Chapter 1
Miriam
Three years ago
“I’m sitting on someone’s penis tonight.”
I wasn’t serious when I said it to Marcela, but I didn’t expect her to laugh in my face like Charlie Murphy, rest his soul. She was two cackles away from needing mouth-to-mouth.
My sister didn’t think I’d go out alone on one of the biggest party nights of the year. I don’t go out at all, because I hate large crowds, but there was a point to prove. It surprised us both when I grabbed my keys and left. The trip was short-lived—I went to a park down the block until Marcela drove to her friend’s house—but I had to commit on principle. An hour later, I was in one of her dresses, driving down I-95 with only mild anxiety to keep me company. The 495 vortex sucked me in, and, well, here Iam. Sitting behind a wood column in a dimly lit bar in Adams Morgan.
Marcela
There’s still time to come over. I know your stubborn self is at the park.
Wrong. I’m in DC. I’ll pass on the hour-long drive to Baltimore to sip stale, overpriced wine and chew on Vatican crackers.
I answer my phone on the fourth ring.
“Be careful. Limit your driving, keep your location on, and text me when you get home,” Marcela says with the spirit of our mother. The West Indian accent is missing, but the acting like I’m still a seven-year-old in pigtails is loud and clear.
“I’m quite capable of making it back to our father’s house just fine, and I only plan to have one drink.”
She sighs. “I’m serious, Miri. New Year’s Eve is Halloween for perverts. Does the bar have security?”
“Please stop acting like I’m not old enough to cross the street. I’m fine. Go be with your friends. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? You just proved your point. Go home and watchBuffy.”
Her comment shouldn’t frustrate me, but it does.
I always do what’s expected. I’m the rule follower, the one who keeps her nose in a book and never had a rebellious streak—unless you count taking a bus to the Maryland Science Center in middle school. I spent more time with my robotics kits and circuit boards growing up than I did going to the mall.
Nobody expects anything different, especially at the ripe old age of thirty-one.
Somewhere along the way, I became a fragile object everyone needed to protect. I’m not a baby anymore. I’m grown and capable of making my own decisions.
“I’m doing something different this year,” I say.
“Sitting on someone’s penis, if I remember correctly.” Marcela’s carefree laugh grates on my last nerve.
“I will if I feel like it! Lots of people have one-night stands without ending up on the evening news.” I do enough research for my doctorate, and I was thorough with my internet search before I borrowed her dress. “If I want to slide into the new year with my legs in the air, I’ll do it.”
“You can’t say ‘pussy’ without blushing, Miriam.”
“Well, me and my—I have condoms in my purse! A pleasure three-pack.”
I end the call and rip off my glasses. I don’t want to hear or see her.
We spend the holidays in the home we grew up in after moving to the States. Every year is the same routine. On New Year’s Eve, our father slips away somewhere, and Marcela meets up with her high school friends. I’m home alone watchingBuffy the Vampire Slayerepisodes and falling asleep before the ball drops.
My sister is the social butterfly, while I naturally shy away from big groups. I wear wide-framed glasses and have a collection of encyclopedias. While my awkwardness makes it easy to stay in the house, it’s never weighed on my confidence.
Seeking validation is pointless when you’re comfortable in your skin. My family doesn’t see it that way. They assume my aversion to extrovert tendencies means I require saving. I’m quiet, but I’ve never relied on anyone to define who I am.
I might be cluelessly single, but I’m not naive about non-platonic interactions or sex. If I can follow scientific principles to design and test systems, I can enjoy force and movement for one evening.
Assuming I go through with it.
