“You. Are. Insane,” I mutter. Lost for better words.
“Too much?”
“Is there a support group for returning to reality after this?”
“I don’t know, but for tonight, it’s all just for the two of us.” Michael holds me, giving me another of his dizzying kisses. “You and me, no interruptions, no setbacks.”
“Let me warn you: You’ll have to work pretty hard to distract me from all this.”
“I can’t wait.” He lowers my zipper, insinuating his hands under my dress, while I take off his jacket and immediately move on to the buttons of his shirt. “Waiting a week was torture, but it was worth it.”
Reluctantly, but in a flash of lucidity, I stop him. “Give me a second, I’ll be right there.”
I fly into the bathroom to clean myself up. Toothpaste, mouthwash, and bidet. Up to this point everything has been perfect. I want it to continue to be.
I open the kit with the courtesy toothbrush and brush with the same precision I would for the dentist.
After I use the toilet, I’m about to move on to the bidet, when I notice a red stain on the toilet paper.
No!
I wipe again, but the result is the same: blood.
Third wipe, fourth wipe, fifth wipe, blood, blood, and more blood.
My period wasn’t supposed to come until next week, but the cursed thing is early. And so sneakily: not a twinge of pain, not one symptom, zero warning. On the other hand, that’s how it is. Have a special evening in mind? A day at the pool? A beach holiday? The uterus replies: “I see you want to have some fun? I’ll bleed early and ruin everything!”
I feel like crying.
I flush the toilet, put in a tampon, sigh dejectedly, and look at myself in the mirror: I am the portrait of frustration. I want Michael so badly I’m about to explode.
For a moment I think,Forget my period!But then I think back to when I readFifty Shades of Greyand the face I made when I read the part where Christian slips his hand between her legs and pulls the blue string to remove her Tampax.
No, I refuse to replicate something so messy on my first night with Michael.
But now I have to tell him.
I wish I could bury myself.
I inhale and exhale a dozen times before I can will myself to step out, my lower lip in an obvious pout.
“Champagne?” he asks me, handsome, bare chested, holding out a glass with a strawberry on the rim. “Whatever you want, we can order it.”
“I hope they have Netflix,” I say with a tremor in my voice.
He raises an eyebrow, confused. “Netflix?”
“We need to find something to do tonight, since ... I can’t believe what I’m about to say ... My period came. It’s early, a total surprise.”
I stare at him for any hint of disappointment that might cross his face, but I can’t be more surprised to see him burst into laughter.
A belly laugh that sends him doubling over.
“I’m not joking. I’m dead serious,” I say.
With tears in his eyes, gasping for breath, he collapses on the bed and holds out his arms to me. “Come here, Elisa.”
I fall into his arms, dejected, and he holds me close to him, my face in the crook of his neck. “Are you mad?” I ask, my stomach churning with anguish.
