Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (ebook pc reader .txt) 📗

Kate said fifteen people died in the bombing.

Mum was knocked out and suffered a head injury. She was evacuated to Cyprus, and Kate went with her. That’s where they told her she was pregnant with me.

Kate resigned as soon as they returned to London.

Dad’s body was flown to his family in Tel Aviv, where he was from. Kate said that Mum didn’t speak to anyone or do anything for five months. When I was born, she decided to say my father was unknown, because she couldn’t deal with it.

I’ve thought about this, and it’s such a typical Mum thing to have done, isn’t it? Just like always, it was all about her. She didn’t even consider that maybe Dad’s parents would have liked to have known about me, because to be honest, that probably would have been a pretty big deal when your own child’s just died. And Mum obviously didn’t care at all about me either (standard), and the fact that I actually deserved better than to have an anonymous dead father.

I asked Kate if she thinks Dad’s family might want to know about me, and she said that she doesn’t know how Mum would feel about trying to contact them, but that she’d back me up all the way if I wanted to.

She told me my dad was the funniest person she’d ever met, and that I’ve inherited his “crazy” and sense of humor. She said he was very warm and welcoming, but that I hadn’t inherited that trait at all (rude).

I was never really interested in my dad.

I suppose because I never saw him as an actual person.

But now I do.

I’m glad that he was funny.

I wonder if he’d like me.

Imagine if he’d had a Facebook account. I could be stalking him right now.

According to the internet, approximately twenty million dead people are still on Facebook. Not literally, obviously, because they’re dead. But just imagine I could see pictures of Dad, befriend his family, check what he liked to eat for lunch, what films he watched at the cinema, where he went on holiday …

PS: I never thought about it before, but I’m actually really sorry he died.

Tuesday, March 6 #

Tonight Kate and Mum WhatsApped, and Kate told her about telling me about Dad.

I’m glad it’s all out now.

I’m glad because, in a way, people only become real people when we hear a story that features them. All my life I’ve been like: My dad’s dead. He worked as a war doctor, and he got killed before I was born.

And now I think I’ll be more like: My dad was called Ilan, and he was from Tel Aviv. He was a war doctor and died when a hospital near Mosul he was working at was bombed. We never met, but apparently I’m just like him. Without the beard.

Kate was like: “Phoebe, ask me anything you like about him. I’m sorry we’ve been so weird all these years.”

Me: So my dad was Jewish?

Kate: Yes.

Me: But I’m not.

Kate: I don’t know, you tell me.

Me: Ha ha.

Kate: Not by birth, no. Jewishness is passed down by the mother. So I suppose you’re only half Jewish.

Me: And he spoke Hebrew?

Kate (looking at me like I’m an idiot): Yes. Him being an Israeli person who was born and raised in Israel and went to medical school at the University of Tel Aviv, he did in fact speak Hebrew.

Me: I think I should learn Hebrew.

Kate: Phoebe, if you want to learn Hebrew, I will personally finance your studies.

But then I Googled it, and, oh man, have you seen the writing?

“Hello” is also “goodbye,” but you wouldn’t know it, because it’s spelled like this: .

Me: Am I more like Mum or Dad?

Kate: You, pet, are the best of both.

Me: Hashtag cliché.

Kate: All right, stroppy. Let me tell ya. Your beautiful eyes are your dad’s, as are your quick wit and often questionable sense of humor. From Amelia you’ve inherited the ability to take no shit. But, your clever brain is all me. As are your good looks. And your luscious hair. And—

Me: Oh, shut up, Kate, I was being serious.

Kate (clutching her chest): I’m being very serious. Nature, nurture, Phoebe.

Then she grabbed me and kissed my face, like, a thousand times.

Kate: You, my darling, are the perfect combination of those two.

Me: Why did we never talk about Dad?

Kate: Sometimes things happen that are so big that it becomes impossible to find the right words. And it’s not that your mum doesn’t want to speak about it. I honestly think she can’t.

Me:…

Kate: But let me tell you, Phoebe, your dad was a wonderful man.

Me: I’m sorry you lost your friend.

Kate: Not as sorry as I am that you two never got to meet each other.

Me:…

Kate (kissing my face again, then holding me too tight, laughing into my hair): His English was perfect, but it was never hello, it was always shalom.

Me: Maybe I should greet people like that. Being half Israeli and all.

Kate: But warn your mum before you say it to her.

Me:…

Kate: She loved him. Maybe she still does.

9:32 P.M.

Shalom: Exclamation. Used as salutation by Jews at meeting or parting, meaning “peace.”

10:00 P.M.

I think I may want to find Dad’s family.

I mean, it’ll probably give them a heart attack, but wouldn’t you want to know if your dead son/brother/BFF had a child somewhere? I get that Mum’s upset, but not everything can be about her.

Wednesday, March 7 #ThatsGreatPhoebe

When I saw Polly at school, I was like: “Shalom,” and she was like WTF? So I told her that, since Dad was Israeli, I’m going to find out a lot more about their culture, and that I was thinking of learning Hebrew (which is bullshit, because I’ve already decided that I won’t actually be doing that).

Polly was just like: “That’s great, Phoebe.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say to that, but this was such a nonreaction. I swear if I’d been like: I’m thinking