“Jesus, O,” Monty says, his mouth full of candied yams. “That’s cold.”
“We’reJohnny’s family,” Mrs. Montgomery says. “We like you, dear. We all do.” Her eyes look moist, bless her heart.
Mr. Montgomery exhales loudly and drops his napkin onto the table as he stands. “Time to open another bottle of wine. Apologize to our guest, Olivia. Now, let’s talk about something less provocative, like politics.” He retreats to the kitchen.
Olivia’s chest is still heaving. Her eyes are fiery and fixed on mine. If we were alone, I have no doubt that we would be tearing off each other’s clothes right now. Or possibly she would be stabbing me in the face with her fork. In any case, she would be all over me, doingsomethingto me. I’m horrified to admit that I would take whatever she gave me.
“It’s none of my business. You’re right,” I say quietly. “I just want you to have a good life—that’s all.” I don’t realize until I’ve said it out loud how true it is. I suppose I should have started out by saying that. One day, I’ll figure out these social niceties that people seem to put so much stock in. I’m sure I will. When I have time.
Olivia’s glare has softened. Her lower lip twitches. Her shoulders hunch forward the slightest bit. She pushes her long wavy hair behind her ear on the side that’s closest to me. She so rarely wears her hair down. It makes her look more mature, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve felt tormented ever since I first saw her today.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she says. “I will have a good life. I mean, I’ll be working really hard, but that’s how I like it.” Her voice is soft and sweet and completely different from her usual tone when she’s engaged in conversation with me.
Now she’sonlytalking to me. Monty and his mom are now discussing football players. “I understand where you’re coming from,” Olivia continues. “Trust me. It’s just different in the performing arts. I believe in following my bliss. I don’t question it. I do care about my parents—that’s why I’m going to Pittsburgh. So I can stay close and they won’t worry about me as much. But this is the life I’ve chosen. I don’t care about job statistics. I care about being the best dancer I can be.”
“I understand,” I say. “I didn’t say it’s not admirable. I just don’t think it’s prudent.”
“I’m really sorry I said what I said about your family.”
She reaches out to me—to touch my arm, I suppose—just when I get up to go to the restroom again. As I stand, her fingers graze the bulge in my jeans. She jerks her hand away like she’s touched fire. And in a way—she has.
Monty and his mother aren’t paying any attention to us. Olivia’s eyes lock on mine once she can tear them away from the protrusion of my impressive appendage. She blushes. I don’t. I stare down at her and own it.That’s right. I have a dick, and it’s hard. I’m a young man who isn’t really a part of your family. Think about that.
She finally breaks our gaze, and I walk away from the table.
“Aw, dude,” Monty calls out. “You still having stomach issues?”
“No,” I say. “Just staying hydrated. Be right back.”
When I return from the guest bathroom, I can hear Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery in the kitchen, arguing about which bottle of wine to open. Monty and Olivia are alone at the dining table. I pause in the hallway when I overhear my name.
“I mean—don’t you have any other friends?” Olivia asks. I can hear her smiling. She’s teasing him. “Friends that aren’t socially challenged asshats, that is.”
“He isn’t an asshat. I mean, maybe a little. But he’s the most loyal guy I know. If you don’t like him, then I don’t see why you’re constantly talkingtohim andabouthim. It’s like you’re obsessed. You know what—if you paid more attention to guys like Johnny, maybe you wouldn’t come home crying to Mom because some asshole doesn’t treat you well.”
“Okay, first of all, you and Mom talk about me way too much. It’s weird. Secondly, you’re saying you think Johnny B. treats me well?!”
“I didn’t say to dateJohnny, obviously. I’m saying somebody morelikehim. But not him. And mostly totally different from him.”
I hear them laugh.
“You know what I mean,” my best friend says.
“Does he have a girlfriend?” She tries to keep her voice casual, but she doesn’t fool me.
“Not that I know of.”
“I mean…I could see howsomeonewould find him attractive if he just took better care of himself.”
“You should definitely tell him that.” Monty laughs.
“Oh, I have.”
Yes. She has. Why does she always tell me that? How would I take better care of myself? What does that even mean? I’ll begraduating from MIT at the top of my class. How can I take better care of myself than that?
I spend the day after Thanksgiving working on an idea for a start-up. All day. It’s the first idea I’ve had that might actually go somewhere. Hours have passed, and I realize I haven’t eaten since dessert at the Montgomerys’ last night. So I find a bag of Cheetos in the kitchen when I take a break to make more coffee. Could this be what Olivia means when she says I should take better care of myself? Is all this coffee and Doritos and Cheetos and Red Vines making me less attractive than I could be? I will look into this.
My mother has left a note on the nearly empty fridge that says,
