“Sex always means something.” I turn to look at Mrs. Gretchen. “Every act of intimacy gives you a new experience which changes you, even if it’s only the slightest bit.”
“I agree,” Demi says. “You need to talk to this Boen. Tell him how you feel.”
“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” I ask. “What if it didn’t mean anything to him? Other than a new experience,” I add with a glance at my wise neighbour.
Biba shrugs. “Well, then you’ll know. But don’t run away from this. And don’t hide. You have a habit of doing that, you know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You ran from Bartlett, straight to Liv, and hid everything you were feeling,” Demi points out.
“You ran from Michael to Bartlett, same thing,” Biba says.
“So I shouldn’t talk to Boen because that means I’d be running straight to someone else,” I cry.
“You’ve moved on from Liv,” Biba decides. “Because there wasn’t much between you, because you were hiding from Bartlett. But I think you’re over him; both of them. But take it slow with Boen.”
“I didn’t think Boen was capable of moving any way other than slowly,” Mrs. Gretchen says with a laugh. “But last night proved me wrong. It only took a few drinks for the two of you to get together.”
“And most of a bottle of rum,” I add. “I don’t know...”
“Give it some thought,” Demi urges.
“And don’t do anything rash,” Biba puts in. “No breaking in anywhere.”
“Except if you hear a body fall at my place,” Mrs. Gretchen says. “Then you have my full permission to break in and pick me up.”
Boen
I clean up the remnants of our picnic and take the comforter back upstairs, trying to push the image of Rachel out of my mind.
It’s difficult to do. My hands still feel warm from touching her skin and I taste her on my lips.
This only verifies Bexley’s opinion that I need to get out more. Maybe if I had more experience with women, Rachel wouldn’t be hovering over me like a shadow.
It didn’t mean anything to her. It was only because she pitied me.
I lose track of how many times I tell myself that.
But it’s the expression on Rachel’s face as she storms away that haunts me. I try to lose myself in my work, but I find myself marking the same question on Amal’s assignment three times.
I have better luck when I switch to my doctorate thesis, although Rachel’syou’re really smartsticks in my head like a wad of chewing gum.
I’ve been at it for a while before a knock rouses me.
Rachel.
I’m at the door in an instant, the marker still in my hand. As I yank open the door, my disappointment must show in my face.
“Well, hello to you, too,” my sister says, flouncing past me. “Guess who I just saw,” she sings, without even waiting for me to say hello. “David!”
My mind is still ringing with the hope that it was Rachel. “David?”
“David Angus. Your former best friend and the man I was once going to marry.” Bexley throws herself on the chair, long legs hanging over the arm. She doesn’t say a word about the living room, and I remind myself that she has no idea what happened last night.
It’s only important to me. No one else.
And then I comprehend Bexley’s words. “Former best friend?” I ask in a rush. “Did he say something to make you think that?”
