“It didn’t go well?”
“Itwasgoing fine. Until I realized I wasn’t interested in her physically.”
“Oh, well that’s okay. That happens. I’m sure she—”
“When she unzipped my pants, I panicked, barrel-rolled off her couch, and shrieked, ‘I don’t want to do this with you!’ ” he says.
“Oh my god, Cal.” I admirably stifle the laughter that arises in response to that mental image. “That’s…really not the best way to express that.”
“So I’ve discovered. Truth or dare?” he prompts, clearly eager to move on from this topic.
“Truth,” I choose.
“Why didyourlast relationship end?”
“Oh. Um.” I take a deep breath. This isn’t something I’ve talked about in detail with anyone except my therapist and, to a lesser extent, my sister. And sure, I could simplify to a nondescript “the relationship had run its course.” But Cal deserves my candidness after being open with me about his experience with his ex and the ill-fated barista encounter. “I have had a tendency, in the past, to exclusively date men who are quite a bit older than me. And before you ask, my father and I have always had a good relationship. It isn’t anything like that. It’s more…it felt easier to navigate when I was young and insecure than totry to be with someone my own age. I know that probably doesn’t make sense.”
I glance down as I speak, then back up to register Cal’s reaction. There’s no judgment in his demeanor, just an invitation to continue. “The boys I knew all found me intimidating. Too much. Too weird. But older men seemed to like me just fine. And thanks to watching a ton of movies that glorified that dynamic in my teens, it felt easier to understand what they wanted from me, and how to be that for them. I could adopt a persona where I was innocent yet sensual. Intelligent, but eager to learn whatever they wanted to teach me. I realize now that it was a kind of…well, protection. A type of armor I could wear so that when they inevitably decided it was time they stop having fun and move on to someone they could introduce to their families without it being awkward, I could tell myself it wasn’t thereal methey were rejecting. It was the Audrey Hepburn cosplay version. But then last year, I started dating this new guy and realized I was just…really fucking tired of pretending to be someone else all the time. Of never being anything more than someone’s midlife crisis. The armor was getting too heavy to keep wearing. I wanted to find a partner that would want me for my true self and not expect me to keep up an act for the rest of my life. So I broke up with the guy, and since then I’ve been focused on figuring out who I am when the only fantasies I’m trying to fulfill are my own.”
What I don’t say is that Cal is the first man I’ve met in years who’s seen me without pretense from the jump. And that, for some reason, it hasn’t been as scary as I anticipated.
“Wow,” Cal says. “That’s…”
“Sad? Pathetic? Gross?” I offer. I’m used to the judgment, the side-eye, the assumptions. My former roommate, I learned aftershe moved out, had me listed in her phone contacts as “Daddy Issues.”
“I was going to say admirable.”
I snort. “It’s admirable that I used to fuck older men? Like, rough job but someone’s gotta do it?”
“Um. I meant more that you can express your thoughts and feelings so articulately. That you know what you were doing and why and that you decided to do something different when it no longer felt right. That’s…way beyond my emotional intelligence, that’s for sure.”
I hesitate to respond, watching Cal’s gaze lose its focus as he turns mentally inward. I wonder what he’s thinking about.
“It’s taken some work.” I sigh ruefully, remembering how much time (and money) has gone into figuring this all out and coming to terms with it. “Anyway. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“You like the truth, don’t you?” I ask.
“Is that my question?”
“No, no. Um.” I know what Iwantto ask. But is it smart to ask it? We’re already talking about relationships. It isn’t ahugeleap. Still, the question feels irresponsible. Reckless. Broaching a subject that is generally not broachable with colleagues, even temporary ones. Yet my curiosity never fails to get the better of me, and I can’t resist asking. “So was Nicole the first person you were ever intimate with or…”
“Yeah, she was,” he says after a few seconds. “She was my first for everything.” His cheeks go slightly pink as he adds, “And uh, only, actually. Except for kissing. I did do that with the barista.”
“You’ve only had sex with one person ever?” It comes out a lot more critical than I mean it to, and Cal frowns.
“Like I said, I didn’t have a very active social life and then I went to an all-boys’ high school, so I didn’t really know many girls before college. And then there was Nicole for the next decade and a half, and since then…I don’t…I don’t really find myself attracted to that many people,” he says, sounding a bit defensive and flustered. Which is understandable, since he apparently now feels he has to explain himself to me. “It doesn’t seem fair to the other person to pretend I’m into them when I’m not just to up my body count or whatever.”
“No, no, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it seem like…I’m seriously not judging or anything.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he does look quite red. I reach over and lay my hand atop his. Which I somehow fail to notice is resting on his thigh. His fingers twitch slightly beneath mine as if startled as he stares down at where our hands overlap. He watches as I withdraw my touch just on the wrong side of it becoming awkward, then looks back up at me with a heat in his eyes that I don’t expect and says, “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I say.
He considers it for a moment. “Show me your best party trick.”
I laugh. “What makes you think I have one?”
