Chapter 22
Ten years earlier
They lay there in the hazy afterglow, squished next to each other on the wafer-thin mattress in Wren’s dorm. The only light in the room was the glow of her computer screensaver, strange trippy shapes in vibrant purples and greens dancing across the monitor.
“That was fun,” Arthur said.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Did you…Was it also fun for you?”
“Absolutely mind-blowing. I may never take another lover.”
It had been playfully sarcastic at the time but would eventually come true.
“I get it,” Arthur said. “Do you want me to go, or…?”
“Just relax, dude,” she said.
“Sorry. Just nervous, I guess.”
“What are you nervous for? You did the hard part…chief.”
A moment of silence.
“You forgot my name, didn’t you,” he said.
“No, no, I know it. It’s…” It was a grandpa name. Decidedly unsexy. God, why was it so hard to think? “Harold.” Harold didn’t sound quite right, but hopefully it was close enough to not offend him.
“Sadly, you’re in the ballpark.” He sighed. “This is weird, though.”
“Why?” She sat up, though it took some effort, and propped herself up on her elbow facing the pale, scrawny boy. He followed suit.
“I’ve never done something like this before.”
“Had sex?”
“Not without getting to know someone first.”
She considered this, trying to figure out what to say.
It wasn’t her first time, but there was probably no good way to say this.
She also hadn’t really planned on keeping Not Harold around, but there was no great way of saying that either.
Still, she didn’t want him to walk away feeling icky about the whole thing. Or about her.
“Well, maybe we could get to know each other. Would that make it feel better?”
“I think so.”
“OK, then.”
He took a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver a monologue. “I’m Arthur. Not Harold, but again, you were close. I’m an English major, and I went to high school at—”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Sorry?”
“I mean, OK, basic trivia is fine, I guess. I’m Wren, I’m an art major and a Capricorn and I have a heart-shaped mole on the bottom of my foot. There, we’re caught up. Now tell me something real about yourself.”
“Real…”
“Like what do you want to do with your life?”
“Be a teacher,” he said without hesitation. “I like kids, and I think I’d be good at it.”
This guy. There was something so earnest and genuine and naively straightforward about him. He made no attempt to be cool or aloof, had no slick lines up his sleeve. The weed from earlier was wearing off, and yet she found herself feeling even more relaxed the more they talked.
“Shaping young minds, giving back to the community, that’s legit,” she said. “Me? I want to swim with great whites.”
“Sharks?”
“No, just some awesome white people. Abraham Lincoln. Betty White. Mr. Rogers.”
She winked and he laughed, laughed so hard he doubled over and nearly fell off the bed.
“So that’s your life goal?”
“Well, it’s one. Something I want to do before I die. Ideally before I turn thirty.”
“Why thirty?” he asked.
“Your life’s basically over then, isn’t it? The good part, at least. After that it’s kids and a mortgage and chronic back pain for the rest of your life.”
“See, I want all that. Not the back pain, I guess. But the house and the kids. I want to own a home to raise my family in before I’m thirty.”
“We should be writing this down.” She slipped out of bed and paused.
Were they on close enough terms for her to walk naked to her desk without covering herself up?
On the one hand, he’d literally just been inside her.
On the other, now that she was facing away from him she wasn’t sure she could pick him out of a lineup, if prompted.
Before she could decide, a T-shirt appeared in front of her face. It was his.
“Here,” he said.
This was not how this usually went. Usually, the more words that came out of a guy’s face, the more Wren came to regret what they’d just done, and the faster she wanted them gone. The opposite was currently happening, and she found it absolutely frightening.
She slipped the shirt on, just long enough to cover her up, and ripped out a piece of loose-leaf paper from a notebook on her desk. With a pen, she scribbled her name, and his (which helped solidify it in her memory), and began writing.
“OK,” she said. “Another thing you should know about me is that I love football. Have you ever been to a Ravens game?”
They kept at it for over an hour, until the paper was filled with frantic scratches, bouts of wild inspiration, and all their greatest hopes and dreams for the person they would eventually become.
“OK,” Arthur said finally. “I think I feel better about this.”
Wren feigned a gasp. “That means you just enjoyed hollow, meaningless sex. Could it be so?”
“I guess I did. You convinced me of the merits. Is it always like this?”
“No,” she admitted.
“This is the most fun I’ve had in a while,” he said, slipping a hand around hers, his thumb lining her palm.
There was something deeply sincere in his voice.
An aching loneliness perhaps. A belief that this night was a gift he didn’t really deserve.
Wren didn’t mean to think so highly of herself, but she swore she heard it in him. “Thank you.”
She kissed him, for making her feel safe. She’d meant to kick him out hours ago but suddenly found herself unable to let go.