A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(32)

“Why?”

“It’s too dark to see if mine are shaking. You have to feel it.”

He complies. I hold my hands over his, palms barely touching.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

“Doesn’t count yet. It’s cold.” Plus now I have adrenaline running through my body for a different reason. “And you saw me before. I shake more than this when bluffing at poker. Now, ask me a question that’s hard to answer truthfully.”

“Hmmm … Let me think …”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Okay, got one. Have you ever had sex?”

“David!” I laugh and yank my hands away. “What kind of question is that!”

“It’s perfect,” he says, grinning like he’d outmaneuvered me, which he had. “It’s hard to tell the truth about that, no matter what the answer is.”

He looks into my eyes, not wavering, but not provoking or intruding. Many people, even when they’re not checking their phones or looking over your shoulder, aren’t completely present. When David talks to me, he’s always here.

It feels wonderful, but also mixed. Like having fun playing in the surf interrupted by bursts of a sudden fear of drowning.

But I have to answer his question. At least I want to, as much as I can. I put my hands gently back on his. I’m shaking more but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe I can fight fire with fire.

“I have never had sex,” I say in a quiet voice, watching his eyes. “If… and I mean if… when you say sex… you mean a penis entering my vagina.”

David laughs and drops his hands.

“Was I lying?”

“I can’t know for sure,” he says. “But I believe you, and that was the point.”

“What about you?”

“I never said I had to answer any hard questions.”

“I didn’t have to, either.”

“Okay,” he says. “Sticking with your narrow and somewhat unimaginative definition of sex—”

“Hey!”

“—I’ve also never had sex before.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute … sticking with my definition? A penis has never entered your vagina?”

He laughs again. “You’re definitely going to be a lawyer. Lawyers don’t have to lie to be convincing. They just have to ask the right questions.”

We resume walking. I stuff my hands in my pockets.

“Ever had a girlfriend?” I ask. That’s a normal question for friends to ask each other. “Not a girl who’s a friend. A girlfriend, like, with the mushy stuff.”

“Dates, valentines, sure. Getting round the bases, not so much.”

“Why not?”

“You’d have to ask them. I’ve never broken up with anyone. Been on the receiving end twice. For the same reason, so it must be true.”

“Which was?”

“They both said I’m too intense.”

“Ooooooh …” I fake a shiver as a joke. Inside I feel a real one. What drove those other girls away is what’s trying to reel me in.

“Have you had any?” he asks.

I look at him pointedly.

“Boyfriends, I mean.”

“No.”

“But you’ve dated before this?”

“Is this a date?”

“Um … I thought so … unless—”

“It started out with your grandma giving you money to get us out of her way. And you sounded reluctant.”

“That … that was something else …”

“It seemed reluctant to me.”

“I’d just wanted to ask you myself. Not have anyone else set us up and pay.”

I stop walking. It was easy to act like we were out as friends before, but it’s not ambiguous anymore, not unless I say otherwise right now. Or at least pretty soon.

“When did you want to ask me out? You didn’t even like me at first.”

“I liked the look of you from the start,” David says, and I shiver again. “I just wanted her to move in with us, not have … strangers take care of her.”

“I know.” I catch myself swaying and force it to stop. “So what made you decide to ask me out?”

“Well …” He thinks a moment. “Four things did it.”

“Four! Okay, what was first?”

“You laughed when I called you a terrible singer.”

I laugh again. “It’s true. Second thing?”

“I saw how you were with everyone there, not just with my grandma. Like it’s not work at all.”

“It’s not.”

“I know. Third thing is … don’t laugh, but … brown hair, blue eyes, freckles … those are all on my bucket list. You’re one-stop shopping—”

“What?!” I swat his shoulder. “I’m some kind of package deal?”

He laughs.

“You’re just making stuff up,” I say. I count on my fingers. “So far I’m nice, a bad singer, and conform to random open check boxes on your Achievements List … Number four better be good, if there even is a number four.”