his sideburns. She looked him up and down before grabbing one of the drinks the bartender had just placed on the bar and pointedly slurped down the whole thing, the whole while making eye contact and attempting to smile.
          Once she was done, she set the drink back down and wiped her mouth. “Andrew,” she lied. “But I’m not interested, sorry. You’re too Jewish. Nice peyos.”
          With that, she grabbed the two remaining drinks and stumbled back to her seat. The table was mostly full by now, but it didn’t look like any of them knew each other. Most people were on their phones, or drinking heavily, or, in Josh’s case, both. A few feet away from their table, she tripped and careened the remaining distance before plopping down in her chair and spilling some of her drink on Josh. “Oh my god, I’m sooo sorry,” she sighed, intentionally handing him her own drink instead of his full one, eager to pass off the sticky glass. “Hey, uh, I need to tell you someth-”
          “What the fuck! Yo, look at this,” Josh exclaimed, passing Rebecca his phone. On the screen was an uncircumcised penis. “This dude is 150 feet away, that means they let a GOY in here!” Josh was unironically offended.
          “Imagine chopping off baby dicks for a living.” Rebecca shuddered. “What do you think they make?”
          “What, a mohel? I’m not sure, but they definitely make a lot from tips.”
          “Ha! Nice.” Rebecca laughed and they high fived. Things felt better for a second, but then they had nothing else to say really, and sat silently. Josh looked back down at his phone.
          “Honestly, it’s not a bad dick. Certainly girthy. Maybe I’ll fuck him if Jacob’s not interested.”
          “Ugh you are so lucky!” Rebecca whined. “Poppers and anonymous sex, the gays get all the fun things. What do I even have?”
          Josh turned to pierce her with his eyes, his gaze sharp as a mohel’s knife. “Mainstream media, total acceptance, general safety from hate crimes, normalcy, should I go on?”
          “All right, who ordered the chicken and who got fish?” A waiter had approached the table carrying a large tray loaded with dishes. Dinner service had begun. They were behind on their drinking schedule.
          “I had chicken,” Josh and Rebecca both said in unison. They looked at each other and then both stood up at the same time, except Rebecca stumbled a bit. “I’ll get more drinks,” they said together, again. “Jinx,” said Josh under his breath. “I’ll get them, you sit,” he commanded Rebecca, and she did. She was having a bit of trouble standing anyway.
          Rebecca slumped down on her right arm, her hair covering her face. She needed another drink. She refused to call herself an alcoholic, justifying it by the fact that it was a phase everyone went through in college, despite having graduated four years ago. She contented herself with playing Candy Crush on her phone, squinting around the one massive crack straight through the middle. Sure, it made popping jellies difficult, but who has the time to wait at the Apple store for three hours?
          She looked up to see Josh approaching with two glasses, one clear. A vodka soda maybe? He was so good to her, she really should lay off all the calories in a Long Island. He handed her the clear drink and she sipped it gingerly.
          “Josh, I really need to tell you- what the fuck is this?” She cut herself off. “Is this water? Where’s my fucking drink?”
          “Dude, you’re fucked up,” Josh said calmly, sitting down. “You need to pace yourself and drink some water. Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”
          Rebecca stood up, irate. “I didn’t come with you to this fucking wedding so I could get a fucking lesson in fucking-” Here she fumbled for the words. “sobriety, okay?”
          Josh rolled his eyes and crushed an ice cube between his teeth. “No, you came with me to this fucking wedding because I invited you and you didn’t have anything else to do. You weren’t even my first choice. Now sit down and drink your water, you’re making a scene, again.”
          “Fuck this.” Rebecca stormed off in search of alcohol. As she left, she could hear Josh behind her apologizing to the table on her behalf.
          She didn’t need him. She didn’t need his condescension, or his pity, or the roasted chicken and rosemary potatoes with roasted carrots that she had left behind at her table. It was better to save those calories for alcohol, anyway. She got a drink, and then another, and went to sit in a corner where she repeatedly tried to get someone, anyone’s attention, but no one would look at her. Most knew about the scene she had made in synagogue earlier (it is a well- documented fact that Jews love to gossip), and those who didn’t could see the rage and desperation inside her, manifesting itself as crazy eyes to anyone who passed by. Rebecca sat there for the rest of the night, minus the times she got up to get more drinks.
