“Ah. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t remember what happened during Never Have I Ever,” he says, and there’s enough moonlight for me to catch him blushing.
We rearrange so we’re sitting side by side in the back seat. There’s no way I’m forgetting he’s the one I’m here with right now, but he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be patiently waiting for me to explain, and I shouldn’t want to.
And yet the words start tumbling out. “I’m not even sure it was the car, actually,” I say. “I’ve only… had sex… that one time. In the car. At least, sex in the way society usually defines sex, which is outdated and heteronormative, but, um. Yeah.”
He’s just watching me, listening.
“It didn’t last very long,” I continue. “And I didn’t—well, it was done when he was done.” I could have said something, I’m sure. But he also could have offered. Could have asked.
Tarek looks like I just told him I let Jonathan punt Edith over a fence. “That’s… wow. I’m sorry.”
You don’t have to be sorry, I want to say. This conversation is veering too close to relationship territory. I wanted to get in the car specifically so I wouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts. I don’t know why we can’t just get one of us off—realistically, him—and then go home.
Because the last time we got close to a relationship—and now that I know we were even closer than I used to think—it only hurt us both.
“We don’t have to keep talking about it,” I say. “If you don’t want to do that, it’s fine. I’m used to it. You don’t have to go through the motions just because you think you’re supposed to. Like, it’s still fun for me, even if I don’t… you know.”
“Are you saying you’ve never had an org—”
I’m not sure why, but I can’t bear to hear him utter the word. “With someone else?” I shake my head.
“But you’ve had one before, in general? On your own?”
I nod, hiding my burning face against the seat.
“Hey.” He rubs circles on my back. “You do it. I do it. Why is that embarrassing?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it isn’t embarrassing, especially when he’s treating it all as this very normal thing. Because as much as I want to fast-forward to the part where we’re sighing against each other again, the more I talk, the more the dread turns to relief. Maybe I’ve needed to talk about it and I haven’t found the right words.
“I’ve only had sex with one person too,” he says. “In case you were wondering.”
I was, and I’m glad he’s telling me. “With other guys, when we were fooling around, there was always one clear end goal for them.” I make a gesture with my hands that probably looks like that old Shake Weight commercial or opening a can of soda. The latter is possibly too on the nose. “It would take too long for me, so they’d get tired or bored or whatever, and they’d either stop, or I’d ask them to stop. Their end goal didn’t always include…”
“You having an orgasm.” He finishes the word this time, and okay. It’s not the worst word in the world. Not at all. “I can assure you,” he continues, a fingertip brushing my ankle, “I am not going to get bored.”
When he talks about it like this is something he wants as much as I do, I’m convinced I might be made of only desire.
“Okay,” I say in the smallest voice. “Then… that sounds like it might be enjoyable.”
He grins this ridiculous grin, one that turns me inside out, and when he kisses me, I am just… gone.
I’m not sure how long it takes. Frankly, I’m not thinking about that. All I know is the way his breath catches when he touches me, that he’s gentle and focused, that he talks to me. And then I grip his shoulders as his fingers move faster, faster, until everything else dissolves and it’s just him and me and a brilliant warm intensity.
Maybe this was the difference: the fact that he cared, which is so unlike my past experiences that I’m not sure how to process it.
Once I recover, I return the favor, touching him until he shudders and lets out this low moan, like he’s trying not to be too loud, even though we’re alone in the dark out here. I want to bottle up that sound. Make it my ringtone. Learn it on the harp.
This was supposed to turn off my thoughts. It wasn’t supposed to be him telling me how not-boring this was as he plants soft kisses along my ear, my jaw. And I wasn’t supposed to like any of that.
I don’t trust my brain and I don’t have the right words, so I just hold him tighter.
19
Work brunch happens the last Sunday of every month. Until the laptops come out, it’s the only time I have with my whole family that isn’t dominated by B+B. Dad plays the local public radio jazz station, despite all of us telling him that he can stream any musician he wants, but he always insists he likes the excitement of never knowing what song is coming next. Dads gonna dad.
I take my medication and rush downstairs, worrying about poisoning Edith for only a brief moment while I refill her water dish. A good OCD day.
We each have a specialty, a dish we’ve honed over the years, and Asher comes over early to start cooking. I heap Dad’s triple-berry pancakes, Mom’s black-pepper bacon, Asher’s frittata, and my chocolate-chip banana bread onto my plate and pour a glass of farmers market orange-ginger juice. It’s also mandatory that we wear pajamas the whole time. I’m
