Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have) (13 page)

“You too,” he said, and handed me a bottle of wine. “For you. Us.”

“Thank you. Let me take your coat,” I said super-formally. I wondered if he’d “borrowed” the wine from his parents.

“Thanks.” He slipped it off and I hung it in the closet. He stood in the living room staring out the window.

“Should we open the bottle?” I asked. My voice sounded squeaky.

He turned to look at me. “Okay.”

In the kitchen, I took out the wine opener. Hmm. “Do you know how to do this?”

“I guess,” he said. “I can try.” I handed him the opener and stood beside him. My shoulder brushed against his arm.

He started twisting the corkscrew in, our sides pressing against each other.

We were going to do it. We were really going to do it.

“I don’t think . . . I don’t know if I did this right,” he said finally.

We stared at the bottle uncertainly. Half the cork was stuck in the bottle. Oh God, was this a bad omen?

“Can you get it out?” I asked. I giggled, thinking we sounded like a sitcom. Like one of those scenes where someone can’t see the characters and only hears what they’re saying and gets the totally wrong idea. Noah laughed too, and I felt giddy with relief.

He dug his fingers into the bottle. “I don’t know. Maybe if I . . .” He pushed the remainder of the cork into the bottle. “Whoops.”

“At least it will pour,” I said. I took down two wineglasses and poured. A fair amount of cork poured out as well. I pretended it didn’t. “Here you go!”

I lifted my glass. He lifted his. “Cheers,” I said, and we clinked.

THE END

For a minute there, with the wine bottle and the cork, things felt fun. Fun and . . . right. But the night went back to being weird over dinner. It was like I was having a meal with an estranged uncle. The conversation ranged from:

“It’s cold out there, isn’t it?”

To:

“And how was your day?”

And then we were done.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked.

“Um . . .” I had been thinking we’d just go downstairs. But maybe that was too obvious. Maybe we were supposed to be chill about it. I’d put in a movie. And then as soon as the movie began we’d start kissing. And then during our kiss he’d say, “Let’s go downstairs,” and away we’d go.

I put in a movie. We sat down. I pressed
PLAY
.

We did not start making out.

He was watching the movie. Why wasn’t he doing anything? I had told him this was the night. It was Valentine’s Day. He used to always want to do it. He had run out in the middle of a thunderstorm! But now he was watching the movie? He hated movies! He thought they were too long! He got restless halfway through.

He was nervous. He had to be. Guys got nervous too. They worry about getting it up, about not going too fast, about hurting us, about whether or not we’re enjoying it, about getting the condom on . . . they worry about a lot. Right?

Did I smell? Discreetly, I sniffed my underarms. I did not think I smelled. Had there been hidden garlic in the pasta sauce?

The movie played on. And on. I drank my cork. Noah drank his cork. He laughed too loud at the funny parts. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

I was a pathetic girl in a red dress. I was drinking cork. And then I realized.

Noah didn’t want to be with me anymore. He was going to break up with me.

My body felt numb. I thought of what Hudson had said. About not wanting sex to give the wrong impression. It was so obvious now. How could I have missed the signs? Any other guy would have been all over this situation. It was Valentine’s Day! We were alone! We were drinking wine! I was on the pill! I was throwing myself at him, and he didn’t want to take advantage because he was planning on breaking up with me. Today.

No, he wouldn’t do that. He didn’t love me anymore, but he wasn’t a jackass. He was going to wait until after Valentine’s Day to tell me. Like my parents waited until the day after my birthday. He was going to pass up sleeping with me and then he was going to wait until tomorrow, the day after Valentine’s Day, and then he was going to break up with me.

I had stayed in Westport to be with him and he was going to break up with me.

I looked over at him and watched him transfixed by the screen, glued to it. As though missing even a second would be the end of the world. I was standing in the middle of a canyon and the dam had broken and the water was about to come crashing down.

