Axis of Aaron (38 page)

“I wouldn’t just pop into the bathroom while you’re in there.”
 

“Well, feel free.”

A moment passed. Holly’s hand surrendered, sensing a lack of reward for the effort.
 

“Holly.”
 

She looked over.
 

“That’s a big difference between us, you know.”

“What?”
 

“Sex.”
 

“We both like it. Problem solved.”
 

“Yes, but your …
appetites
… are beyond mine.” It felt like a strange thing to say, because most of the time Holly’s incessant sexual energy was a thrill. When his dander was up, the idea of screwing in cars and public bathrooms or getting head while he drove all sounded exciting. But when the pressure was released and Ebon was back to his baseline, sometimes he wondered if he could keep up — and if he couldn’t, he wondered if Holly would be happy enough with what he had to offer.
 

“You’re complaining about a horny girlfriend?”
 

“Not complaining at all. I just wonder … ”
Oh, just say it.
“Well, I wonder if I’m enough for you. If it could cause problems.”
 

“Problems,”
she scoffed.
 

“Is it a bad idea to look out for problems?”
 

“We’ve only been going out for, like, three weeks.” Holly didn’t need to say the rest, which was that for her, the relationship was still very much an open project. Not so for Ebon. The minute a girl returned his affections, he started thinking of what they’d be like as a couple, if they could ever be married, if they made sense as a long-term family. He knew it was too much pressure for the early days and kept it to himself, but the tendency to think long term from the start was in his DNA. Not so for Holly. If there were problems, she surely assumed they’d just break up and enjoy the ride, carefree, until then. Ebon, though, didn’t want to deepen their connection in the light of an inevitable breakup. In Ebon’s mind, it was better never to have loved than to have loved and lost.
 

Ebon shrugged, knowing it would be a bad idea to voice his thoughts. But they’d talked a lifetime in the last three weeks, as inseparable as two people could be without being compulsive or codependent. For Ebon, this wasn’t about a good time, laughs, or sex. He was sure he loved Holly, and had fallen for her entirely too deeply. And Holly, who was as insightful as she was brash, knew it. Her still being with him despite his tendencies had to mean something.
 

“Okay,” she said, shifting. “Then let’s talk it out. What are you worried about?”
 

“I’m not worried. I’m just … ”
 

“What
concerns
you? What
logical puzzle
are you working out?” She gave him a sarcastic grin, knowing that “worried,” though Ebon wouldn’t admit it, was much closer to the mark.

“Well, what if you’re all worked up, and I’m not game, and … ”
 

“Do you really think I can’t make you ‘game’? You’re a dude. It’s in your wiring.”
 

“But what if you want to … and I’m kind of … ”
 

“You mean if we’re in the middle of Disney World, and I want you to bend me over a trashcan, but you kind of just want to ride Space Mountain.”
 

“Well, sure.”
 

She hugged him tighter. “Believe it or not, Ebon, I can separate my feelings about you from my throbbing biological needs. I can also suppress things that need suppressing until the appropriate time.”
 

“I don’t want you to have to suppress anything.”
 

“If I get bored, I’ll grab one of the Disney employees.”
 

Ebon laughed.
 

“Okay,” she said. “I know I’m a lot to handle.”
 

“In a good way.”
 

“Of course. But also, a lot to handle. I talk too much; I don’t shut up about the things I should shut up about; I’m way too impulsive. I’m working on it.”
 

“You’re working on it?”
 

“I’m looking into getting a shrink.”

“Really?”
 

“Not that I’m messed up. Just … self-work, you know.”
 

“Naturally.”
 

“Your bigger concern is how I’ll spend money. I buy things without thinking.”
 

That should have set off alarms on Ebon’s long-term radar, but she’d said it too bluntly to carry much malice. And besides, she was getting a shrink. To “work on it.”
 

“I plan on being rich,” he told her.

“Me too,” she said. “I don’t want to glom off my husband.”
 

“Husband?”
 

“You know, eventually.”
 

“Sure.”
 

She touched him on the cheek, and he turned to face her, rolling onto his side, head propped up on a hand.
 

“Okay, E,” she said, her deep eyes mock-serious. “Cards on the table. How many people have you slept with?”
 

“I don’t want to go first.”
 

“What makes you think I’m even going to answer?”

“If you don’t answer, I’m definitely not. Come on, party girl. You say what you mean, so out with it. How many?”
 

“Not as many as you might think.”
 

Ebon didn’t know if he liked that answer. Although, come to think of it, he didn’t really like
any
answer. He knew, of course, that Holly and virginity had parted ways eons ago, but that was a nugget of knowledge not unlike the truth that all processed food contained insect parts. Of course it was an inarguable fact, but that didn’t mean anyone liked thinking about it. He’d asked, and now he was going to find out. But Holly was
his
; he’d won her affection against all odds. The hurt that came with imagining another man’s hands on her body was a bones-deep ache.
 

“Ooo-kay … ”
 

“Are we counting … ”
 

Ebon cut her off. “Total. All things sexual, except guys you only kissed.” The one thing he wanted less than the number itself was a detailed accounting of what had been stuck where, what had been rubbed, and what had gushed or where it landed.

“Maybe twelve?”
 

