“I’ve never seen my mother so hurt, and you should’ve seen the look on my father’s face. He looked like he was enjoying it. It was so fucking sick.”
“Oh, shit,” Xan said. “I’m really sorry, Rissa.”
“I know how busy you are,” Marissa said, “and I really don’t want to burden you, but I really don’t want to be alone right now. Is it okay if I…”
“Yes, definitely, come over. Unless you want me to come there?”
“No, no, trust me, here is one place you do not want to be. But are you sure it’s okay? Becau-”
“Yeah, I’m positive,” he said. “You need to get away from all that craziness, and I want to be with you now.”
“Thank you,” Marissa said. “You’re so amazing.”
As she packed an overnight bag, she couldn’t stop thinking about Xan, how thoughtful he was and how lucky she was that she’d found him. If Lucas hadn’t hooked up with that other girl that night at Kenny’s Castaways, Marissa might never have met him, and she didn’t even want to imagine what things would’ve been like then. Right now Xan was the best thing in her life, the only thing, really.
Her attachment to Xan was weird because Marissa usually didn’t fall for guys so quickly. In the past, when she was starting to get close to a guy, she’d be the one who’d freak out and say, “I need some space” or “I want to take it slower” or “I don’t want to be exclusive,” anything to avoid getting into an actual relationship. But with Xan she didn’t feel trapped or pressured at all. Hanging out with him felt so normal, so natural, so right. Aside from being extremely cute, he was easygoing, sincere, attentive, kind, generous, and funny, and she had so much in common with him it was insane. She loved that he was an artist and that he liked to talk about art. Sometimes when she was with him she felt like he knew what she was thinking ahead of time, like their brains were wired the same way. But the most amazing thing about Xan was that they’d known each other for over a week now and no red flags had gone up; she hadn’t had any what she called uh- oh moments. In just about every other relationship she’d ever been in, the guy would always seem great at first, maybe for the first date or two, but then there would be an uh- oh moment and he’d drop some bombshell, like she’d find out he was a hockey fanatic, a compulsive gambler, a drug addict, a Republican- something horrible.
The morning after they met, she did what every girl in the world did after meeting a new guy- she Googled him. She hoped to find old pictures of him or information about his art, hopefully even a blog. He’d told her his last name was something like Ivonov, but a search for “Xan Ivonov” didn’t bring up any information, nor did a search for “Alexander Ivonov.” Maybe she was spelling Ivonov wrong or, since he was just an aspiring artist, there was no information about him online yet. She was trying a few other spellings- Ivonof, Ivonoff, Evonof- when he texted her, asking her if she wanted to spend the day at the Met. Was that the perfect first date or what? She had such a good time, taking him around, showing him all her favorite paintings. When he went on about how much he loved The Storm, she knew he was just saying this to impress her, but that was exactly what she loved about him, what made him stand out versus other guys. He made that extra effort; he actually cared.
During the week, he wanted to get together practically every night, something that would normally make her feel trapped, but she wanted to spend every second with him. When they weren’t together she felt an incredible void and couldn’t stop thinking about him, and then when they were together it felt so intense that she didn’t want their dates to end. The timing of meeting Xan had been so perfect, because she’d needed to get away from her parents, distance herself from all of the fucked- upness at home, and he was the perfect distraction.
But she didn’t want to sleep with him too fast. She wanted them to really get to know each other first, wait a few dates at least. When he invited her back to his place for the first time, she was ready for something to happen and had a pack of condoms in her purse just in case.
She knew he was worried and insecure about her seeing his artwork- it was so cute to see him get like that- and she kept reassuring him, telling him that his stuff was probably amazing. And she really did expect his work to be incredible. She’d been imagining that he was this major undiscovered talent, the next big thing, and would be hugely famous someday, so when she entered his apartment and saw his paintings it was hard to not feel a big letdown.