THE CHANGING OF THE TIDE

How was I supposed to sit through the rest of the movie pretending that everything was fine, that I wasn’t about to drown? I couldn’t do it. I reached for the remote and pressed
STOP
.

He turned to me. “Snack?”

He thought I was hungry? I scooted closer to him so that our faces were only a few inches apart. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

“You’re not . . . mad at me about anything, are you?”

He shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

“And do you . . . still love me?”

He nodded quickly and decisively. “Yes. I do. I love you.”

“Then why are you acting like you want to break up with me?”

“What? I don’t. That’s the last thing I want.”

I paused, waiting for him to tell me what was wrong.

He said nothing.

I waited.

“So nothing’s wrong?”

“No,” he said, looking up and pulling me toward him. He kissed me.

I kissed him back. Maybe I’d been right. He was just freaked out about the sex thing too. I pulled back an inch. “It’s overwhelming, huh?”

He nodded. I could smell the wine on his breath. I could taste it. My whole body started to tingle.

“We don’t have to do it,” I said, moving closer, whispering. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” he said, his voice husky. He put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me against him. I forgot about everything else except him, his body, his mouth, his hands. Then he pulled me up and said the words I’d been waiting to hear all night: “Let’s go downstairs.”

AFTER THE END

We did it. It was done.

It was perfect.

It really was.

We’d both been a little nervous, giggling when we shouldn’t have, kissing, whatever. He’d taken at least two minutes to put the condom on, but then there it was, on, and yes, it hurt, but it also felt good to have him so close. We cuddled up against each other under the duvet. His skin was damp and it pressed against mine and stuck to it, in a good way.

“I love you,” he said.

I kissed him. “I love you too. So much.”

LATER

We both woke up at three.

“Shit,” he said, and laughed. “This bed is ridiculously comfortable.”

“I know, huh? You wouldn’t think so, but it is.”

“It’s bigger than an ordinary single.”

“It’s like a bed and a half.”

“Why didn’t you take your old bed?”

“Penny said it would make more sense for me to have a bed that was easily transportable. I think she wanted to take the canopy bed with her to Cleveland.”

He laughed.

“I like being so close to the floor,” I said. “Easier for Donut to climb on and off.”

“Hurts less if you fall off too,” he said, holding on to me.

“It could be my new favorite bed,” I told him.

“How many have you had?”

“Four. The one on Oakbrook, the hard one at my dad’s apartment, the canopy bed, and this one.”

“This one is definitely my favorite,” he said. He kissed me lightly. “I have to go.”

“I know. It’s late. Are your parents going to hate me?” I asked.

He smiled. “Never.” He looked around for his clothes while I stayed warm under the covers. Donut sat on my stomach and purred.

Once he was dressed I stood up and wrapped my duvet around my shoulders (much to Donut’s dismay), and followed him up the stairs.

The lights were off, and Vi’s door was closed. We hadn’t even heard her come in.

We kissed at the door. “Drive safe,” I whispered. “Call me when you get home?”

“Will do.”

I waved him out and then slunk back down to my basement. I picked the silver chocolate heart my dad and Vi had left me off my night table, unwrapped it, and let it melt in my mouth. I lay on the pillow that Noah had been on and breathed him in. I found the warm spot of my futon where we had cuddled. I felt loved. Completely and totally loved. I dozed off feeling full.

My cell rang.

“Hi,” he whispered. “I’m home.”

“Were your parents up?”

“Fast asleep.”

“Lucky,” I said.

“Good night,” he said. “April, I . . .”

“Yeah?”

His voice deepened. “I really love you.”

“I really love you, too,” I repeated, and hung up. I fell asleep with Donut curled against my stomach and the phone still in my hand and stayed that way until the next morning.

KEEPING IN TOUCH

Noah: hi, cutie

Me: hi, babe

Noah: thinking about you

Me: thinking about you too. Where r u?

