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The Gypsy’s Niece
CHAPTER 9

I can’t believe I just had that conversation…
I probably used up a bit of the calling card Consta sent me, but I think it was worth it.
It went something like this:

C: God, I ‘m so glad tomorrow is Friday, you know, since Mom says I don’t have to pull shifts on the weekends.
Me: Mmmhmm.
C: Did you like the headband I sent you?
Me: Oh, yeah. It was…cute.
C: Cute?
Me: I mean it was nice. REALLY nice. And pretty. Really really pretty. I mean I really, really like it.
C: Really.
Me: Really really. No, wait! Um…
C: C’mon. You can tell me. I can tell, despite the fact that I can’t SEE you, that you’re embarrassed, but I’ll probably understand.
Me: I…I’m thinking about sex.
C: Okay…
Me: I want to. I really, really- Oh no! I’m doing it again! See how much this is freaking me out?!
C: . . .
Me: SAY SOMETHING!!!
C: Nadya… just because you want to doesn’t necessarily mean you’re ready.
Me: Well, yeah, I know that. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’m pretty sure I am.
C: Have you practiced…?
Me: With the bath faucet? Yeah, I have/
C: And…?
Me: It felt all right. I did it medium, like you said, not full blast, since you said it’s never THAT bad.
C: Even with the practice, you know it’s far from the real thing, right?
Me: Of course! Nothing can actually describe it…Right?
C: Right. Words fail, expressions fail, even faucets fail. Though a faucet is the closest you’ll get to it. Except those gross, plastic fake things that you get from the ‘adult boutiques’. But those are just tacky. It’s way more…natural than that.
Me: Good.
C: The thing is, Nadyie…you said you’re ‘pretty sure’, but you need to be absolutely 100% sure. You can’t just go back to holding hands after it’s done.
Me: I know.
C: Raphael seems like a decent, cool, kind kick-ass guy from what I’ve heard from you, the paragraph or two he scrawls on your letters occasionally, when you have him talk to me on the phone, but you’ve only known him for about a month. Don’t do this if it seems too soon.
Me: It doesn’t.
C: Okay(pauses). Buy condoms and birth control over the counter. I’d recommend one outside of Central Falls, just in case. They might tell Lala. People can be nosy. Make sure you-when you do it- do it when it is a 100% guarantee that no one will come upon you guys unawares. Make sure you wash, before and after. Let me see…I think that’s pretty much it.
Me: I looked up the law stuff online, too.
C: Oh, thank GOD! I almost forgot! He’s older than you, isn’t he? Shit, is it illegal?
Me: Technically the legal consent age is 16, but it’s only illegal if he’s 18 and I’m under 16. I’m 15, he’s 16, so the one-year difference minus the adult factor is okay.
C: Wow. That is like, a really close call. Again…if you feel like deciding not to at any time, don’t. It’s okay.
Me: Okay. Um, Cee…
C: (primly) Yes?
Me: Does it hurt?
C: (pauses) It did when I lost it, knowing I’d never get it back.
Me: (flustered) No, I don’t mean that! I mean, like, physically.
C: Oh. Yes, it does hurt. My Dai* said it hurt like falling off a horse. This girl Kate, who’s my sort-of friend, said it was barely anything, like just a slap. Dai* exaggerated, , Kate understated. It’s somewhere between the two.
Me: I’ll remember that.
C: You should ask Raphael to take you to buy it…maybe tonight.
Me: That’s a good idea…But I want him to be surprised.
C: If that’s really what you want…but if you don’t tell him, you have to prepare yourself for the possibility that he might not want to.
Me: That would suck, but I will.
C: Good.
Me: Well, I guess I’ll go now and ask him…
C: Wait, before you go…
Me: Yes?
C: Te xav ka ta biav*
Me: Thanks, Cee.
C: Be careful, my Phei*
Me: I will. Bye, Phei*
C: Bye
*click*

