“I’m right, though?”
“Yes,” I said, but the acknowledgment came out sounding stiff, like I didn’t really mean it.
“But?”
“No buts,” I said. “It’s good, I think.”
“You think?” She said the wordthinklike it had three syllables, which was a pretty decent indication she was wasted.
I thought of the last time Paul and I had had sex, which had been the night of Tom Mueller’s going-away party. After we’d gotten back to the hotel, he had ordered me to take off all my clothes. It sounds bad when I say it like that, but that’s essentially what happened. I stripped while he stroked himself, then he pushed me against the wardrobe—not indelicately—and entered me from behind. It was fine, but none of it was about me. Whatit was about was Afonso’s comment and maybe the way Teo’s eyes had lingered on me when I’d said goodbye.
“We have a lot of sex, but…”
“I know what you’re going to say,” said Laura.
“What?”
“He’s not making you you-know?”
I looked around, just to be sure no one was within earshot, then shook my head.
“That’s okay,” Laura said. “It’s normal, even.”
I took a large swallow of wine.
“Were you with anyone else? Before Paul?”
I could feel my cheeks going warm. “A couple of guys.”
“And nothing with them, either?”
“No,” I said, cringing a little.
“That’s okay, that’s okay.”
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”
“Of course not,” said Laura. “It takes time to figure this stuff out.”
I nodded like I knew that, then drained the wine in my glass.
Laura scraped at a fleck of paint on the table with her fingernail. “Do you… you know?”
“What?” I said.
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Masturbate?”
“No!” I said, horrified. There was a limit to what I could tell Laura, even with everything else out in the open.
Laura feigned confusion. “What?”
“It’s mortifying.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “Everyone does it.”
“I never did. Until recently.”
“Okay, so you are? That’s great. I’d keep doing that.”