          She gnawed on limes and maraschino cherries for sustenance. Several people stood up to make toasts, which Rebecca watched with a glossy-eyed judgement. She starting making rude comments, but not loud enough for the speakers to here, and everyone around her started to ignore her after it was clear she would not stop.
          Eventually it came time for the hora. She watched as everyone made their way to the dance floor, looking for Josh. Finally, she saw him on the other side of the room and stood up. She was even drunker standing than sitting, which she found honestly hard to believe. She made her way through the obstacle course of chairs left slightly pushed out, stumbling past the babushkas too old to dance.
          Somehow, she made it to the dance floor. She finagled her way into the chain of bodies, wrenching apart a couple holding hands, like a Jewish version of Red Rover. The perpetual circular motion was almost too much for her, but she held the vomit down. This was important. Every time the circle went in, she went in a bit further, joining the next ring. Every time the circle went back, she stayed where she was, feet firmly planted despite her body swaying dangerously.
          When she was in the fourth ring from the center, she saw Josh. He was on the other side of the circle, two rings ahead. She yelled his name, but six different Josh’s turned. Why can’t Jewish parents be more creative with names? She tried again, yelling his full name. Her drunken slur was in full effect, so what was supposed to be Josh Berkowitz came out as something closer to “Jausch Buhkuhwitsz,” but he understood. For a second, he hesitated, ire flashing across his face. He didn’t want to talk to her, to make another scene by interrupting the hora, but he knew that if he didn’t she would make an even bigger mess. He broke free from the dance, but it was too late; she had seen his reluctance and had already started moving towards him. Josh realized with horror that instead of side-stepping around the circle, she was taking the shortest path, a route that would lead her straight through the center of the circle, where the two newlyweds were dancing.
          Josh quickly maneuvered his way around the circle as Rebecca pushed her way through to the center. She broke through the last row of defense as Josh was almost at the spot she had been previously. He quickly followed her to the middle and grabbed her arm to lead her away, but she wouldn’t budge.
          “Joshy, I have to tell you summthing,” Rebecca managed to hiccup. “I’ss really i’portant I promise.”
          “Rebecca let’s go.” Josh tugged her arm, but she wouldn’t budge. “You can tell me anywhere else, just please, not right here.”
          “No!” Rebecca shrieked. “I haffta tell you right now!” Rebecca planted her feet and dug her heels in, refusing to go anywhere. By this point, the music had stopped and the dancing had ground to a halt. “What, am I ebbarasssing you?”
          “Yes, you are,” hissed Josh through gritted teeth. He mouthed “I’m so sorry” at the grooms, but it didn’t do much to mitigate the situation.
          “I’m sorry I can’t hang with your coooool friends.” Rebecca was really hamming it up at this point, all eyes on her. “Sorry I’m not gay enuhff, not Jewish enuhff.” She emphasized the “Jew” in Jewish, spitting it out like an annoying bug that had crawled down her throat.
          “You’re not gay or Jewish at all!” Josh yelled, forgetting himself and the situation and really giving in to the frustration that had plagued him their entire relationship. “You’re just a drunk bitch who was never loved enough to learn to respect anything.”
          “Well at least I’m not a kike faggot who wants to fuck married men.”
          The words hung in the air like a cloud of acid rain. The assembled crowd was silent, save for the sound of sharpening pitchforks and lit torches. All eyes were on the anti-Semitic bitch in the middle.
          Rebecca took a step backwards, shaking her head with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, Joshy, I din’t mean that, really. You know me, you know I never-”
          But it was too late. The damage was done. Josh nodded once, twice, and then left, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. Rebecca tried to run after him but the Sea closed again, making her the proverbial Pharaoh. She was escorted out, even though she would’ve ran home if her heels permitted.
          She might’ve cried on the train home, but maybe not. She doesn’t remember and it doesn’t really matter either way.
          She and Josh never spoke after that. They never talked about what it meant to be Jewish, she never told him how much he really meant to her, she never told him that she had gotten an abortion ten years ago, like she had planned to tell him at the wedding. She never told him that the kid would’ve been his. Most importantly, she never gave him back his poppers. The bottle is long dried up by now, but she still keeps it, an empty, non-descript reminder of someone’s wedding she once ruined.