I knock on the door to Raphael’s house, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I’ve pulled on a white blouse over my t-shirt and washed off any trace of make-up, going for an innocent look.
Raphael opens the door, expectant. It’s our usual time for a run. A stray topaz lock pops over his forehead rebelliously.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he says. It surprises me how his face still lights up every time he sees me. You’d think he’d get used to me eventually.
“Hey,” I repeat, stupidly.
“Hay is for horses.”
I wince.
“Sorry. That was BAD.”
“No kidding. Hey, can-”
“Oh, not with the ‘heys’ again!”
“Fine. AHEM. Can you drive me to a grocery store out of town or something? But not TOO far out of town?”
“Sure. But why out of town?”
“Reasons.”
“What kind of reasons?”
“Reasonable reasons.”
“I see.”
“Look…it’s a surprise.”
“Uh-huh.”
“A…a present, you might even say. For you.”
Smooth. I am so smooth, it kills me.
“A present? But it’s not my birthday!” He exclaims with mock-seriousness.
“We can pretend.”
“Okay.”
A woman waves out the flower-curtained front window at us, smiling, making me realize something.
“Hey. You have not introduced me to your parents, sir,” I accuse him.
“Well, yeah. They know you’re my girlfriend and they want to, but I don’t know…”
“What, are you embarrassed about me or something? Do you think they’ll hate me?”
“God, Nadya, of course not! I’m the opposite of embarrassed about you. I’m just worried they’ll fawn over you and tell you you’re too good for me or something. They’ll love you, that’s not the problem. I’m afraid they’ll love you too much.”
“Sure.” My mood is dwindling fast. Do I want to have sex with someone who’s parents I don’t even know? Why didn’t I think about this before?
“Look, if it bothers you that much, come on. Why don’t you meet them now?”
“Fine. I will.”
“Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m perfectly fine.”
“I love you. You do know that, right?”
Hmmm. Over the “mad” level right now. I’m boiling over. There’s going to be Nadya-soup all over this porch.
“You did not just do that.”
“What?”
“At least I hope you didn’t. I really hope you didn’t just say ‘I love you’ to solve and argument. Just because. Because that makes it not count at all. You can’t use that as a peace-maker. “
“I’m sorry, Nadya. Please. I’m just stumbling words out right now. Is there anything I can do?” He IS stumbling out words, they’re rolling off his tongue clumsily. He’s raking his fingers through his hair and his voice is getting low, which I know is a sign that he’s nervous.
“You can introduce me to your parents.”
“All right.”
He takes my hand and opens the door. We both walk in, and Constanta’s words ring in my head: “You can’t go back to just holding hands…”
Raphael’s Mom(I presume) is sitting on the couch, still smiling. She’s wearing a white blouse, a lot like mine(much to my chagrin),grey slacks, and black loafers, and has blonde hair with lowlights and highlights in a short, cropped bob, which accentuates her angular face.. Her hazel eyes(like his…) are twinkling, and I’m so glad she seems nice, despite her official-formal attire.
“Well, finally. You must be Nadya.” She gets off the couch and kisses my cheek, which I stiffen at. No one, besides family and Raphael, playfully, has ever kissed my cheek before. Um…what do I do next?
Oh, right. I kiss her cheek, which is pale and soft, and mumble, “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Rentz.”
“You too, dear. So, where are you two heading?”
If you tell her what I said, Raphael, I will kill you. You are NOT going to tell her. You are NOT-
“Nadya says she has to shop for a surprise for me,” he tells her, eyes twinkling, and the similarity in their eyes is uncanny, although other than that they look nothing alike.
She KNOWS. I mean, she is a woman, after all. A “surprise”? She’s going to think her son is dating a slut. And I am going to be that slut. And she seemed to think I was sweet! God, what do I do NOW?
“Oh, it’s just this family tradition,” I babble, totally improvising. “Like, my aunt and I do it for other extended family, since we always forget their birthdays, so we just get everyone’s way early, because then there’s no way they’ll be late, you know?”
“Interesting. You live with her, right?”
“Yes. She takes care of me. She’s a very…stoic woman. I love her a lot.”
“That’s fantastic. Raphael told me about your parents. I’m very sorry. That must be tough.”
Tough, yeah. Tough is actually a good word to describe it. A tough, hard rock constantly in your shoe that you try to shake out, and when that doesn’t work, you try to smooth it over with silk, or simply ignore it.
“Yeah…”
“Feel free to come over here any time. Oh, and Ralphie?”
Ralphie?!
“Ralphie’s” face is turning red.
“Yes, Mom?”
“Don’t stay out too late shopping, okay? Oh, and pick up some milk.”
“Fine.”

