“Anna!” my mother scolded.
My father chuckled. “Eat like a man, be a man. That’s what my father used to say.”
Pete laughed, twirled another wad of creamy carbonara on his fork and put it into his mouth.
My mother topped off her wine. “Where are you two off to tonight?”
Pete and I glanced at each other and I shrugged. “We talked about going to the movies, or maybe hooking up with Reese and Jaime.”
“To be young again,” my mother mused. “Not a care in the world.”
I arched my eyebrows. “I think you may be oversimplifying my complicated life a bit, Mom.”
“You go on and have fun. That’s what you’re supposed to do at your age. I’ll handle these dishes.”
“Awesome! C’mon, Pete, help me clear the table. We can at least do that.”
“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Trapani. It was delicious.” He stood and collected his plate and utensils.
“You’re welcome. You tell your mother what a well-mannered boy she’s raised.”
He smiled. “I will. She’ll appreciate that.”
We both sighed as we walked to Pete’s car. It was a relief to get away. They were tolerable as parents go, but we craved being alone.
He opened my car door. “What was that painful noise we were just subjected to?”
I laughed. “You mean the classical music? My parents listen to nothing else.”
“Good God, it almost lulled me to sleep. Don’t you think your father would appreciate a little Van Halen?”
I shook my head. “He would throw it out the window.”
Pete slid into the driver’s seat. “Where to, cheerleader?”
“Surprise me.”
A knowing look crossed his face. “I’ve been wanting to show you this place.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
Pete took the freeway past Oakland to the underwater tunnel into Alameda. He cruised across town and parked. We walked a short distance to the shoreline, where a pebbly but sandy beach stretched before us. He spread out a blanket, and we sat down. I leaned my head against his shoulder. The city’s lights glinted along the current’s cresting waves and stars materialized in the darkening sky. The night air, not yet cooled by the bay, left the temperature pleasantly balmy.
“Beautiful,” I murmured.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“You’re a regular romantic, aren’t you?”
“I have my moves.”
I laughed. “You certainly do.”
“I’ve seen enough of that. I’ve got my eye on something else,” he said, reclining me on the blanket.
Our lips met in unspoken agreement and our arms wrapped around each other. We worked ourselves into a frenzy, alternating between groping and making out for over an hour. I probably had a hickey on the side of my neck, not to mention other places.
“I love you,” he said, his voice husky.
“I love you more.”
“Anna?”
“Yeah?” I murmured, then resumed sucking on his earlobe.
“I want to go all the way with you.”
I stopped and met his measured gaze. “Me, too.”
“What about protection? Should I get something?”
“Yes.”
Pete’s fingers traveled south. I didn’t want him to stop, but my brain screamed, Tell him! Now.
I grabbed his hand. “Wait. There’s something I want to tell you. I mean, not want, but need, to tell you.”
His expression was attentive but wary. “What?”
I took a deep breath. “Before I say anything, I love you, and I have never loved anybody, meaning another man.”
“I realize that, I think.”
“No one before you meant anything to me. But something happened. I didn’t want it to, but it did, and I can’t change it no matter how much I wish I could.”
Pete stiffened beside me and bolted upright. “What happened? When?”
I started to cry.
“Anna, tell me. C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.”
“I’m…I’m not…a virgin.” I whispered the last word.
“Fuck!” His fist hit the beach, and pebbles went skittering off in multiple directions.
Tears cascaded down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I—”
“It was that asshole, Alec, right?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Why, Anna? Why that dickwad?”
“I didn’t want it to happen. I didn’t love him.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
“I didn’t!”
“So what? He forced himself on you?”
I averted my gaze, brushing away more tears.
“Son of a bitch. It makes me sick to think about it.”
“But we can get past it, right?” I reached for his hand.
He shrugged me off, looking away again. “I don’t know. Shit!”
“I’m sorry, Pete. I’m really, really sorry.”
He sprang to his feet, grabbing his shirt and pulling it roughly over his chest. “I’m taking you home.”
We drove in silence the entire way. When I tried to say something, he told me he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He said he needed time to think. When he pulled up at my house, I looked at him imploringly. He stared straight ahead.
“Please don’t do this. None of that even matters,” I pleaded.
“Then why did you tell me?”
“Because I love you. I don’t want there to be secrets between us.”
He shook his head. “I gotta go.”
I reluctantly stepped out of the car, shut the door and stood rooted in place, tracking his taillights as he peeled out and sped off into the night.
21
Go!
It took Pete less than a day to come to his senses. After spending a restless night and half of Sunday in misery, relief flooded me when I found him looking sheepish on my front doorstep. He held a lopsided cake with Hot Tamales bleeding out a red “I love you” in the white frosting. I needed no such sentiment. I threw my arms around him in forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into my hair.
“Me, too.” I kissed him. Pulling away, I examined the miniature dessert more closely. “You made that all by yourself, didn’t you?”
Pete grinned. “How can you tell?”
“It’s
