Chapter Thirteen
THIRTEEN
Annie
Cal looks as startled at the suggestion we play Truth or Dare as if I’ve proposed knife throwing or BASE jumping.
“Your face,” I say with a chuckle. “You look terrified.”
“Sorry. It’s just that last time I played, I was dared to shotgun three Natty Bohs and I wound up puking in a bush.
” I raise my eyebrows to request that story but all I get is, “I went to an all-boys’ private high school for a couple years,” as if that should explain everything. (Which, actually, it kind of does.)
“It was just an idea to pass the time,” I say. “We can do something else, if you’d prefer.”
“No, it’s fine,” he says, focused on picking a piece of lint off his pant leg. Then he looks up at me, his olive eyes catching mine. “So. Truth or dare?”
My breath gets held up in my chest for some reason as I respond, forcing the word to come out strained. “Dare.”
“You would,” he says with a small smirk.
“What does that mean?”
“You just seem the type.” Cal looks around the room, trying to figure out my dare, I suppose, then settles on “Show me the last photo you took on your phone.”
Thank god I deleted the one of a freckle on my ass that I sent to Bridget this morning to ask if she thought it looked weird. I grab my phone out of my purse, swipe over to my photos, and hand it to Cal. He stares down at the image.
His voice comes out as if he’s being gently strangled. “You took a picture of the goose in my living room?”
“Well, yeah. Of course. I needed some proof in case I had to follow through on my threats.”
Cal shakes his head. “You are—”
“What?”
“Just…really not what I expected. As a person.”
“In a good way?”
“Not sure yet,” he says after a moment of consideration. “I think my final answer will depend on if you ever use this photo against me.”
Surprisingly, his lips are curving up in the corners; he’s amused, not angry. “Don’t make me, and I won’t.” I kick off my red ankle boots and tuck my feet up under me on the bed. “Truth or dare?” I ask as I rearrange my dress to cover my thighs.
“Truth,” he says.
“Oh, you would,” I say exaggeratedly, mimicking him. “Okay. Why did your last relationship end?”
“Wow. Really just…going for it, huh?” Cal reaches up and straightens the collar of his shirt, as if desperate to buy a moment before having to answer.
“She dumped me because she thought there was something more out there for her. A stronger connection than what we had. And she was right. She’s married now.
To a farfitter—firefighter. She seems much happier. ”
“Married? How long ago was this?”
“We broke up about a year and a half ago,” he says.
“She moves pretty quick.”
Cal shrugs. “I mean, she’d already wasted fifteen years with me. I don’t begrudge her for not wanting to waste any more time once she found what she was looking for.”
“You were together for fifteen years?” I ask, incredulous. “You’re, what? Like, thirty? Thirty-one?”
“Thirty-four.”
“So you started dating when you were…”
“Eighteen,” he supplies before I can finish doing the mental math.
“Yeah. We met the summer before college. One of my classmates was her neighbor, and knew we were both headed to Brown in the fall. Nicole—that’s my ex—and I decided to meet up ahead of time so we’d each know someone there and, well, the rest is history, I guess. ”
“Geez, Cal. Have you been out with anyone since?”
“I feel like this is beyond the scope of the original question,” he says. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” I say, not wanting to stop conversing now that we’ve started.
“Who is your celebrity crush?”
“Depends on who you consider a celebrity,” I hedge. Because if we count anyone who has been on TV, then the answer would be Cal himself. Or it would have been up until a few days ago.
“I leave it to your discretion.”
“Harrison Ford,” I say. It’s not completely a lie. I did have a real thing for him as a kid watching the Indiana Jones movies.
“Young?”
“I’d take him any way I can get him. Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he says again.
I pick up where we left off. “Have you gone out with anyone since Nicole broke up with you?”
He groans, but he had to have known I wasn’t going to let this go that easily. “I went on a single date with a barista at the coffee shop down the street from the store about six months ago.” I think he’s attempting to smile, but it looks more like a grimace.
“It didn’t go well?”
“It was going fine. Until I realized I wasn’t interested in her physically.”
“Oh, well that’s okay. That happens. I’m sure she—”
“When she unzipped my pants, I panicked, barrel-rolled off her couch, and shrieked, ‘I don’t want to do this with you!’ ” he says.
