Anatomy of a Single Girl (5 page)

“Me neither.” He massages his temples. “And I’m feeling woozy.”

“Uh-oh. Why don’t we get fed before we’re being raced to the ER ourselves.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

Suddenly Guy’s hand flies to his mouth, and we both smile, red-faced, at each other. How bizarre that we met only this morning. It seems like much longer ago.

“What I meant was,” he continues,
“so, shall we?”

He pivots toward the hostess stand and offers me his arm, which I take, still smiling. Then something possesses me to echo his words.

“Let’s do it.”

6

C
oincidentally, Guy received the latest
Scientific American
in the mail today. The moment we slide into our booth, he starts recapping the feature article that detailed how recent advances in quantum mechanics indicate that teleportation may be possible. Soon I’m telling him about a new book I read on the ancient Greek physician Herophilus, who went on to become the world’s first anatomist. Eventually the subject turns back to Guy’s summer research, and at one point he’s sketching diagrams of nuclear fusion on cocktail napkins.

Anyone overhearing us would be bored to tears, but who cares? Most talking consists of banal chitchat and rumors—even the surgeons at Lee County Medical gossip in the break
rooms about who’s hooking up with whom—so it’s refreshing to geek out on issues greater than ourselves for a change. Best of all, we never stop finding things to speak about, which was my biggest fear. Nothing’s more uncomfortable than silence, unless I’m with Amy or my parents.

When Big Fish closes at eleven, I mention that we should leave an extra tip for hogging the table so long. I take out my wallet, but Guy slaps his MasterCard over the check.

“Your Cajun money’s no good here, Baylor.”

“Thanks, but I really want to split it.”

Guy furrows his brow as I slide a twenty across the table. My reason has nothing to do with Dad’s “advice.” I just like things to be equal, which is how I explain it to him.

“Whatever floats your boat,” he relents, “but divvying up the bill’s a pain. So let me cover this, and then you can get it next time. ‘Equal’ enough for you?”

It’s like I’m dreaming. He just disclosed that he’s expecting to see me after tonight!

“Absolutely.” I nod, grinning, before retrieving my cash.

“So I know this is crazy,” he says a few minutes later as we descend the front steps, “but I’m hungry again.”

“It’s not
that
crazy. We finished our lobsters hours ago.”

“I’d like to go somewhere else, but all that’s still open around here is fast food. I’m getting sick of it.”

“Well, you’re welcome to whatever leftovers are at my place. On Saturdays my mom roasts chicken and potatoes. I think she made lemon icebox pie, too.”

Instantly it hits me that asking Guy over on a first date could be construed as a green light to go a lot farther than I’m prepared to tonight. I hope he can’t tell that I’ve already
imagined us going as far as two people can. Inviting him back felt like the natural thing to offer, though, which may be a good sign in itself—I obviously trust Guy. And seeing that he’s clutching his stomach, it’s clear that’s the only organ on his mind right now.

“Ooh. That sounds
so
good. I haven’t had anything homemade in forever. And your fam would be cool with me being there?”

“Sure, not that they’ll even know. They’re rarely up this late.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He takes out his keys and starts for his Accord. “Just lead the way!”

Once inside the apartment, I show Guy to the kitchen and excuse myself to use my bathroom. There I brush my teeth, reapply deodorant, and lay out fresh hand towels in case Guy uses the bathroom at some point. Next I go out into my bedroom and get the Herophilus biography, which Guy asked to borrow. Finally I allow myself a few seconds to curl up on my carpet and giggle hysterically with elation.

Back in the kitchen, I find Guy preheating our oven.

“You can put the chicken and potatoes in the microwave, you know. It’ll be quicker.”

“Oh, I get it.” He smiles. “You want to get rid of me sooner.”

“Nooo.”
I smile back. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“And
I
just prefer convection to dielectric heat. It warms up food more evenly.”

“Silly me. How could I have spoken such blasphemy?” I fish out two bottled waters from the fridge and hand him one. “So, were you always a physics nut?”

“More or less. The big thing that hooked me as a kid was the
Millennium Falcon
reaching light speed in
Star Wars
. I was so bummed later when I learned that could never happen under special relativity, unless Einstein’s wrong.”