Noah: math

Me: r u coming over after school

Noah: yes please

THE HOT DAYS OF FEBRUARY

Noah spent the next few weeks at our place. Now that basketball had ended, he had lots of free time. We didn’t have sex every day. But we did most days. We were working our way through the many condom packs Noah had bought during the thunderstorm.

It was nice. Not just the sex part, but the after-sex part. My favorite moment was when we cuddled and his chest was pressed against mine and I could feel his heart beating.

Life was good. Noah and I were better than ever.

Vi was hooking up with Dean.

I had money in my bank account.

I had a hot tub.

I had a car. Not that I used it too often—Vi preferred to take hers.

I traced the letters I.L.O.V.E.Y.O.U. on his back.

“You too,” Noah murmured.

BUDGET FOR DAD

What I Spent in February

INVISIBLE VI

Vi’s
Issue
came out on March 4.

“I don’t get it,” I asked her. “How come your article isn’t in here?” I stood by my locker and flipped through the pages. I saw an article about safe sex. An article about abstinence. An article about teen pregnancy. An article about STDs. A playlist of songs to make out to. But where was Vi’s “It Happened to Me”?

“I made an editorial decision to leave it out,” she said nonchalantly.

“But . . . after everything you did? You were so excited about writing it!”

Her mouth opened to say something but then her face fell. “I couldn’t.”

Huh? “Why not?”

“I don’t know! I tried. And tried. But nothing came out.” She slammed her fist against my locker. “What’s wrong with me?”

I laughed. “You
like
him.”

“I do not!” She sighed. “This isn’t good. I can’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“It made me mushy! I couldn’t write about him. I can’t do something that’s going to make me weak.”

“Liking someone doesn’t make you weak,” I said.

“It makes you lose yourself,” she said. “I’m proof. No. I have to put an end to this
thing
with Dean. Immediately.”

“Vi,” I said, wanting to tell her that she was
not
proof of any sort of weakness and that it made my heart hurt to hear her say that.

She scanned the hallway. “Aha. Pinky.”

“What are you doing, Vi?”

“Getting my mojo back,” she said, and hurried down the hall.

THE FIRST TIME I MET PINKY

“Why is her name Pinky?” I’d asked Vi back at the beginning of my sophomore year. Pinky was only a freshman then but had signed up to work on the paper.

“Unclear.”

“Is it for the color? Did she like pink as a kid?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t noticed her wearing an abundance of pink.”

“Maybe it’s after the finger? Perhaps she has a very versatile pinkie?”

“What, like it can lift a hundred pounds or something?” Vi asked, laughing.

“She’s barely a hundred pounds herself.” I didn’t want to dislike Pinky on sight but . . .

She was Miss Teen Westport.

Literally. Right before starting high school she had secured the crown. And she was a gazelle. Tall, long limbed, blonde, and stunning. Everyone stared. Guys. Girls. Me. Noah. Not that I thought Noah was going to hit on her or anything, but you couldn’t look at her and not be jealous.

“Don’t be that person,” Vi said, wagging her finger.

“What person?”

“The person who tries to bring Pinky down because she’s so gorgeous. It’s antifeminist. She’s cool. Young. But cool. And smart too. I see her as my protégé. Yes, entering the Miss Teen Westport pageant was misguided, but since she was fourteen at the time, I blame her parents. Obviously she needs a solid role model.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” I admitted. “I won’t hate her for no reason.”

But if she even
looked
at Noah, she was a dead girl.

AND THEN EVERYTHING WENT WRONG

Noah was over, but he left around six, just after Vi got home. I noticed he did that a lot, but I didn’t want to make it an issue.

When Noah left, I did some calculus homework and Vi paid some bills. Then we started cooking. We ate. Then we took our nightly Hula soak, while hoping to avoid pneumonia.

Vi called Joanna, but there was no answer. “She’s seeing someone new,” Vi said.

“Good for her,” I said.

“But bad for me. She’s been totally MIA.”

Vi’s cell rang, and she checked the caller ID. Then she let it ring again.

