Three times before I open my eyes.
I don’t know what I expected, but she’s smiling. It’s hazily euphoric and fearlessly shy. She rolls off me and puts her shirt back on without a word, skipping the bra, but with the smile still in place. Then she walks to her closet and pulls out a shoebox from underneath a pile of notebooks and extracts the bottle of vodka. I search for my T-shirt on the floor and tug it on, watching her the entire time. She returns to the bed and sits next to me before she unscrews the lid and hands it to me. While I’m taking a swig, she says, “I’m not sure where you learned to kiss like that, but I’d like to offer her my sincere and undying appreciation.”
I almost spit out the liquid in my mouth but manage to swallow it back.
She smiles when she hears me splutter and holds her hand out for the bottle.
“Ditto,” I say when I hand her the bottle. I mean it, that kiss was everything a kiss should be. And more.
She tips it back, takes a sip, and cringes as she swallows. “He was a bastard. Kissing was his only saving grace.”
“First boyfriend?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she replies as she props up a pillow against the headboard and leans back into it. “Ninth grade. Ryan Lopez. We went out for three months.”
“What happened?”
“I found out he’d been kissing Melinda Tompkins for three months too.” Her tone is sour, the years’ old malice fierce.
“I hope you broke up with him and not the other way around.”
She nods proudly. “Killed him and buried him in the woods behind our house.”
I snort; it’s not a laugh but it’s close.
Which makes her laugh and change her story. “Okay, I didn’t kill him. But Melinda and I did publicly humiliate him when we both broke up with him at the same time during a pep assembly at school.”
“Good. For not committing murder and the breakup public humiliation style,” I encourage.
“What about you? Tell me about your first girlfriend.”
She hands me the bottle and I take a big gulp. “I’ve never had a girlfriend,” I answer truthfully.
Her head turns my way and the look on her face is incredulous. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirm. It’s true; I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve never been interested in having a girlfriend. And no one has ever been interested in having me fill that role. Fill other physical roles? Yes. But never the boyfriend role.
“But you’ve kissed girls,obviously.” She wiggles her eyebrows in an adorable cartoony villain way. “And there’s no way you’re a virgin,” she adds, shaking her head. “No way.”
“A gentleman never tells.” The tone of my voice was supposed to be serious, but it comes out teasing instead. I guess the vodka is starting to work its magic and loosen me up.
That makes one corner of her mouth lift in admiration. “Good answer, Toby.” Then she motions with her hand for the bottle and after taking another sip, followed by the same cringe, she asks, “Who was your first kiss?”
“I’m a gentleman, remember?” I counter.
Her features are softer, slackened the tiniest bit. She looks more approachable than anyone I’ve ever known. Even Nina. Like I could tell her anything and she would never judge me for it. “You are.” It’s sincere affirmation.
“Her name was Isabelle. She lived in the apartment across the hall from us.” My voice is quiet as I dust off the memories. I haven’t thought about her in years.
“How old were you?” she asks as she hands me back the bottle.
I pause to throw back one last shot’s worth and set the bottle on the nightstand because we’ve both had enough for now. “Fourteen, almost fifteen.”
She shifts to face me, propping her head up on the pillow. “How old was she?”
Reaching behind her I take hold of the quilt draped over the side of the bed and pull it over the top of her. “Thanks,” she whispers as she snuggles in.
“Older than me,” I answer vaguely.