“Not a word,” he growls as he turns up the radio. “Not a single freaking word.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But I know what you’re THINKING.”
“Oh, so you’re a mind-reader now? How intriguing.”
I lean back into the leather interior of his Toyota Camry and close my eyes, letting the music wash over me.

“In the year of 1492/When Columbus sailed the ocean blue
Had he landed on India’s shore/You might never have come to knock on my door…”

“Who is this?” I ask, sitting up straight. The window is fogged, and I draw a quick, jagged heart with my finger.
“Amy Grant.”
I watch the people in the cars that pass by. A mother( I assume) sits in the front seat, mouthing the words to something. Two little kids are in the back seat, the boy is pressing his nose to the window.
“Do you ever just- watch people?” I ask,
“Yeah, everyone people-watches, don’t they?” he asks distractedly, fiddling with the cigarette dispenser.
“No, I mean like…do you ever watch them and actually care? Or am I just a freak like that?”
We come to a red light, and a car sidling up to us has a twentyish man in the driver’s seat, looking bored. He lifts up a book and reads when all the cars officially come to a halt. I squint to make out the title: “On the Road”.
That’s ironic.
He looks at me, really looks at me, and finally grins.
“I think…that means you’re special. Divergent from the examples other people set for you on what’s important.”
“So, basically, I’m different?”
“Yes, you deviate from the norm, you’re going on a different path than everyone else…you’re actually taking the J.R.R Tolkien quote to heart.”
“Take the road less traveled…”
“Exactly. Only,” he leans down and takes a handful of my red skirt, “I don’t just mean because of THAT.”
Finally someone who sees me. For me and not the skirts, the skin,
“Thank you.”

That was insultingly easy! They didn’t even ask for my age, just told me I’d need a doctor’s note for the birth control pills, but I could take the condoms. The receptionist barely even looked at me. I mean, come on! I know I have big boobs, but I don’t look eighteen!
Or do I?
I also bought the cheapest two-person tent there, two thermoses, and hot cocoa mix. My plan is that we go down to the beach Saturday night, and there is no risk of anyone “coming up on us unawares” like Constanta said, because it’s fall and no one’s there at night. Also, to add to its perfection, Bibio is going down for a girl’s night with Rosa and a couple of her other friends, and staying over there. She gave me house-watching instructions.
I now stuff the bag into the trunk and hop into the shotgun seat.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“Why can’t you tell me?
“What?”
“WHY?!”
“I TOLD you. It has to be a surprise.
“But why?!”
“Because it has to.”
“It’s been torturing me.”
“Well, you’ll know Saturday.”
“SATURDAY?!”
“Yes, Saturday. Tomorrow. Day before Sunday, the day of rest. I’ll show you at the beach after our run.”
He swears and starts up the car.
“Think happy thoughts.”
“Happy thoughts?”
“You know. Meadows and waterfalls and kittens…”
He makes a face.
“Yeah, you’re right. Gag-worthy. Forgive me. Let’s see… your happy thoughts…let me try to guess…”
Pulling out of the parking lot, he impatiently sighs.
“The first day we met. Your ninth Christmas, the one you told me about, where you found out Santa Claus wasn’t real, and your parents felt so bad about it, they gave you extra cash. Hanging out with Will.”
His face remains determinedly blank.
“Don’t Stop Believin’. Think of Me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye. Cherry Slushies.”
He finally breaks composure and smiles.
The next red light we hit, he kisses my cheek.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”

