Expiration Dating (9 page)

             
“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” I said.

Emilia
put a hand on my shoulder. “My mom and I always do this to feel better.”

S
he set the tea kettle on the stove, and left the kitchen. She came back holding something from her room.

“Bananagrams;
it’s like Scrabble,” she explained, laying the pieces on the table. Emilia spread them out like a fan and started counting out her pieces. I appreciated her not pestering me for details. I was grateful for her company.

             
“Did you know Andrew’s ex-girlfriend?” I asked after laying down the word A-S-S.

             
Emilia raised her eyebrows, and I wasn’t sure if it was in response to my question or the word I’d played. It was all I had. Plus, I still enjoyed trying to rile Emilia every opportunity possible; it was good for her.  

             
“I don’t know much,” she hedged, trying to feel out my reaction. I tried to be nonchalant, probably not succeeding. She looked up from her play, Z-Y-M-O-L-O-G-Y. “Why?”

             
“I don’t know,” I said, rolling my eyes
. I might as well quit now
. “I met him for a drink after the date tonight, and he talked about her a lot. I was just wondering what type of girl Andrew goes for normally.”

             
“You know him better than I do.” Her meaning was clear.

             
“Bananagram!” I shouted. I didn’t really understand the game.

             
“No. What? Wait.” Emilia bent to examine the pieces.

             
“Can we call it a tie?” I begged. “I’m feeling a lot better now.”

             
As much as I appreciated her friendship, I just wanted to be alone. I needed some time to process.

             
“Of course.” Emilia clattered around moving the cups to the sink.

             
“Thanks, Emilia,” I said. She gave me a much needed squeeze, and I headed to my room, running into the edge of the table on the way out.

             
“Watch out for the table.”             

Chapter
Thirteen

             
I never called Giuseppe back. However, over the next few days, Andrew and I worked on recouping our buddy status. A few days later, things were back to normal, and we were sprawled on the couch at his apartment, browsing the internet and laughing over the line about being smaller. He eyed me up and down.

             
“I don’t see any fat on that bod,” he said, seeming to regret it instantly. I was flattered that he would try to make me feel better. It was also the only lie I’d had ever heard him tell. I let him off the hook, changing the subject.

             
“I want to live here.” I pointed, drooling over a photo of Fiji, the water a brilliant blue on the computer screen.              

             
“This is where it’s at.” Andrew set his finger on some mountain in Africa.

             
“I’m going to Egypt for my birthday,” Vince said from the other room.

             
“I don’t want to wait until your birthday,” Andrew shouted to Vince. “Why don’t we go somewhere this weekend?”

             
“Right,” I rolled my eyes. “Just pick up and go.”

             
“Why not?” Andrew said. “We live in Milan, travel hub of Europe. There are cheap flights everywhere. Look here.”

He pulled up Ryan Air
’s website, the cheap European plane system. The airline got you places for minimal money, but I’d seen their planes, and they looked like they could hold maybe four feathers and a kid before falling apart.

“We could do,”
Andrew calculated quickly in his head, “an entire weekend in Sardinia for two hundred Euros.”

             
“I’m in!” Vince yelled.

             
“Am I invited?” I asked, inviting myself.

             
Andrew nodded. “Of course, we’ll ask Josh and Greg, get everybody in. It’ll be a blast.”

             
So it was settled. We were going on our first trip outside of Milan. Andrew and I bought our tickets then and there, while the others agreed to buy them that evening. I danced around the living room.

             
“We’re going on vacation,” I sang.

             
“Calm down,” Andrew said. For people like him, traveling was not a big deal, he had been everywhere already. However, this would be the third flight of my life, and I literally couldn’t contain my excitement. I announced that I was going to go tell Emilia and bounced out of the apartment.

Chapter
Fourteen

             
“Ready for the weekend?” I asked Andrew when he arrived to class the next morning. I had been up early, brimming with anticipation for the weekend trip.

             
“Dana,” Andrew started. Dread filled my stomach.

             
“What?” I asked.

             
“It’s not bad,” he amended, “not really. It’s just that the other guys didn’t end up buying their plane tickets. Vince found out about a last minute exam and Greg made plans with friends coming in from out of town.”

The realization that it was now just
Andrew and I sank in.

             
“Did you want to get a refund?” I asked. “We could go a different time, when the others are free.”
              Andrew must have heard the disappointment in my voice. “Absolutely not. If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it. I just wanted to run it by you.”

             
“Of course,
buddy
.” I smiled.

             
Friday morning rolled around, the day of the big trip, and I was up early. I had everything packed, and for the first time ever was ready before Emilia.

