That unwanted prickle slithered back, shooting from my head to my toes. “I don’t see how I can avoid it.”
“Don’t be stupid, Anna. You don’t have to say anything.”
“I’m no expert, but don’t you think it will be obvious, that, you know—”
“No, I don’t. And if you tell him, he will lose it.”
“I admit, it worries me. A lot. I don’t want to lose him.”
“So don’t tell him!”
Out my bedroom window, Pete pulled up in the station wagon. “I’ve got to ramble, Pete’s here.”
“Don’t do it!” Katy warned as I hung up the phone.
20
On Your Mark, Get Set . . .
Pete and I became near inseparable by mid-summer. Even though my days were full of driver’s education classes and learning so many cheers I dreamed about them in my sleep, thoughts of him consumed me. He logged time working for his father’s company, and the soccer team practiced for the upcoming season on weekends but most nights, Pete and I found a way to be together. Sometimes we went to the movies or out with friends, but inevitably we ended up in the back of his mother’s station wagon, in some form of undress.
We’d progressed from kissing in earnest to learning about each other’s bodies. It was new territory for both of us (meaning, at least this time, I wanted to be doing it). We fumbled our way through awkward moments and tapped the brakes when it got too heady, but every second opened my eyes about how sex should be.
The God’s honest truth? I was ready for The Main Event. I loved Pete, I wanted to be with him, and I wanted to share our bodies in that most intimate of ways. At least, I thought I did. It was only a matter of time before we discussed going all the way. My only angst lay in telling him my non-virgin status. Despite Katy’s warnings to the contrary, I knew I would tell him, just as I knew the news of my un-virgin-ness wouldn’t go over well, even more so on account it had been Alec. Our love gave me the strength to be honest. Surely we could overcome any obstacle.
What pained me most? I would give Pete my virginity in a gift-wrapped box tied with a big bow. It was meant for him, but someone else had ripped it from me first. So I would give him the next best thing: my emotional virginity.
Pete arrived at my house for dinner. After a quick hello, I left him at the mercy of my father while I helped my mother finish up in the kitchen.
I tore bite-sized pieces of romaine into the salad bowl, adding sliced tomatoes and cucumbers and dressed it with salt, pepper, herbs, olive oil and red wine vinegar. I worked quietly, allowing me to eavesdrop on the conversation between Pete and my father in the living room.
My dad questioned him about college, his favorite subject. “Have you given some thought to where you might attend?”
“Yes sir, I have. I’m considering a number of places, but it’s too soon to apply.”
“Of course, but one can never prepare early enough. What do you plan to study?”
I imagined Pete shifting nervously in the overstuffed chair, my father’s eyes fixed on him like a cobra, or The Godfather.
“Economics or maybe sports medicine. I’m still considering and researching my options.”
Really? I had no idea he was interested in such things. Their murmurs continued, but I turned my attention to my mother. “I set the table and made the salad. Do you need me to do anything else?”
“Can you put the colander in the sink, honey? The pasta’s about ready.”
I fished out the metal strainer and positioned it in the basin, its legs clanking on the stainless steel surface.
“Coming through,” my mother warned.
She emptied the pot and the boiling water glugged down the drain. The resulting steam quickly clouded the windowpanes, a common and comforting sight in the Trapani household. My mother combined the browned bits of pancetta, eggs, Parmesan and black pepper with the spaghetti. Carbonara was my favorite meal. I couldn’t wait to devour it.
“We’re ready,” she said. “Bring the bread.”
“Time for dinner,” I announced as I entered the dining room.
“Thank goodness. I’m starving.” My father stood. Although slight in stature, his protruding belly gave away his penchant for eating.
We all sat down, Pete taking Anthony’s spot in my brother’s absence. Meanwhile, my mother dished up healthy portions of the creamy main course.
“Ant’s going to be sorry he missed dinner tonight,” I said.
“It looks delicious,” Pete said.
I’m sure he had no clue what he was about to eat. He also had no idea my father would be tracking how much he ate, helping him determine my boyfriend’s worth. My father admired a man who could consume a large quantity of pasta, some warped method of measurement that had no bearing on an individual’s merit whatsoever.
With plates full, we commenced to filling our bellies and the polite small talk ceased momentarily.
“Being an athlete, you probably follow sports, right, Pete?” my father asked.
“Yes, sir. I’m a diehard Raiders fan and of course, my allegiance is also with our Oakland A’s.”
“No soccer teams?”
“The best teams are international, but we do have the North American Soccer League, which is always getting better players. I keep tabs on the San Jose Earthquakes and a few others.”
“Do you intend to play in college?”
“That’s my plan.”
“My daughter tells me you’re very good. Something about the top defender.”
“Yes, sir, I earned the award for Best Defensive this past season.”
“Congratulations. That’s very good. It should bode well for you on your college applications.”
Alfonso Trapani loved an achiever. I glanced at Pete’s plate. He