I’ve set up the tent. It flaps a little in the breeze. I also set up two sheets we’ve never used that I washed before, a big poofy stretchy sleeping bag that can fit two, the thermoses filled with hot water and hot cocoa mix, the thermoses just filled with hot water and soap, a box of s’mores pop tarts, and two rinsed fresh apples that were on sale in the produce section.
My game plan is that if he says no I’ll be like, “Ha ha no big we can just drink hot cocoa and look at the stars or whatever or just hang out. I am so flexible, you know?”
But really if he rejects me I think I will DIE.
I open the flap for him and he steps in, lying down on the sleeping bag. I sit on a sheet, wringing my hands.
“So,” he says.
“So.”
He looks at my hands, bewildered.
“You’ve never done that before.”
“Done what?”
“You know.” He reciprocates what I’m doing for me, and I realize it comes off as way more nervous than I actually am. Nervous? Me. I’m fine. I don’t even know what nervous means.
Hahahahaha.
“Which means…it must be a big deal.”
I stop with the wringing of my hands.
“Well…um…”
What is it that prevents me from speech whenever extreme expectancy comes?
“Um…um…”
“Um?”
“Um.”
“Yeah, this is big. You’re never at a loss for words.”
“Shut up.”
Oh, GOD, I didn’t mean that! Must think of something to save myself! Quick!
I thrust the bag in the corner at him. I was sort of planning for a more elaborate presentation, but oh well. Since when does anything ever go the way I plan it?
Assuming he’s opening the bag, I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. With the last fading rays of sun, my shadow is an angle of the triangle of space between my folded legs. Putting my hand up to my ear, I create another triangle by the inside crook of my elbow and my folded arm.
He takes one out, just sitting in the palm of his hand.
You’d think it was a specimen that needed to be inspected, not a condom.
“So,” I whisper, tracing the shape of a star with my fingers on the sheet. “Do you want to?
Manipulating the situation somewhat(though I know it’s evil) I unbutton the red and blue flannel shirt he gave me to run with, showing my necklace on my cleavage, with the wooden sign of Roma hanging from the silver chain: a single wheel. In a manner that I hope comes off as enticing, I put my hand around my long neck.
Voice getting really low the way it does when he’s serious, he answers, “Yes.”
In this world of having and not wanting or wanting and not having, it’s so amazing to find something you want and can have. Right there in front of you.
We both undress slowly, with the mix on anticipation and uncertainty you get before diving in a deep lake. He, also, is wearing a flannel shirt(green and white), and will unbutton one button only after I have.
When there’s nothing left to take off, I lie down on the sheet.
“Not yet.”
I take in a deep breath and say, “This is me. This is what I look like.”
Then I turn to face him
“Okay. I’m ready.”

It did hurt, Constanta wasn’t lying about that. I equated the pain with bumping your head when a doorway is too short, or you’re just not looking at your surroundings and BAM!
It was not “only a pinch” and it definitely wasn’t falling off a horse, but yeah. Somewhere in between. There was a little blood afterwards, but not nearly as much as I was afraid of. Just a few drops, I washed it off.
We’re now sipping our hot cocoa, I’ve wrapped my sheet around myself so it’s a dress, and my head rests against his shoulder. Sometimes I open the flap to see the ocean and the dark sky, but mainly I want to stay in here, safe and warm in my little corner of the world.
“I love you,” he says, and something about the way he says it, simply, not like it’s this huge declaration, like it’s just a fact of the world, like gravity, only it doesn’t make sense, it’s more untouchable…undefined by theories…
“I love you,” I say. There’s no need for the “too”, it’s not a competition.
“Nadya?”
“Mmmm?”
“I feel- different.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“But the same…”
“God, I know what you mean. More than you know, I think.”
Nothing bad can ever happen to us, as long as we just stay there in our secure haven. Maybe it’s not true, but I think it is. If just for this moment.