I dunked all the way down until my chin floated on top of the water. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

“It’s just Dean,” she said.

“What, wham, bam, thank you, monsieur? You won’t answer his calls now?”

“Not if he keeps calling. Again and again. We are
not
in a relationship.”

“I knew this would happen,” I said. “You can’t just have sex with someone and expect everything to stay the same.”

“Yes, I can. I did. And he should too. Is your relationship so different now that you’ve had sex?”

“Not different,” I said. “Just . . . better.” More intimate. “What would be so wrong with having a relationship with Dean?” I wanted her to have what I had. To be as happy as I was.

“If we’re in a relationship then I have to look out for him. Be responsible for him. I don’t want to be tied down like that. I want to go to college free and clear.” She looked away. “I told Pinky she should go for him.”

I couldn’t believe she was being so dumb. She was so smart about so many things, but not about this. I hugged my knees. “You’re going to keep in touch with me, aren’t you?”

“Wanna come with me? You can transfer schools.”

“I wish.”

“What are you going to do anyway? I don’t mind if you stay here but . . .”

I did not want to think about next year. Maybe I
could
just stay here. I’d just tell my dad Vi was going to school in Connecticut. It’s not like my dad would know the difference.

“We’ll see,” I said.

My cell rang. Noah.

I picked up. “Hey, can I call you back?”

“Hello to you too,” he said, and laughed.

“Sorry, we’re just in the tub.”

“Of course you are. You guys are going to turn into prunes.”

“Come over and join us.”

“I can’t. Would you do me a favor? Can you just check if I left my cell at your place? I can’t find it anywhere.”

“If I find it will you come get it?” I asked flirtatiously.

“Maybe.”

“Fun. Then let me look.”

Vi made a whipping motion with her hand. I stuck out my tongue. I would not let her fear of relationships rub off on me. I threw my towel over my shoulders and got out of the hot tub. Even though it was already March it was still cold. There was still snow on the ground although not on the deck. “Be back in two minutes,” I said, and then, barefoot, hurried inside and down the stairs.

“Call it and we’ll see if it’s here,” I told Noah.

Two seconds after disconnecting, his phone rang from behind my futon.

“Find it, Donut, find it!”

Donut scurried toward the sound and dug it out of a twisted sheet.

“Good work, Donut!”

She batted it with her paws.
“Meow!”

I untangled the sheet and answered. “Donut to the rescue,” I said.

“Meow!”
Donut bolted out of the room and up the stairs.

“Way to go,” Noah cheered.

“So now you’re coming over to get it, right?”

“I should. But the ’rents have been giving me serious guilt about never being here and I promised I’d watch some TV with them. Can you just bring it to school tomorrow?”

“Booo. But, yeah. Can do.”

“Cool. I’ll call you later, though, ’kay?”

“Yup. Love you.”

“You too.”

I studied his phone. Thin. Black. It would be wrong to read his texts, right? It would be wrong to see who he last called. Only crazy girls did that. Girls who weren’t in love. Noah and I were amazing.

I tossed the phone on my bed. If there was something he didn’t want me to see he wouldn’t leave the phone here overnight, would he? I think not. I laid down on my futon, soaking the duvet with my wet bathing suit. My heart raced. Just in case . . . I clicked open his texts. One from me. Another from RJ. From RJ. From . . . whose number was that? Was that Corinne’s?

What time you coming?

Coming where????

Oh. I knew that number. It was his brother. I exhaled. I kept scrolling and scrolling, scrolling back a week, two weeks, three . . . since before we slept together . . . and there were no sketchy texts. Nothing. Nothing weird at all. I hugged my towel to me and headed back up the stairs.

The house was freezing. I stepped onto the deck.

“You forgot to close the door,” Vi said, head back, eyes closed.

I shut it firmly behind me and ran back to the hot tub. “Sorry.” My limbs sank into the delicious warmth.
“Ahhhhh.”

“Everything okay?”

“No,” I told her. “I’m crazy.”

