Anatomy of a Single Girl (14 page)

“Guys, those works were
abstract
. They’re not supposed to ‘look’ like anything. It’s about what they evoke.”

“That’s fine,” Dad says, “but the only thing they ‘evoked’ in me is yawns.
I
could’ve done them.”

“At least the hors d’oeuvres were good,” Mom concedes.

The longer I’m away at college, the more naive my parents sound when I return. But what breaks the camel’s back is when they revert to debating whether mahimahi is better steamed or broiled, which I’ve heard them bicker over so many times, I could recite their dialogue by rote. I remember Guy complaining that his parents have become uninteresting, and Amy’s constantly bemoaning how she and Joel are like an “old married couple” in the bad sense. Is this what they meant? I’m happy my parents still love each other, but suddenly I’m not so sure I’d be happy in their shoes.

“Don’t you ever get bored?” I blurt out.

They frown, and Dad says, “
Bored?
Of what?”

“I mean … every Sunday you eat the
same
sandwiches made from the
same
leftover roast chicken while you talk about the
same
things that make no difference to the world? I’m just curious—doesn’t it ever get really boring?”

Without skipping a beat, Dad retorts, “Dominique, all day I ‘make a difference’ keeping criminals off the street while Mom ‘makes a difference’ educating moody teenagers like
someone
I know. And we’re about to embark on a big life change a lot of folks our age wouldn’t have the guts to go for, so sue us if we like a little sameness in our day.”

Score, checkmate, and snap
, I think while gaping at Dad. I feel bad that I killed any chance of making this a more pleasant boat trip than last week’s, but I’m too proud to apologize. So as they continue talking about the merits of fried catfish, I just chew in silence and go back to pondering what made me “smiley” to begin with: my pro-con list for doing it with Guy.

The obvious pro is Guy’s experience. Like I implied to him yesterday, sex with my ex-boyfriend was always a little awkward, as if we were fumbling through the motions of what we thought was right but could never be sure. So it’d be a wasted opportunity not to go for it when I’m finally with someone who’s been there, done that, and could teach me a thing or two.

Another pro—although it’s more of a fringe benefit since I’d never use this as a reason to go all the way—is that having sex would take the focus off oral sex, which I don’t want to do to Guy. After he went down on me last night, he looked really disappointed when I didn’t reciprocate, even though
he said it was okay. But when I gave blow jobs to my ex, I secretly hated it. What’s pleasant about sucking on a stiff, veiny appendage that spurts pee and sperm? It made me nearly retch and gave me a neck ache. Come to think of it, hand jobs weren’t very enjoyable, either. And since Guy’s not committing to me, I’m even less inclined to perform any “job” on him.

But the biggest pro of going all the way is that my ex will no longer be the last guy I’ve done it with. I know that shouldn’t factor in. But after how anguishing the breakup was, I’d like to strip him of that distinction.

That I’m even thinking this way is a con in itself, though, because I’m positive I wouldn’t consider having sex with Guy if I hadn’t already had sex beforehand. I always knew I wanted my first time to be with someone I loved and who loved me, which it was … but shouldn’t I want that for
every
time? I disagree with what Amy said about how once you go all the way, you can’t go back to “everything but.” But now that I
have
done it, it doesn’t seem nearly as big a deal to do it again. That’s sort of disturbing, and it shows that I really did give my ex a part of myself I can never get back. I wonder if he also feels like he has given up something by losing his virginity to me. Maybe he feels like he
gained
something. Just because the sexes are equal doesn’t mean that sex is.

The other big con is whether having sex could cause me to more than just
like
like Guy. But that could happen even if we don’t sleep together. You don’t even need to date a boy to dream about marrying him. I suppose that splitting up with my ex might’ve been easier had we never gone all the way, but I’m not sure if I’d do anything differently. For all its
awkwardness, making love with him was also beautiful for the very reason that we were new to it. Sex with Guy would be new, too, though, because it’d be making love
without
the love.
That’s
the experiment in all this. Even Amy’s never done that.

The bottom line is that abstaining isn’t ever a wrong choice. But what made these last two evenings with Guy so sublime was ignoring all the cons and just following my body. I’ve always played by the rules in the hopes that it’ll pay off later, and I don’t intend to stop in the long run. But if I’m smart about it, I don’t see why I can’t have some fun, too.