Description
The Gypsy’s Niece
CHAPTER 9

I can’t believe I just had that conversation…
I probably used up a bit of the calling card Consta sent me, but I think it was worth it.
It went something like this:

C: God, I ‘m so glad tomorrow is Friday, you know, since Mom says I don’t have to pull shifts on the weekends.
Me: Mmmhmm.
C: Did you like the headband I sent you?
Me: Oh, yeah. It was…cute.
C: Cute?
Me: I mean it was nice. REALLY nice. And pretty. Really really pretty. I mean I really, really like it.
C: Really.
Me: Really really. No, wait! Um…
C: C’mon. You can tell me. I can tell, despite the fact that I can’t SEE you, that you’re embarrassed, but I’ll probably understand.
Me: I…I’m thinking about sex.
C: Okay…
Me: I want to. I really, really- Oh no! I’m doing it again! See how much this is freaking me out?!
C: . . .
Me: SAY SOMETHING!!!
C: Nadya… just because you want to doesn’t necessarily mean you’re ready.
Me: Well, yeah, I know that. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’m pretty sure I am.
C: Have you practiced…?
Me: With the bath faucet? Yeah, I have/
C: And…?
Me: It felt all right. I did it medium, like you said, not full blast, since you said it’s never THAT bad.
C: Even with the practice, you know it’s far from the real thing, right?
Me: Of course! Nothing can actually describe it…Right?
C: Right. Words fail, expressions fail, even faucets fail. Though a faucet is the closest you’ll get to it. Except those gross, plastic fake things that you get from the ‘adult boutiques’. But those are just tacky. It’s way more…natural than that.
Me: Good.
C: The thing is, Nadyie…you said you’re ‘pretty sure’, but you need to be absolutely 100% sure. You can’t just go back to holding hands after it’s done.
Me: I know.
C: Raphael seems like a decent, cool, kind kick-ass guy from what I’ve heard from you, the paragraph or two he scrawls on your letters occasionally, when you have him talk to me on the phone, but you’ve only known him for about a month. Don’t do this if it seems too soon.
Me: It doesn’t.
C: Okay(pauses). Buy condoms and birth control over the counter. I’d recommend one outside of Central Falls, just in case. They might tell Lala. People can be nosy. Make sure you-when you do it- do it when it is a 100% guarantee that no one will come upon you guys unawares. Make sure you wash, before and after. Let me see…I think that’s pretty much it.
Me: I looked up the law stuff online, too.
C: Oh, thank GOD! I almost forgot! He’s older than you, isn’t he? Shit, is it illegal?
Me: Technically the legal consent age is 16, but it’s only illegal if he’s 18 and I’m under 16. I’m 15, he’s 16, so the one-year difference minus the adult factor is okay.
C: Wow. That is like, a really close call. Again…if you feel like deciding not to at any time, don’t. It’s okay.
Me: Okay. Um, Cee…
C: (primly) Yes?
Me: Does it hurt?
C: (pauses) It did when I lost it, knowing I’d never get it back.
Me: (flustered) No, I don’t mean that! I mean, like, physically.
C: Oh. Yes, it does hurt. My Dai* said it hurt like falling off a horse. This girl Kate, who’s my sort-of friend, said it was barely anything, like just a slap. Dai* exaggerated, , Kate understated. It’s somewhere between the two.
Me: I’ll remember that.
C: You should ask Raphael to take you to buy it…maybe tonight.
Me: That’s a good idea…But I want him to be surprised.
C: If that’s really what you want…but if you don’t tell him, you have to prepare yourself for the possibility that he might not want to.
Me: That would suck, but I will.
C: Good.
Me: Well, I guess I’ll go now and ask him…
C: Wait, before you go…
Me: Yes?
C: Te xav ka ta biav*
Me: Thanks, Cee.
C: Be careful, my Phei*
Me: I will. Bye, Phei*
C: Bye
*click*

