“No, Jael” he screamed as he kept pointing at the results on his laptop. “You don’t understand. We’re half siblings”. I had never seen him this worked up over anything. Not that I had known Aaron all that long. Just six months. And a lifetime apparently.
We met on Tinder, like thousands of others do every day and night in the hustle and bustle of New York City. I liked his smile, I liked his cheesy profile jokes, and I liked that he was Jewish, like me. I always grew up thinking I’d meet a nice Jewish boy and have nice Jewish kids. And even though most of my Tinder escapades resulted in nothing more than disappointing drunken sex, I thought Aaron might be different. He felt oddly comforting, familiar even if unknown. Oh how little did I know!
We chatted for a bit, and then took our chances with COVID in a recovering city, and went out for a drink. I liked him. He liked me. We texted obsessively. For hours every day. And then we met up again. His place. He cooked dinner. We fucked.