Page 11 of What It's Like in Words
That almost never happens to me, I said.
The words were true; the context was a lie.
Same, he said, like I was special.
My heart skipped, and feeling as special as he’d said I was, I relaxed onto the hard mattress. I was glad that the first time was over. Now it could get better. I wondered what he was thinking. Then he spoke: I thought you’d make that harder on me. He whistled air. I mean, date three…?
Oh god.
Don’t be upset. I’m thrilled you’re a slut.
His eyes stayed deadpan while mine widened. Then he grinned. I called him a prick.
Jokes aside, he said, I was glad that you made the first move.
Excuse me? You were the one who said you weren’t hungry.
Then you charged up the bridge like a dog in heat.
I said that wasn’t exactly how it happened, but he forced my head onto his chest. Shh, Enola, shh. That’sexaaaactlyhow it happened. The joke was over, but neither of us moved my head. We lay in silence until he clucked and asked about my hobbies. I burst out laughing and told him that it was too late to ask me those questions. We had seen each other naked. He chuckled—the noise twisted and curved as a roller coaster. I propped myself up on my elbow. My hair fell forward, and he tucked it behind my ear. I told him that his laugh wasinsane, and he said that his friend Pat said he sounded like a husky trying to talk.
The smell of garlic drifted from the kitchen, and I remembered Dadcooking on Sundays. I also remembered Aunt Louise commenting:Your mum should be the one cooking. It’s his only day off! My brother was always going to end up in politics. He just has one of those minds.
Are you hungry now?
He raised an eyebrow: Are you?
We did skip food.
We did, he repeated, stressing the “did” as if it had been my fault.
I asked if he liked cooking, and he scoffed like it was a stupid question.And he can cook?Affection built in my abdomen. I knew that I wanted these moments: the time he cooked for me; the time he stayed at mine; the time we met each other’s friends.
Pizza?
Pizza.
He kissed me. His hand on my face. The heat between our bodies, the duvet lowering, and—
Or we could just skip the pizza…
SO,HOW WAS THEbig third date last night?
Ruth had me on speaker, and I could hear her getting dressed for Halloween. I told her that it was good. She said that meant it was either really good or really bad. Well, it wasn’t reallybad, I said.
So you’re not asexual, then? I told her to please forget that I had said that. She asked for more details, and I told her that it was incredible.
On the first time?
She sounded more skeptical than impressed.
I guess that’s what happens when you have that much chemistry.
And you communicate? Is he easy to talk to in that way?
The last time I’d had sex was nine months ago. I met Ben (marketing, Gemini, 5’11”) speed dating with Ruth—a suggestion following an article she had read over someone’s shoulder on the tube. She had chastised me for faking it:We’re not twenty-one anymore. They have to learn, Enola.
Yes, I said. He’s really easy to be open with. He was super focused on me and just really listened.