As we split ways to go to our different classes, she said goodbye.
“Be safe, be smart.”

             
“Okay, Mom,” I said.

In class
Megan reached over and put her hand on my bouncing leg. “You’ll be OK. Sit still, please?”

Andrew
overheard and grinned. “She can’t wait to get me alone.”

Megan
had been briefed on our relationship. She knew we were friends, that I wasn’t looking for anything in him, and he was hung up on an ex. Megan, however, was much more vocal than Emilia.

             
“Andrew’s cute,” she would say. “What’s wrong with being a rebound? That way you get all the good stuff and none of the strings attached.”

Megan
’s viewpoint was clear, and she certainly followed her own advice. I crossed my arms, giving her a look. I quieted my leg, though my stomach was twisting and turning in excitement.
A vacation!
I couldn’t believe it.

             
“It doesn’t take much, does it?” Andrew said.

             
“What?” I asked.

             
“To get you excited.”

             
I tried to decide whether there was an innuendo hidden in the phrase. I smiled.

“You don’t even know.”

              After class, Andrew and I dragged our suitcases through the metro, across the city, and past security at the airport. Andrew got patted down and checked a few times, while I whizzed past.

             
“It’s so much easier to be a girl in this city,” he grumbled, casting dark glances at the offending officers. The
Carabinieri
were too busy staring down the shirt of the next girl in line. I shrugged.

             
Andrew let me have the window seat on the plane; I think he could tell how thrilled I was to be flying somewhere, anywhere. A more seasoned traveler, he liked getting places and didn’t enjoy
the process
of getting there anymore. Going to school out of state had taken the fun out of traveling for him.

I felt the engines kick into gear
, and I unconsciously reached for Andrew and rested my hand on his leg. He didn’t move it, and I left my palm there while we were taking off. I wasn’t scared of flying, but it felt nice to have reassurance just in case. As soon as we were in the air I removed my hand, glanced at him, and blurted, “I have something to tell you.”

             
“Mmm,” he said, his eyes already closed, one earphone plugged in.

             
I leaned over and whispered, “I still have my V-Card.”

I waited, watched for his reaction.

              “What?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

             
“I have my
v-card
,” I emphasized impatiently. “It means that I… I have never …”

             
“I know what it means,” Andrew said. “Why are you telling me?”

             
“I just wanted to be honest,” I said. “I mean you and I are going away on a weekend together, and I didn’t want you to expect anything.”

             
“Okay,” Andrew shrugged. “I didn’t.”

             
“Right,” I mumbled, looking back out the window.

             
We were getting ready to prepare for landing an hour later. Andrew and I had spoken a few times, but it was a pretty quiet flight. I stared out the window most of the time, watching the waves and clouds rush by. “Are you surprised?”

             
Andrew considered a moment. “A little, I guess.”

             
I nodded. The fasten seatbelt light came on, and we began our descent. Shortly after landing, Andrew and I disembarked, made our way to a cab and found our hostel. We were staying in the same hostel but in separate rooms because it was much cheaper that way. It also would have been a little assuming to book a room with only one bed. We changed, freshened up, and met each other in the lobby.

             
Sardinia was gorgeous; stunning, in fact. We hiked up old ruins, saw an ancient, well maintained castle perched above the town, and ate lunch with our feet dangling in the Mediterranean Sea. We chatted over a picnic of fried zucchini and local fruits as we stared out at all the boats. I held my hands up to Andrew after I finished, showing him the oily skin on my palms.

             
“I need to wash this deliciousness off,” I said.

             
“Good thing there’s water two centimeters in front of us.” He put his hands on my waist, pretending to push me over the ledge.

             
“Yeah, yeah, good thing there’s
also
stairs.” I got up and made my way around to the stairs. I started down, not realizing the stairs were slick with salt water. Before I knew it, I was skidding down the flight, the water rushing up to meet my face, landing at the bottom of ten stairs, waist deep water. I looked up, in shock, and saw Andrew rolling on the ground laughing.

             
“You should see your face!” he bellowed, amid peals of laughter. He couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard. He didn’t even notice the Italians stopping to see what was happening. Meanwhile, I realized the only thing not wet was my hands; ironic since they were the only body parts I wanted wet in the first place. I quickly washed them off, trying to maintain some sense of dignity.

             
I started climbing back up the stairs,
very
slowly, “That’s one way to get into the Mediterranean for the first time.”

             
Andrew paused in laughter and glanced at my face to see if I was serious.

             
“That was your first time,
ever
, in the Mediterranean?” he asked. I nodded. This started another round of laughter lasting longer than the first.

