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partying, they’ve only kissed.
“Hey,” I call to Mara, barely able to find an empty place to stand. “I’m
going outside,” I shout, pointing toward the door.
“Wait,” she says, peeling Alex’s arm off her shoulder, “wait, I’m coming
with you.”
We push our way against the wall of bodies, weaving through the cases of
beer stacked up on the floor of the kitchen like a maze. As I open the front
door and step out into the cold, a welcome silence rushes over us, and I feel
like I can breathe again.
“What’s wrong?” Mara asks.
“Nothing.”
She eyes me closely. “No, there’s something.”
“It’s nothing. I was just hanging out with this idiot—he said something
kind of mean to me. It’s okay, though. I mean, whatever. I’m fine. I don’t
care.” I shrug, taking in a deep breath of icy air, allowing it to fill me before I
release it.
“What did he say?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, looking up at the sky.
“Let’s go,” she says.
“Really? You don’t want to stay? What about Alex?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says with a laugh. “I don’t think he’ll even notice,
honestly.”
We drive to this twenty-four-hour Denny’s that’s right in between our town
and Troy and Alex’s. It’s only ten thirty. I order a big breakfast and Mara gets
an enormous banana split.
“Tell me what that guy said to you?” Mara asks me again as she picks the
cherry off the top of a swirl of whipped cream. “I really wanna know.”
“Fine. It’s kind of funny, actually. He said he couldn’t tell whether I was
really pretty or really ugly,” I finally admit.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, right?” Her face is caught between a
smile and a frown.
“No. Those were his exact words, Mara.”
“That’s heinous!”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “But what’s worse is the way he said it—so sweetly—like it
was a compliment or something! Not exactly the kind of thing you want a guy
telling you right after you sleep with him.”
“No, I guess it’s not,” Mara agrees, her laughter fading. “Do you—do you
do that a lot, Edy?” she asks me awkwardly, looking down at her banana split,
like she’s counting the scoops of ice cream over and over: vanilla, strawberry,
chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry. “I mean, with
guys you don’t know?” she finishes.
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “I mean, it depends, I guess.”
“Do you think—I don’t know, do you think that’s such a good idea? I
mean, that’s kind of dangerous, isn’t it?”
I bite into a warm buttered toast triangle. I don’t know how to have this
conversation with Mara. I don’t know how to explain it. “Is it any more
dangerous than getting wasted with a bunch of strangers?”
Her mouth drops open slightly. She’s obviously insulted that I would even
attempt to compare the two.
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that—you know I’ve done
that too—I’m just saying it’s kind of the same thing, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think it’s the same thing at all,” she says, sinking her spoon
down into the softening mound of strawberry ice cream. “Isn’t sex,” she
whispers, “supposed to be special? You know, with someone special?”
“Says who? A lot of things are supposed to be special that really aren’t.”
“I guess, Edy,” she says, not convinced.
“Besides,” I continue, “it’s not like there are all that many special people
just hanging around anyway.”
“Still, I feel like I should tell you I’m concerned or something, tell you to
stop doing that.”
“I know what I’m doing.” I reach across the table and steal a spoonful of
her chocolate ice cream. “No cause for concern, I promise. It’s honestly not a
big deal. Really.”
She shakes her head and shrugs, returning her attention to her banana
split. “Do you think Alex and Troy are ever not high?” she asks, trying to
change the subject.
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” I say with a laugh.
“They’re nice though, at least,” she points out.
I nod. I take another spoonful of ice cream. “I did something kind of not
nice to Troy, Mara.”
“Oh no, did you have—you know—with him?” she asks. “When?”
“No, not with him. I kind of slept with his older brother,” I confess. “At
that party way back, at his house—it was really his brother’s party. I’ve been
feeling guiltier and guiltier about it every time we see him.”
“Why did you do that?” she asks.
“Well, I didn’t plan on it, or anything. It didn’t mean anything. I never
even spoke to him again after that. What—why are you looking at me like
that?” I ask her, her face more horrified with every word I say.
“Sorry. I’m not judging. I’m just surprised—I just didn’t know that had
happened. That’s all.”
“Well, it did happen. But it didn’t mean anything. I don’t even know why
I’m telling you, actually.”
“No, I want you to tell me. I don’t want you keeping all these secrets from
me.”
“I don’t keep secrets from you,” I lie.
“Okay.” She pushes the banana split across the table. “You have to help me
finish this—it’s melting.”
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