When Guy calls me later that night after my bratsitting job, I tell him what just last month I couldn’t have fathomed saying to any new boy.

“Just so you know, I’ve been thinking, and if you’re agreeable, I’d like for you to be my … number two.”

“Huh? That sounds nasty.”

“Guy! Not in the bathroom sense. I mean”—I speak quietly—“the sex number sense.”

“Oh!” I can almost hear him smile. “Well, it’s, uh … almost ten now. If you come over soon, you can still make it back before curfew. Or do you want me to pick you up?”

“I didn’t mean tonight!” I giggle. Guy certainly corroborates the theory that men hit their sexual peak at nineteen. “We still need to talk about a bunch of things like, you know … our histories and stuff.”

“Um, didn’t we just have that talk yesterday?”

“I guess what I mean is, like with those other girls, whether you used protection.”

“Of course I did, Dom.” He sounds hurt that I’d mention it. “Did you think I didn’t?”

“No, but we need to go over this. STDs aren’t a joke.” I quickly add, “I don’t have one.”

“That makes two of us. And I
do
have a joke one of the guys told me recently: What’s the difference between love and herpes? Herpes is forever!”

He dissolves into laughter, but I think it’s depressing how true that must be a lot of the time.

“Guy, this is important. When was the last time you got with someone?”

“I don’t know.… I guess it was Beta’s spring formal, back in April.”

“Were you tested afterward?”

“I’ve never been tested
ever
. Why should I if I’ve always been safe?”

I’m about to tell him that ideally he should get tested after every partner whether he uses protection or not, but I’m not one to talk, since I haven’t gotten around to getting myself tested since my breakup. Instead I move on to the next question. “Have you had the HPV vaccines? I had all mine.”

Now I almost hear him cringe. “Yeah, my mom made me get the Gardasil shots back in middle school before I even knew what HPV was.”

“How about the hepatitis B vaccine?”

Another pained pause. “Uh-huh.”

“Awesome. And I know I don’t have to mention this, but if we do it, neither of us can get with anyone else until after I leave. I’ll just feel more comfortable that way. I mean, if you’d ever
like
to get with someone else, okay, but then we have to stop what we’re doing—”

“I hear what you’re saying, Dom, and it’s all good. I told you I didn’t want to see other girls this summer.”

“Okay. And I can get us condoms if you’d like. I live near a CVS.”

“Remember where
I
live? The Betas keep an industrial-sized box of Trojans in the lounge, so we’ll be covered for a while. And yeah, they’re the kind with spermicide.”

“Are they too old, though? That stuff has a shelf life.”

“We just bought them this year, so they’re fine. Jeez. What a guy goes through to get with a future doctor.”

“Oh, we’re not done yet. There’s one last thing about STDs.… I totally trust everything you said, but I want us to be a hundred percent positive we’re healthy. So, I’d like us to see each other’s immunization records and … for both of us to get tested … for everything.”

Guy’s quiet for several seconds, except for his angst-ridden breathing. “Well, I can get my records no problem, but what would the tests involve? In my freshman dorm there was a dude with the clap, and to check it out the doctor stuck a Q-tip up his pee hole. I’d rather get hazed again, Dom.”

“Don’t worry. You just have to give a urine sample for gonorrhea. Same for chlamydia. And a blood test can usually determine HIV, syphilis, the herpes simplex viruses, and hep B and C. The only time you really need to give urethral cultures is when you’re already showing symptoms.… You there?”

“Yeah, but I’m about to ralph.” Guy takes a deep breath. I know he’s trying not to sound as aggravated as he is. “Listen, I’m down with being responsible and everything, but I’m
sure
I’m clean. I’m not a fan of needles, either.”

“Still, it’s the right thing to do. I mean, if you had a
daughter, you’d want her boyfriend to get tested before they did anything, wouldn’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, I repeat, “Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think that way. I’m never having kids.”

I hold the phone away from my ear, startled by the certainty in his voice. “Well, having kids isn’t for everybody, but … you don’t think you might want kids even when you’re older?”

“No interest. They’re time-consuming and expensive, and no matter how good a parent you are, they can still turn out to be screwups.”