“Oh my god, Cal.” I admirably stifle the laughter that arises in response to that mental image. “That’s…really not the best way to express that.”
“So I’ve discovered. Truth or dare?” he prompts, clearly eager to move on from this topic.
“Truth,” I choose.
“Why did your last relationship end?”
“Oh. Um.” I take a deep breath. This isn’t something I’ve talked about in detail with anyone except my therapist and, to a lesser extent, my sister.
And sure, I could simplify to a nondescript “the relationship had run its course.” But Cal deserves my candidness after being open with me about his experience with his ex and the ill-fated barista encounter.
“I have had a tendency, in the past, to exclusively date men who are quite a bit older than me. And before you ask, my father and I have always had a good relationship. It isn’t anything like that.
It’s more…it felt easier to navigate when I was young and insecure than to try to be with someone my own age.
I know that probably doesn’t make sense. ”
I glance down as I speak, then back up to register Cal’s reaction.
There’s no judgment in his demeanor, just an invitation to continue.
“The boys I knew all found me intimidating. Too much. Too weird. But older men seemed to like me just fine. And thanks to watching a ton of movies that glorified that dynamic in my teens, it felt easier to understand what they wanted from me, and how to be that for them. I could adopt a persona where I was innocent yet sensual. Intelligent, but eager to learn whatever they wanted to teach me. I realize now that it was a kind of…well, protection. A type of armor I could wear so that when they inevitably decided it was time they stop having fun and move on to someone they could introduce to their families without it being awkward, I could tell myself it wasn’t the real me they were rejecting.
It was the Audrey Hepburn cosplay version.
But then last year, I started dating this new guy and realized I was just…
really fucking tired of pretending to be someone else all the time.
Of never being anything more than someone’s midlife crisis.
The armor was getting too heavy to keep wearing.
I wanted to find a partner that would want me for my true self and not expect me to keep up an act for the rest of my life.
So I broke up with the guy, and since then I’ve been focused on figuring out who I am when the only fantasies I’m trying to fulfill are my own. ”
What I don’t say is that Cal is the first man I’ve met in years who’s seen me without pretense from the jump. And that, for some reason, it hasn’t been as scary as I anticipated.
“Wow,” Cal says. “That’s…”
“Sad? Pathetic? Gross?” I offer. I’m used to the judgment, the side-eye, the assumptions. My former roommate, I learned after she moved out, had me listed in her phone contacts as “Daddy Issues.”
“I was going to say admirable.”
I snort. “It’s admirable that I used to fuck older men? Like, rough job but someone’s gotta do it?”
“Um. I meant more that you can express your thoughts and feelings so articulately. That you know what you were doing and why and that you decided to do something different when it no longer felt right. That’s…way beyond my emotional intelligence, that’s for sure.”
I hesitate to respond, watching Cal’s gaze lose its focus as he turns mentally inward. I wonder what he’s thinking about.
“It’s taken some work.” I sigh ruefully, remembering how much time (and money) has gone into figuring this all out and coming to terms with it. “Anyway. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“You like the truth, don’t you?” I ask.
“Is that my question?”
“No, no. Um.” I know what I want to ask.
But is it smart to ask it? We’re already talking about relationships.
It isn’t a huge leap. Still, the question feels irresponsible.
Reckless. Broaching a subject that is generally not broachable with colleagues, even temporary ones.
Yet my curiosity never fails to get the better of me, and I can’t resist asking.
“So was Nicole the first person you were ever intimate with or…”
“Yeah, she was,” he says after a few seconds. “She was my first for everything.” His cheeks go slightly pink as he adds, “And uh, only, actually. Except for kissing. I did do that with the barista.”
“You’ve only had sex with one person ever?” It comes out a lot more critical than I mean it to, and Cal frowns.
“Like I said, I didn’t have a very active social life and then I went to an all-boys’ high school, so I didn’t really know many girls before college.
And then there was Nicole for the next decade and a half, and since then…
I don’t…I don’t really find myself attracted to that many people,” he says, sounding a bit defensive and flustered.
Which is understandable, since he apparently now feels he has to explain himself to me.
“It doesn’t seem fair to the other person to pretend I’m into them when I’m not just to up my body count or whatever. ”
“No, no, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it seem like…I’m seriously not judging or anything.”