“I’m the receptionist at an escort agency. What do you think?” The waitress sets a Diet Coke down in front of her and she takes a long, savoring sip—no straw—before setting the glass down again. “On the flip side, you seem uncomfortable talking about sex.”
“With a nineteen-year-old, I am.”
“Stop dwelling on that, would you?” Mid eye roll, she takes another small sip. “Is that the only reason you’re uncomfortable discussing it?”
Just like when we were on the phone, there’s something about her directness that makes me reveal things without giving them any forethought. It’s refreshing, the way she speaks so frankly. With most people, I can’t tell where I stand. Or if I said something wrong. If they’re stressed by my injury. The anxiety sort of just melts away when I’m talking to Petra.
“I don’t, uh…I haven’t dated since I entered the service.”
She nods, processing that. “How long have you been home?”
“Two years.”
“Two?” She blinks. “And how long did you serve?”
“Ten years as a Green Beret.”
She counts off the years on her fingers. “Are you saying you haven’t been with a woman intwelve years? That’s why you’re uncomfortable discussing sex?”
Hearing the truth out loud makes it sound worse. “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”
Petra falls back against the booth, her outer thighs chafing the insides of mine. “Good gravy, man.” She shakes her head. “Well, I’d offer to schedule you with one of my sisters when we get back from the wedding, but after this weekend, you won’t need any help with women.”
I frown. “Why is that?”
“Because Barry…” She gives me a smug once-over. “You’re a big, sexy hunk of man. An American hero, too.Andyou’re honorable? Trust me, with a little confidence, you’re going to end the sex drought all on your own.”
I watch her for a handful of seconds waiting for the punch line.
It never arrives.
Is this girl for real?
“I can see you don’t believe me,” Petra says, popping a freshly arrived fry into her mouth. “We’ll work on that at the wedding.”
“You see my face, don’t you?” I ask, yanking off my hood, holding my breath while she finally, finally acknowledges the disgusting network of puckered scars on the right side of my face. “No woman wants to look at this, day in and day out.”
“I was wondering when you were going to take off the hood. It’s not polite to have one up in a restaurant, you know. Even a diner.” She pushes the plate of fries in my direction and regards me thoughtfully. “I think maybe you haven’t spent enough time around women. Sure, we’re mean and a little judgmental. Especially about men. That’s because we have to keep our guard up. But we’re also compassionate and nurturing. Able to see beyond the superficial. And we usually know a good guy when we see one.” She lowers her voice to a murmur. “Maybe the scars are painful to you, so you assume they’ll be painful to everyone. But they only make me want to know your story.”
I’m having a difficult time swallowing. “They don’t…repel you?”
“No,” she whispers, without hesitation. Then, as if she senses I need to change the subject, she clasps her hands together on the table. “So, fake boyfriend. How did we meet?”
Dammit.
I’m going to bring this girl to the wedding, aren’t I?
And when relief swarms in my chest, I know I’m in trouble.
three
Petra
My objective has been achieved.
I’ve convinced Barry to bring me to the wedding.
Even though I’m nineteen, which he clearly finds horrifying.