             
“Ok, play time’s over.” I was starting to feel uncomfortable. I had jeans on and Ugg boots; it was March after all, and I needed to get out of my clothes. I started on the path back up to the hostel, Andrew following close.

             
“You look good all nice and wet,” he said in a pseudo sexy voice.

             
“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” I said. I was losing my patience because by this time my shoes squeaked every time I moved.

             
“I’ll wait outside,” he said as we reached the door. “Unless…”

             
“I’ll meet you outside.” I yanked the handle… s
quelch, squelch, squelch…

             
I felt much better after a warm shower and fresh clothes. The only downside was I had brought only a single pair of jeans, a few tops, and a dress to wear in case we went out at night. Since wearing a shirt without pants wasn’t a viable option, I was stuck in the dress for the rest of the trip.

I walked outside and looked for
Andrew. I heard a whistle behind me. I turned around slowly, making a show of twirling my dress. Andrew sat lounging at the café next door, looking like quite the stud with a fresh tan, khaki shorts, and a pale blue button up open at the top and rolled up at the sleeves.

             
“What’s the occasion?” he asked. I explained my clothing dilemma and he winked, “I thought you just tried to look nice for me.”

I rolled my eyes and sat down across from him. We ordered a snack and a coffee. After
making small talk, we realized it was almost time for dinner. The two of us got up and took a stroll around the city, admiring the authenticity and sheer age of most of the buildings. As the sun set, we ignored the
dangerous
sign and climbed onto the roof of the castello. We cracked open a bottle of the local vino, and together marveled in the absolute, pure beauty of the sunset. I had never seen anything so perfect. I was feeling warmed by the wine, content after a day spent exploring outside, and cozy after a nice long shower.

             
“This is perfection,” I whispered. Andrew simply nodded. He took my hand lightly without saying a word. He took a swig of the bottle, and I watched as he stared out over the horizon, wondering what he was thinking. He caught me staring and flashed a brief smile. I was struck by a realization that two people from the same country, same state, rather, had to travel halfway around the world to meet. It seemed pretty crazy.

             
“Do you believe in fate?” I asked Andrew.

             
He concentrated for a long moment, and I thought maybe he hadn’t heard my question. Eventually he shrugged, not answering. He got up, gestured for me to follow him as he walked towards the edge of the castle. We could see across the whole island, over the water for miles.

             
“I bet you could have a pretty wicked spitting contest up here,” Andrew said with a sparkle in his eye. So much for the romantic moment I’d been picturing. “Do you want to try?”

I reminded myself
we were here as friends. It was impossible not to let your mind wander under the circumstances, however. I mean, an attractive guy from your hometown, whom you meet in Italy and with whom you are now vacationing with on a beautiful island at sunset with a bottle of wine.

I reassured myself it would be easy for anyone
to get confused. Not to mention, I thought with a flame of embarrassment, I had confessed my virginity to him in a moment of honesty, probably overwhelming him, scaring him off into ever wanting anything more than a friendship. I wasn’t sure where the outburst had come from, but at least we were clear. I proceeded to cast the first spit ball.

             
“I like a girl that can spit,” Andrew said putting a relaxed arm on my shoulders as we headed down. “Now I’m hungry, let’s eat.”

             
We found a hole in the wall, authentic pizzeria where an entire pizza cost three Euros. We basked in the cheap, high quality food, sipped some wine, and were feeling very bubbly by the end of dinner. Since I was already in a dress, there was no need to run back and change, so we decided to hit up the bars.

Whereas Mila
no had a more modern feel, with Discotecas around every corner, Sardinia was home to cozy bars with wooden tables and signature drinks. We started off at a Jazz bar, decorated with a neon lighted blue saxophone over the door. It was here that Andrew talked about his music and his love for piano. He told me he’d like to make it a career someday, but that he was realistic and didn’t expect it to happen. I encouraged him to try it, call me an optimist.

I told him about my sisters; I got a
little sad talking about them because I hadn’t realized how close we were, until we were so far away from each other. Eventually, I realized I was talking a lot, and asked Andrew about his family. I couldn’t be sure, but his eyes seemed to darken, and he tensed up a little.

             
“It was fine,” he said without explanation. Upon further probing he added, “My sister read a lot and I played piano.”

             
I decided to leave the subject alone, and we picked up and moved to the next bar. Arm in arm, we strolled through the narrow cobblestone streets, stopping for a shot here, a delicious sip of limoncello there, and every now and then, a sit down beer in an inviting venue. After two hours, we were both feeling pretty loose, and conversation had moved to more serious topics.

             
“Why have you never had sex?” Andrew asked, leaning in close. I had known it was coming. Frankly, I had set myself up.

“It’s not what you think.”