I knock on the door to Raphael’s house, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I’ve pulled on a white blouse over my t-shirt and washed off any trace of make-up, going for an innocent look.
Raphael opens the door, expectant. It’s our usual time for a run. A stray topaz lock pops over his forehead rebelliously.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he says. It surprises me how his face still lights up every time he sees me. You’d think he’d get used to me eventually.
“Hey,” I repeat, stupidly.
“Hay is for horses.”
I wince.
“Sorry. That was BAD.”
“No kidding. Hey, can-”
“Oh, not with the ‘heys’ again!”
“Fine. AHEM. Can you drive me to a grocery store out of town or something? But not TOO far out of town?”
“Sure. But why out of town?”
“Reasons.”
“What kind of reasons?”
“Reasonable reasons.”
“I see.”
“Look…it’s a surprise.”
“Uh-huh.”
“A…a present, you might even say. For you.”
Smooth. I am so smooth, it kills me.
“A present? But it’s not my birthday!” He exclaims with mock-seriousness.
“We can pretend.”
“Okay.”
A woman waves out the flower-curtained front window at us, smiling, making me realize something.
“Hey. You have not introduced me to your parents, sir,” I accuse him.
“Well, yeah. They know you’re my girlfriend and they want to, but I don’t know…”
“What, are you embarrassed about me or something? Do you think they’ll hate me?”
“God, Nadya, of course not! I’m the opposite of embarrassed about you. I’m just worried they’ll fawn over you and tell you you’re too good for me or something. They’ll love you, that’s not the problem. I’m afraid they’ll love you too much.”
“Sure.” My mood is dwindling fast. Do I want to have sex with someone who’s parents I don’t even know? Why didn’t I think about this before?
“Look, if it bothers you that much, come on. Why don’t you meet them now?”
“Fine. I will.”
“Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m perfectly fine.”
“I love you. You do know that, right?”
Hmmm. Over the “mad” level right now. I’m boiling over. There’s going to be Nadya-soup all over this porch.
“You did not just do that.”
“What?”
“At least I hope you didn’t. I really hope you didn’t just say ‘I love you’ to solve and argument. Just because. Because that makes it not count at all. You can’t use that as a peace-maker. “
“I’m sorry, Nadya. Please. I’m just stumbling words out right now. Is there anything I can do?” He IS stumbling out words, they’re rolling off his tongue clumsily. He’s raking his fingers through his hair and his voice is getting low, which I know is a sign that he’s nervous.
“You can introduce me to your parents.”
“All right.”
He takes my hand and opens the door. We both walk in, and Constanta’s words ring in my head: “You can’t go back to just holding hands…”
Raphael’s Mom(I presume) is sitting on the couch, still smiling. She’s wearing a white blouse, a lot like mine(much to my chagrin),grey slacks, and black loafers, and has blonde hair with lowlights and highlights in a short, cropped bob, which accentuates her angular face.. Her hazel eyes(like his…) are twinkling, and I’m so glad she seems nice, despite her official-formal attire.
“Well, finally. You must be Nadya.” She gets off the couch and kisses my cheek, which I stiffen at. No one, besides family and Raphael, playfully, has ever kissed my cheek before. Um…what do I do next?
Oh, right. I kiss her cheek, which is pale and soft, and mumble, “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Rentz.”
“You too, dear. So, where are you two heading?”
If you tell her what I said, Raphael, I will kill you. You are NOT going to tell her. You are NOT-
“Nadya says she has to shop for a surprise for me,” he tells her, eyes twinkling, and the similarity in their eyes is uncanny, although other than that they look nothing alike.
She KNOWS. I mean, she is a woman, after all. A “surprise”? She’s going to think her son is dating a slut. And I am going to be that slut. And she seemed to think I was sweet! God, what do I do NOW?
“Oh, it’s just this family tradition,” I babble, totally improvising. “Like, my aunt and I do it for other extended family, since we always forget their birthdays, so we just get everyone’s way early, because then there’s no way they’ll be late, you know?”
“Interesting. You live with her, right?”
“Yes. She takes care of me. She’s a very…stoic woman. I love her a lot.”
“That’s fantastic. Raphael told me about your parents. I’m very sorry. That must be tough.”
Tough, yeah. Tough is actually a good word to describe it. A tough, hard rock constantly in your shoe that you try to shake out, and when that doesn’t work, you try to smooth it over with silk, or simply ignore it.
“Yeah…”
“Feel free to come over here any time. Oh, and Ralphie?”
Ralphie?!
“Ralphie’s” face is turning red.
“Yes, Mom?”
“Don’t stay out too late shopping, okay? Oh, and pick up some milk.”
“Fine.”