His work was extremely mixed. Some of it was very amateurish, bordering on plain awful, but a few of the paintings showed that he at least had some basic talent. His main problem was that his work was unfocused, that he had no singular vision. While he’d told her that he worked in a variety of styles, she was surprised by how vastly different the paintings were. His style ranged from realism to modern to abstract to postmodern, and his use of oils and acrylics seemed almost random. The painting he was currently working on was a total mess; it looked like he’d splattered the paint nonsensically onto the canvas, like a child’s imitation of Jackson Pollock. The pictures looked so different from one another, in their styles and subjects, that his greatest talent as a painter seemed to be his ability to mimic other artists’ techniques, and he didn’t even do that very well. It was no wonder that she hadn’t found any information about him online.
Of course, Marissa was careful to keep all her opinions to herself. She knew that, especially given how insecure Xan was about his artwork to begin with, voicing her true opinions would be an instant relationship killer. So she was very positive and upbeat, going on and on, exaggerating the few positives about his work and ignoring the many negatives. She knew she was taking it way too far- comparing his work to Picasso and Johns was about as overboard as it gets- but at least he didn’t seem to catch on that she thought his work was mediocre. Assuming that things with Xan worked out and they continued dating, she’d have to tell him her true feelings about his paintings eventually, but she hoped by that time he’d realize for himself that he didn’t have much of a future as an artist. Besides, the important thing- and one of the things she found most attractive about him to begin with- was that he was passionate about his art. So many people didn’t have passion for anything these days; they just went along with their narrow, selfish lives without really caring about anything. But Xan was different. She knew that if he transferred the passion he had for art to something else he’d be hugely successful.
When they started kissing on his couch, she wanted to make love to him, but he wanted to wait until he met her parents. She thought this was very sweet, but she was also terrified that her parents would mess everything up for her. Her mother had been so depressed and moody lately, and her father had been incredibly annoying with all his rules. He’d told her it was “time for some tough love,” but she felt like he was just doing it to annoy the hell out of her and make life at home so unbearable that she’d be forced to move out on her own and get a job. He was such a hypocrite, acting so high and mighty all the time, telling her that she was “passive- aggressive” and “acting out” and- the most ridiculous of all- “exhibiting attention- seeking behavior.” Meanwhile, who was going around shooting people? Who was the new Bernie Goetz? Who was the one who’d made a fool of himself in that interview for Daily Intel?
Marissa was expecting dinner to be a total disaster. She knew her father would interrogate Xan, and she was afraid her mother would be in one of her down moods and just sit there and not say anything. But, thanks to Xan and his charm, dinner went amazingly well. Xan handled her father perfectly- taking him seriously, not getting too defensive- and by the end of the meal they were talking like old friends. Her mom was surprisingly conversational and seemed to like Xan a lot, too. Actually, she seemed to like Xan a little too much, getting a little too flirty with him. At least a few times Marissa caught her mother making googly eyes at Xan. She didn’t know what was up with her mother and younger guys these days. Weren’t men supposed to have the midlife crises? What was she going to do next, start buying sports cars?
After dinner, it was great to finally be alone with Xan in a bed. As they undressed each other and during foreplay, it felt different than it had with previous boyfriends. This wasn’t just hooking up with some random guy. This was the beginning of something special.
But unfortunately, just like seeing his artwork, the sex itself was a major disappointment. It wasn’t due to a lack of passion, because Xan was definitely trying. If anything, he was trying too hard, making so much noise. It was embarrassing with her parents so close by, and it was hard for her to relax and focus. She whispered “Shh” a few times and said, “We have to be quiet,” but it was like he couldn’t control himself, and there was a limit to what she could say to him. She sensed that- like his art- sex was something he took very seriously and that any suggestions she made would be misinterpreted as criticism. She definitely didn’t want to offend him their first time doing it. Besides, Xan seemed very inexperienced- he’d only mentioned a couple of past serious girlfriends- and she didn’t want to make him feel self- conscious, like he was doing something wrong and needed coaching. She figured that once they got to know each other’s bodies, and some of his nervous ness and awkwardness faded, the sex would improve. Meanwhile, everything else about the relationship felt so perfect.
She left the house without bothering to tell her father where she was going and took the subway to Xan’s in
