The pride in Bryan’s voice came as a surprise to Kendra. He seemed to respect his father in a way she could not really comprehend. There was no tension, no struggle there. The goodness of the family had apparently traveled between generations like clean water downhill. The strife of her own house hold would probably boggle his mind. Just the week before, her own father had come home so drunk he’d pissed his pants and fallen asleep on the living room floor. The week before that he had accidentally shocked himself and stabbed his hand while fixing the oven. Her mother was like a medieval troll, full of bizarre superstition and paranoia. For Kendra, her own resemblance to her parents was a source of constant shame and disgust. The fear that she genuinely belonged to them, that she would never escape the narrow parameters they had set, was among her worst.

“What does your dad do?” Bryan asked, much to her dismay. She had no one to blame but herself though. She had led them down this road.

“He drives a cab,” she said. Among his various money-making schemes this one was the easiest to explain.

“Not many cabs around here,” he said.

“They don’t cruise the street so much. A lot of Russians drive cabs though.” Bryan already knew the basic outline of her family history. Her parents’ emigration to the United States. Their arduous road to citizenship. The gradual arrival of new relatives after Gorbachev. Her own utter disinterest in the language and culture of her heritage.

“Huh. He likes it all right?”

“I wouldn’t say he likes it, no. But it’s regular.”

“He must see a lot,” Bryan said, searching for some way to make the job of cab driving a dignified, socially redeeming activity. The education of cab driving! The human interest! He was sweet to try.

“He sees a lot of faggots and Mexicans,” she said. “According to him, the whole world is faggots and Mexicans.”

“Huh.”

“Could be worse,” Kendra said. “I mean, my cousin sucks dicks for money—that’s a shitty job.” As long as she was on the topic of family, she figured she might as well go all the way. The dysfunction was usually amusing to people, and she gained social points recounting the details. Plus, almost unconsciously, she enjoyed bringing the conversation back to sex.

“Wow,” he said. If he was shocked by the news, he did a good job of hiding it.

“She says it’s no big deal,” Kendra said. “A hundred bucks for five minutes’ time. Some water in her mouth.”

“That’s what she said?”

“That’s what her sister told me.”

“That’s a bummer,” Bryan said, shaking his head.

“What’s the bummer?” she asked. She sipped the whiskey and the burning warmth spread inside her chest.

“I don’t know. It’s her body, you know?”

“It’s money.”

“Yeah. But would you do it?”