“Not a word,” he growls as he turns up the radio. “Not a single freaking word.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But I know what you’re THINKING.”
“Oh, so you’re a mind-reader now? How intriguing.”
I lean back into the leather interior of his Toyota Camry and close my eyes, letting the music wash over me.

“In the year of 1492/When Columbus sailed the ocean blue
Had he landed on India’s shore/You might never have come to knock on my door…”

“Who is this?” I ask, sitting up straight. The window is fogged, and I draw a quick, jagged heart with my finger.
“Amy Grant.”
I watch the people in the cars that pass by. A mother( I assume) sits in the front seat, mouthing the words to something. Two little kids are in the back seat, the boy is pressing his nose to the window.
“Do you ever just- watch people?” I ask,
“Yeah, everyone people-watches, don’t they?” he asks distractedly, fiddling with the cigarette dispenser.
“No, I mean like…do you ever watch them and actually care? Or am I just a freak like that?”
We come to a red light, and a car sidling up to us has a twentyish man in the driver’s seat, looking bored. He lifts up a book and reads when all the cars officially come to a halt. I squint to make out the title: “On the Road”.
That’s ironic.
He looks at me, really looks at me, and finally grins.
“I think…that means you’re special. Divergent from the examples other people set for you on what’s important.”
“So, basically, I’m different?”
“Yes, you deviate from the norm, you’re going on a different path than everyone else…you’re actually taking the J.R.R Tolkien quote to heart.”
“Take the road less traveled…”
“Exactly. Only,” he leans down and takes a handful of my red skirt, “I don’t just mean because of THAT.”
Finally someone who sees me. For me and not the skirts, the skin,
“Thank you.”

That was insultingly easy! They didn’t even ask for my age, just told me I’d need a doctor’s note for the birth control pills, but I could take the condoms. The receptionist barely even looked at me. I mean, come on! I know I have big boobs, but I don’t look eighteen!
Or do I?
I also bought the cheapest two-person tent there, two thermoses, and hot cocoa mix. My plan is that we go down to the beach Saturday night, and there is no risk of anyone “coming up on us unawares” like Constanta said, because it’s fall and no one’s there at night. Also, to add to its perfection, Bibio is going down for a girl’s night with Rosa and a couple of her other friends, and staying over there. She gave me house-watching instructions.
I now stuff the bag into the trunk and hop into the shotgun seat.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“Why can’t you tell me?
“What?”
“WHY?!”
“I TOLD you. It has to be a surprise.
“But why?!”
“Because it has to.”
“It’s been torturing me.”
“Well, you’ll know Saturday.”
“SATURDAY?!”
“Yes, Saturday. Tomorrow. Day before Sunday, the day of rest. I’ll show you at the beach after our run.”
He swears and starts up the car.
“Think happy thoughts.”
“Happy thoughts?”
“You know. Meadows and waterfalls and kittens…”
He makes a face.
“Yeah, you’re right. Gag-worthy. Forgive me. Let’s see… your happy thoughts…let me try to guess…”
Pulling out of the parking lot, he impatiently sighs.
“The first day we met. Your ninth Christmas, the one you told me about, where you found out Santa Claus wasn’t real, and your parents felt so bad about it, they gave you extra cash. Hanging out with Will.”
His face remains determinedly blank.
“Don’t Stop Believin’. Think of Me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye. Cherry Slushies.”
He finally breaks composure and smiles.
The next red light we hit, he kisses my cheek.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”