“Anything worth doing is hard.”

“I’m surprised
you’d
want kids, Dom. You’re the one who says ‘
brat
sitting.’ ”

“Oh. Right,” I whisper. “I guess I should probably stop doing that.”

Since I was thirteen I’ve made most of my cash by looking after children in my building, and of course they can be bratty sometimes, but I wouldn’t have kept at it if I weren’t happy to do it. The best part’s been watching them grow and learn over the years, and I’ll miss them far more than our apartment when we move. Some scientists hypothesize that having children is the only reason romantic love came about. It kept couples together long enough to mate and see a baby through infancy. I’ve always wanted kids for myself one day, though I don’t know why I assumed Guy would, too. Being childless fits in with his footloose existence. That night at Bantam Beach, Guy said we could always date each other again in the future, but unless he changes his mind
about being a dad, this summer really will be the end of the line for us.

“Anyway, we’re getting off task here.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but the tests are nonnegotiable. If you’d rather not, that’s your choice, but then we can’t—”

“No, it’s fine. You know I want you to be cool with everything, so consider it done.” He takes another deep breath. “I’ll go to Student Health tomorrow, okay?”

“Thanks. That sounds great. And I’ll try to get an appointment ASAP, too.”

Guy then switches topics to a TED lecture with Stephen Hawking he just watched, and I know we’re both relieved this conversation’s behind us. I’m proud I made us go through it, though, and I’m glad I handled it over the phone, where Guy’s hotness couldn’t sidetrack my thinking. I understand now why other people might never bring this stuff up. Talking about sex is the least sexy thing you can do. One of the most convenient things about being with my ex was our mutual virginity. We didn’t need to worry about who we’d been with before. Looking back, however, I was wrong not to ask him to get tested anyway. I mean, I still believe he was honest with me about his sexual history, but there’s no way to be sure. And now my ex is
my
sexual history. I guess soon Guy will be, too. I wonder how many more penises I’ll have inside me in my lifetime.

17

A
t Lee County Medical the next day I deliver flowers to a new mom whose nurse told me she got pregnant even though she’d been using an IUD. It makes me think back to when Amy was late last year and she worried that one of Joel’s condoms might’ve torn. It turned out to be nothing, but she got so freaked out, she went on the pill as backup so they could virtually eliminate any chance of conception. I’d probably like doing it more if I had that peace of mind, too, so when Guy phones that night, I inform him it’s another nonnegotiable that we use a second form of birth control. He says he understands but that it’s overkill as long as we’re
careful. I say we can never be too careful, especially now that I know Guy wouldn’t be supportive if I accidentally did get pregnant and couldn’t bring myself to get an abortion.

Unfortunately, my gynecologist is booked solid through the summer, as is every other gynecologist I call in greater Fort Myers. I’m sure Dr. Braff or the nurses at the hospital could pull strings for me, but I don’t want them to know my business. There’re plenty of websites where I can order STD testing services and get seen at a local lab the same day. So in case I go that route because I can’t meet with an actual doctor, I look into over-the-counter birth control options, like the sponge. Since Guy and I will already be using condoms with spermicide, though, I’d rather not host any more foreign objects inside me. The sponge is just 91 percent effective at best, anyway. There’s always the morning-after pill; however, it’s really only meant for when you have unexpected, unprotected sex, which Guy and I won’t be having. I immediately rule out the withdrawal method, because sperm can still be in the pre-ejaculate fluid, and that could spell disaster if the condom gets a hole. But even if withdrawal were legitimate birth control, I don’t want to have to worry about Guy pulling out in time.

I continue calling doctors’ offices during my work breaks, to no avail. Then on Wednesday, Guy phones to tell me that he got a Certificate of Vaccination card and all negative STD test results from Student Health. Meanwhile, I’m no closer to a satisfactory contraception solution and am beginning to feel like a tease myself. Finally I decide that I’ll go to Planned Parenthood this weekend as a walk-in and just wait there in the hopes that someone will be able to examine me. Later on Wednesday, though, I get a callback from a women’s
health clinic saying that they had a cancellation for today at four, a full hour after my shift ends. It sounds perfect until the receptionist goes on to clarify that the doctor is a man.