“Oh, that’s not too many,” Ebon heard himself say. But truthfully it sounded like a lot — not because it was, but because acknowledging even one other man in Holly’s bed felt like a violation.
 

“And a few of those were just hand jobs or … ”
 

“I don’t need specifics.”
 

“Oh. Sorry.” Holly paused a moment, trying to read his face. Ebon felt deeply hurt. It was an unfair hurt (She hadn’t known him in the past, so how could he judge her?), but it was a hurt nonetheless. He felt like the moment’s intimacy had been shattered and wished very much that he’d never brought it up. This was what “looking out for problems” bought him.

“You okay?” she asked.
 

“Of course.”
 

Another moment of inspection. Ebon watched the door past her shoulder, then made himself look forward, at her face.
 

“Of course,” he repeated.
 

“Then what about you?”
 

“One,” Ebon said.
 

“Seriously.”
 

“One.”
 

“You’re kidding.”

“I am a funny guy. Aren’t you in stitches?”
 

“You’ve seriously only ever been with one person.”
 

“Yes.”
 

She put her hand on her chest. “Please tell me it’s one
other
person. Not just me.” It was a strange thing to hope for, but then again, Ebon had learned to read Holly too. The emotion on her face now was one he’d rarely seen, because she didn’t seem to know it:
guilt.

“One other.”
 

“Before me, you had sex with just one other girl.”
 

“I could sketch you a graph.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s … you must think I’m a total slut.”
 

“I don’t think that,” he said. And he didn’t. But the gulf was a slut’s worth of wide, especially when Ebon considered that he’d also only been with that other girl one time. And that she hadn’t truly been a
girl
, technically speaking.
 

Holly seemed unseated, her eyes flicking around the room. “Jesus, Ebon. We need to … I need to set you up with some of my friends or something. We should have some threesomes to even things out.”
 

Ebon looked over, wondering if she was serious. Surely not.
 

“It’s not a big deal.”
 

“It is. I get why you feel intimidated now. But it’s fine. I’ll … ugh, is it insulting to say I’ll teach you?”
 

Actually, right now, it sounded kind of hot. The Band-Aid of conversation had been ripped from his skin, and Ebon found he felt better. Yes, a dozen or so other men had been in places that were now private to Ebon, but her discombobulation was strangely endearing. It was like she’d crashed his car and wanted to bake him cupcakes in attrition.
 

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.”
 

“Oh, my God. I just can’t imagine what you must think of me.”
 

“I think I lo… I think I really like you.” Ebon chanced a playful jab to deflate the room’s pressure. “In spite of your sluttiness.”
 

Holly looked almost offended for a half second, then laughed.
 

“Who was the girl?”
 

Ebon sighed.
 

“What? Long-lost partially requited love?”
 

He shook his head. “Family acquaintance.”
 

“The girl next door.”
 

“My mom’s friend.”
 

Holly stopped, her mounting enthusiasm (she’d got over her guilt) freezing in its tracks.
 
“Really?”
 

Ebon nodded.
 

“When?”
 

“I was sixteen. She was … late thirties? Maybe forty?”

“Oh.” Holly looked like she wanted to say she was sorry, but it was the wrong response.
 

“Was it … like … ”
 

“Oh, I was really eager at the time. Quite consensual. Her name was Julia. Julia Summers. She’d been around me all my life, on and off, which, looking back, really makes the whole thing kind of twisted. I mean, she
babysat
for me when I was younger. She was like a second mother in a way, but she was also … how do I put this?”

Holly waited.
 

“Smoking fucking hot,”
Ebon finished.
 

Holly laughed, sensing a break in the tension.
 

“I remember figuring that out a few years before. She had these huge boobs, but they weren’t fatty; they were just big and awesome. And they were always sort of on display — not because she was pushing them on anyone, but because there was no way they couldn’t be. Whenever she bent over, I’d try to get a peek. But because her boobs were so huge, none of her shirts were ever loose. But that didn’t stop me from trying to peek at her nipples.”
 

“That’s hot.”
 

Ebon shook his head, lost in recollection. He’d thought about Julia many times over the years, even after their almost-relationship had fizzled … after he’d got tired of trying to talk her into repeating their single bravura performance. He’d distanced himself from her after that, and she’d stopped coming around. It was best that way. On some days, he loved and desired Julia. On others, he hated her. His lackluster sexual history since hadn’t been the fault of his charisma. He’d attracted women, but pushed them all away. For years after Julia, sex had been a confusing affair, as mired with shame and betrayal as with lust and untold realms of pleasure. Only Holly, with her disarming bluntness, had been able to pierce the veil.
 

“She
was
though,” he said. “You know how, when you’re a kid, forty seems really old? Well, on Julia, it didn’t look old at all. She was really pale, not at all tan and without any of the wrinkles that sometimes come with it.”
 

“Hey,” said Holly, whose skin was a light bronze.
 

“And she had those huge boobs, like big hotel pillows. But she was also kind of unstable, which, I suppose, is why we ended up where we did. She was hot and cold. She’d be angry and loud, then quiet and seductive. Even when she was around my dad, it was like she was hitting on him. I grew up watching her, seeing how she operated. Today, that kind of bipolar personality would scare me, but she always blamed it on being Irish. ‘It’s in my blood,’ she’d say with these big blue eyes. You’d forgive anything she’d just said or any lamps she’d just broken.”