I’ve set up the tent. It flaps a little in the breeze. I also set up two sheets we’ve never used that I washed before, a big poofy stretchy sleeping bag that can fit two, the thermoses filled with hot water and hot cocoa mix, the thermoses just filled with hot water and soap, a box of s’mores pop tarts, and two rinsed fresh apples that were on sale in the produce section.
My game plan is that if he says no I’ll be like, “Ha ha no big we can just drink hot cocoa and look at the stars or whatever or just hang out. I am so flexible, you know?”
But really if he rejects me I think I will DIE.
I open the flap for him and he steps in, lying down on the sleeping bag. I sit on a sheet, wringing my hands.
“So,” he says.
“So.”
He looks at my hands, bewildered.
“You’ve never done that before.”
“Done what?”
“You know.” He reciprocates what I’m doing for me, and I realize it comes off as way more nervous than I actually am. Nervous? Me. I’m fine. I don’t even know what nervous means.
Hahahahaha.
“Which means…it must be a big deal.”
I stop with the wringing of my hands.
“Well…um…”
What is it that prevents me from speech whenever extreme expectancy comes?
“Um…um…”
“Um?”
“Um.”
“Yeah, this is big. You’re never at a loss for words.”
“Shut up.”
Oh, GOD, I didn’t mean that! Must think of something to save myself! Quick!
I thrust the bag in the corner at him. I was sort of planning for a more elaborate presentation, but oh well. Since when does anything ever go the way I plan it?
Assuming he’s opening the bag, I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. With the last fading rays of sun, my shadow is an angle of the triangle of space between my folded legs. Putting my hand up to my ear, I create another triangle by the inside crook of my elbow and my folded arm.
He takes one out, just sitting in the palm of his hand.
You’d think it was a specimen that needed to be inspected, not a condom.
“So,” I whisper, tracing the shape of a star with my fingers on the sheet. “Do you want to?
Manipulating the situation somewhat(though I know it’s evil) I unbutton the red and blue flannel shirt he gave me to run with, showing my necklace on my cleavage, with the wooden sign of Roma hanging from the silver chain: a single wheel. In a manner that I hope comes off as enticing, I put my hand around my long neck.
Voice getting really low the way it does when he’s serious, he answers, “Yes.”
In this world of having and not wanting or wanting and not having, it’s so amazing to find something you want and can have. Right there in front of you.
We both undress slowly, with the mix on anticipation and uncertainty you get before diving in a deep lake. He, also, is wearing a flannel shirt(green and white), and will unbutton one button only after I have.
When there’s nothing left to take off, I lie down on the sheet.
“Not yet.”
I take in a deep breath and say, “This is me. This is what I look like.”
Then I turn to face him
“Okay. I’m ready.”

It did hurt, Constanta wasn’t lying about that. I equated the pain with bumping your head when a doorway is too short, or you’re just not looking at your surroundings and BAM!
It was not “only a pinch” and it definitely wasn’t falling off a horse, but yeah. Somewhere in between. There was a little blood afterwards, but not nearly as much as I was afraid of. Just a few drops, I washed it off.
We’re now sipping our hot cocoa, I’ve wrapped my sheet around myself so it’s a dress, and my head rests against his shoulder. Sometimes I open the flap to see the ocean and the dark sky, but mainly I want to stay in here, safe and warm in my little corner of the world.
“I love you,” he says, and something about the way he says it, simply, not like it’s this huge declaration, like it’s just a fact of the world, like gravity, only it doesn’t make sense, it’s more untouchable…undefined by theories…
“I love you,” I say. There’s no need for the “too”, it’s not a competition.
“Nadya?”
“Mmmm?”
“I feel- different.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“But the same…”
“God, I know what you mean. More than you know, I think.”
Nothing bad can ever happen to us, as long as we just stay there in our secure haven. Maybe it’s not true, but I think it is. If just for this moment.