“I’ve never actually watched those movies.”

It’s a mistake admitting that while Guy is mid-sip. He’s coughing so violently, I’m afraid he’ll crack a rib.

“Sorry—” He rips off a paper towel to pat his mouth. “Did I hear you right? You’ve never seen the original trilogy?”

“Well, I know the premise and characters and stuff, and I’ve caught bits and pieces on TV over the years. It seemed okay.”

“Just
okay
? Now,
that’s
blasphemy!” He checks the clock over the stove. “You weren’t planning on going to sleep soon, were you?”

Four hours later we’re on the terrace as Guy devours the last of Mom’s pie, and my laptop remotely accesses his copy of
The Empire Strikes Back
. Earlier we saw
A New Hope
, and next we intend to plow through
Return of the Jedi
. We decided to watch outdoors so we could pump up the audio without disturbing my parents. Also, Guy thought it’d be cool to experience
Star Wars
actually
under
the stars.

“So what’s the verdict on this one?” he asks after
Empire
ends and we both stand to stretch.

“I liked it even better than the first! It was really funny, too.” I’m not exaggerating, though I’d probably enjoy any movie while six stories high against a moonlit sky and lying on adjacent lounge chairs with a hunky crush.

“Yeah. Episode five has the best laughs.”

“But my favorite part was that last scene when Luke Skywalker gets the mechanical hand.”

“Ha! I
knew
you would love that, biology nut.”

I lean against the rail and gaze out over the city. “It’s so incredible that when that was filmed, brain-controlled prosthetic limbs were pure science fiction, but now it’s happening! That just makes it more infuriating, though, that a lot of the world’s population still can’t access even
basic
health care.”

“It’s the same with engineering. Inventing the technology is the easy part. Getting it to the people who need it is the real challenge.”

“That’s why after my residency, I’d love to do Doctors Without Borders for a while, if they accept me.”

“Mmm.” Guy joins me at the rail, but at the far end. “You know, Dom, a lot of the Ford premeds are in it just for money and prestige or because they’re from a medical family. It’s cool you’re the real deal.”

“Thanks. I hope that’s what I am. I mean, sure, I want to help people, but that’s not my only reason. Lots of professions help people somehow. It’s just, nothing else ever wowed me as much as medicine, even your fancy cathode ray guns and photon emitters.”

Guy grins. “It’s true. The human body is eons more advanced than any machine we can build. But
I
couldn’t be an MD.” He turns toward me. “There’s no margin for error, and I’d always be worried about messing up. It’s too much pressure having that sort of responsibility for someone else.… Does that make me a bad person?”

“Not at all,” I answer through a yawn. “My best friend,
Amy, would sooner wear a noose than a stethoscope. And you’re lucky you’re already in touch with what your boundaries are.”

“Uh-huh. It’s good to know what you want.”

Without any warning, Guy whisks down the rail so he’s only a couple of feet to my left and staring straight into my eyes. Now I’ve never felt more awake. All night I’ve been waiting for this moment, and I thought my having some experience would make me extra suave when the moment arrived. But in this case, experience seems to have the reverse effect, because I won’t shut up as Guy continues moving toward me.

“I agree—it
is
good to know what you want. It must be frustrating majoring in one thing and then figuring out later it’s all wrong for you.”

Closer.

“That happened with my roommate. Starting off, she was going for a music degree, but now she’s doubling in communications and women’s studies!”

Leaning in.

“At Tulane, something like one out of every three premeds ends up switching—”

Guy slips his hand to the nape of my neck, bends down, and kisses me lightly on the mouth. I pucker back, though my blood is pounding so ferociously that I hardly feel him, and it takes all my mental energy to keep my knees from buckling.

Afterward he tilts his head forward, leaving us in a suspended Eskimo kiss. I’d forgotten how surreal being this close to someone is—as if the rest of the planet has fallen away, leaving just us two to do just this.

“It’s funny,” he begins, his lemony breath hot on my face. “I was so pissed at Bruce for making me spend the night in the hospital. Now I owe the dude.”

