“Emergency contraception—Plan B.”
My soft laugh sounds more like his grunt as I shake my head, drop the pill down the drain, and drink the glass of water. Did he send off his date with a pill and bottled water before he decided to follow me up the beach? “You’re not worried about STDs?”
“No.”
I nod slowly, letting the echo of his monotone voice settle into my conscience.
“Are you?” His aloof tone does little to make me think he actually cares about my answer.
Am I worried about STDs? “No.” I deposit the glass in the dishwasher and go back upstairs to shower before meditating and breakfast with Yimin.
I suppose I should replay the previous night’s event over in my head, try to make sense of it all, but… it wasnothing.And by nothing, I mean the roughest sex, yet best orgasm I’ve ever had, which was only by chance because Theo’s goal was not to pleasure me.
My meditation proves to be more difficult than it’s been in weeks. The physical part of my world has reared its head again, distracting from my real purpose. Yimin doesn’t say much during breakfast, but that’s nothing new. I’m content to eat insilence since I have my thoughts from last night to keep me company.
I miss seeing Theo swimming this morning. Why did he go straight to work before his swim? To avoid me? Does it matter?
My father used to ask me that all the time. When kids in school made fun of my hair, because in spite of my dominant black traits, I navigated through a disastrous blond-home-bleaching-kit phase in school, I’d come home in tears and my father would ask if what those kids thought of me really mattered? Even when I was sad about not having my mum, he asked if it really mattered. Maybe that’s why I’m in search of whatdoesmatter in life because my years have been filled with days and nights of… nothingness.
Daniel was my chance to have something that really mattered. Now he’s gone and I’m left with the same introspective question. Does it matter? I don’t think it does. I think I’ve passed a critical point in my life where anything can ever matter again.
I go for a walk along the beach, relishing everything from the cool, gritty sand beneath my feet to gatherings of seagulls awaiting the beachgoers and their picnic scraps sure to litter the shore by midday. I seem to notice everything. Only a couple months ago, I’m certain the sky could have turned green and I wouldn’t have noticed it past my computer screen.
As I approach the house, I spot Theo on a tall ladder, replacing some siding that blew off during the storm a few nights ago.
“I noticed you and your date didn’t eat the food I made last night. If I warm it up, would you eat some of it?”
Theo hammers at a nail, hair pulled back into a low ponytail, sweat beading along his tight, tan skin. “We’re not doing this.”
My hand shields my eyes from the sun as I squint up at him. “Sorry? Doing what? Eating?”
“I told you last night meant nothing.”
“You did. You told me on every single thrust and once more before you pulled out. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I agree, it was nothing. Frankly, it was the least memorable sex I’ve ever had. A weak two out of ten. Now, come down and I’ll make us an early dinner, and we’ll discuss all the animals in the world that have better sex skills than Theodore Reed.”
I reheat the leftover curried rice and beans, fluff up last night’s tossed salad, which does little to revive the wilted lettuce leaves, and I crack open a beer for Theo, bottled water for me. To my complete surprise, he comes inside as I retrieve the baking dish from the oven.
“I need a shower.”
“You do. I’d join you but I don’t want to eat a cold dinner.”
He stops two steps beyond the kitchen. His panic is palpable.
“I’m kidding. Two out of ten… I don’t have sex twice with a two. Life’s too short and the men are too plentiful for that.”
“Two out of ten?”
“Yes.” I whisk the balsamic dressing in a bowl. “When you basically use a woman as a wanking vessel while whispering ‘this means nothing’ in her ear over and over, you get two stars.”
He pauses, I assume to contemplate the proper response to someone telling him he was shit in bed. “So why a two and not a one?”
I shrug. “You didn’t have to take a pill for ED, which got you one star, and you didn’t call out some other woman’s name… that secured your second star.”
“And the orgasm?”
I still. “What do you mean?”
“You orgasmed. That doesn’t get me a third star? You yelled my name—twice. That’s another two stars. We’re up to five.”