She nodded. “We’re all crazy. What’s your specific form of crazy?”

“Noah left his phone here and I read through all his texts.”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

“To make sure he wasn’t cheating on me with Corinne.”

She nodded again. “Do you think he’s cheating on you with Corinne?”

“No. Things are amazing with us. That’s why my craziness makes no sense.”

“Not no sense. It’s not like you’ve never encountered cheating
before
.”

“You mean Noah?”

“Nooooo.”

“Oh,” I said, getting it. “You mean my mom.”

“Yup.”

“So I think Noah is my mom?” I asked.

She nodded. “Or you think you’re your dad.”

“Maybe,” I said. I looked over at her. “And you’re afraid that if you fall for Dean you’re going to end up like your mom.”

“I would never let that happen,” she said adamantly. “When my so-called father left my mom, she had to give up
everything.
Guys suck.”

“Why do you think people cheat?” I asked.

“Because they’re bored? Because they can? Because they’re selfish and think they’re entitled to anything they want? Because they don’t think they’ll get caught?”

I closed my eyes. Poor Vi. Poor me. I opened them when I heard a screech of tires from the road in front of our house. “What was that?”

“Bad driving.”

The car continued on, zooming down the rest of the street and over the bridge. Without headlights.

“What is wrong with people?” I asked, shaking my head. “Who drives without headlights?” Who leaves his pregnant girlfriend in another country? Who abandons her child?

“Crazy people,” Vi said, with a sigh. “So what did you find in Noah’s phone? Anything suspicious?”

“No,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

“Good. Then stop worrying.”

I tried to let my shoulders relax, but they were not cooperating. Something was nagging at me, but I wasn’t sure what.

ANOTHER TIME I KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG

I was in fifth grade and my father had come home with a dozen roses.

“Are those for me?” I’d asked. Roses were the prettiest flowers I’d ever seen. Sleeping Beauty
had roses.

“They’re for your mother,” he’d said, giving me a kiss on the forehead. I’d been disappointed, but the gesture made me happy. Someday I would have someone who brought me roses. I wasn’t sure why my dad had brought flowers but I guessed they were having a fight. My parents’ door had been closed a lot lately, and not at night, in the good way.

“Mom! Mom!” I screamed. “Daddy brought you flowers! Come see! Come see!”

My mother stayed in the kitchen.

“Mom,” I’d said. “Come see!”

“I’m doing something, sweetie,” my mother said. I didn’t understand what could be more important than roses.

Eventually my dad took off his shoes and his coat and carried the flowers into the kitchen. They were wrapped in thin pink wrapping paper, the tops peeking out.

“For you,” he’d said to her.

My mom looked up. “Thanks. I guess I should put those in water.”

“I can do it.”

She sighed. “I got it. Dinner in five.”

He nodded and then went upstairs.

“Don’t you love roses, Mom?” I asked. “Are they your favorite flower?”

She sighed again. “No, orchids,” she said, and then ripped off the paper and cut the bottoms under running water.

“Mine are tulips,” I said. My dad trooped back in and I turned to him. “Dad, Mom’s favorite flowers are orchids! And mine are tulips. Next time, can you get those instead?”

His face fell.

“Roses are my second favorite,” I said.

Something in my stomach felt funny, like the beginnings of the flu.

STILL CONCERNED

The nagging thought that something was wrong continued through my post-Hula shower. And then when I was doing more homework. And during my nighttime call to Noah. And then when I was trying to fall asleep. Something wasn’t right. But what? Was it guilt? Possibly. The right thing to do was to tell Noah I searched through his phone, but I was confident that wasn’t going to happen. Was it my feelings of suspicion? Possibly. Had my mom screwed up my ability to trust for life? Also possible. It was so quiet. I stared at the ceiling. I flipped on my back. I flipped on my stomach. I sat up in bed. That was it.

It was
too
quiet. Where was Donut?

“Donut?” I called. I padded up the stairs. “Donut?” I asked again.