I’m too exultant to respond, not that I’d know what to say to that, so I just manage a little nod. Soon he pulls back and retreats to his lounge chair.

“Sorry, Dom. I wasn’t planning on doing that here. You’re just so freakin’ pretty, and under the moon, your hair’s, like, on fire.”

“Oh— No— It’s— I’m— Don’t worry about it.”

“We’d better stop, though. I feel nervous mackin’ on you with your parents inside. I don’t want to risk them catching us.”

I nod again and make myself pause for a deep breath. “Yeah. That’s probably a wise idea.” I wobble over to my chair.

I try to get into
Jedi
, but my vision is foggy from the enormity of what just happened. My biggest “step forward” to date. Proof that I really am “moving on to bigger and better things.” The first kiss of the rest of my life.
I can’t believe I’ve kissed someone else!
It felt similar and completely different at the same time, kind of like mounting a new bike—same basic stance, but still unfamiliar. I’m so glad that it was with Guy and not some anonymous boy at a kegger, and that I’m not some anonymous girl to him. The kiss wouldn’t have been nearly as special.…

The next thing I’m conscious of is Mom’s voice telling me to wake up. Now her hand is shaking my shoulder, and I can sense that it’s light out. Evidently, pulling two all-nighters in a row was too ambitious for me.

“Dommie, are you all right? Why are you out here?”

I slit open my eyelids, which feel as heavy as lead as I scan the terrace. Guy’s chair is empty. The sun is just starting to peek up over the skyline. My laptop is still on our small patio table, but the screen is down.

“How was Big Fish? Did you have fun?” Mom persists, looking hilarious in her muumuu and bunny slippers.

“Uh … hold on a sec.”

Intuitively I lift up the computer screen, and a Word document appears.

Good Morning, Sleeping Beauty–

You nodded off when the Ewoks showed up. Can’t say I blame you. A lot of people think they’re the worst part of the series. I don’t have the heart to wake you, so I’ll take that book you lent me and let myself out. Had a great time, and tell your fam I said thanks for the eats. Today I’m just gonna catch up on Z’s and work, but I’ll call later to see when you’ll be up for round two. ;)

–Guy

My heart skipping a beat, I click to see when the file was created. 5:10 a.m. Guy and I spent nearly half a day together.

“When did you get back? What were you doing?” Mom is still rambling.
“What happened to all the food?”

They’re perfectly legitimate questions deserving of explanations, but I don’t have the patience right now. I was also in the middle of a raunchy dream about Guy as Han Solo and me as Princess Leia in our own private starship, and I want to get back to bed in the hopes of resuming it.

I mutter to Mom, “Guy came over. We watched movies.
Finished the leftovers. He says thanks. I need sleep,” before grabbing the laptop and hurtling toward my room.

I feel guilty. There’s no way I’ll have the energy to go fishing with my parents today, and I already sacrificed last Sunday’s outing by sleeping in at Amy’s. But I wouldn’t trade my Guy time for anything, and I console myself with the knowledge that there’re still six more Sundays of summer vacation left.

I remain zonked out through the afternoon, and when I wake up, I burst into laughter again. How glorious that what began as my worst Fourth of July weekend ever transformed into my best! I take advantage of having the apartment to myself by blasting CeCe Peniston’s “Finally” on repeat while I do laundry, exercise, and indulge in a bubble bath that could only be better with Guy in it.

My parents return right as Amy texts me that her stepdad just brought her home from the airport. Three minutes later, I’m pedaling to the Braffs’.

7

A
my’s response is as I expected—high-pitched squeals and a “Hallelujah” before dashing to where I’m perched on her Papasan chair for a hug.

“I knew the second I saw your glow, Dom, that something major must’ve gone down this weekend! Happy Independence Day to
you
!” Now dancing in place, she begins belting out
Grease
lyrics:
“Summer lovin’, had me a blast! Summer lovin’, happened so fast!”

“Let’s not jinx it,” I say, smiling at her enthusiasm. “It was only a first date.”

Amy then demands “a visual.” Guy has already friended me on Facebook, so I pull up his profile photo on my phone.