“Sorry. Just nervous, I guess.”
“What are you nervous for? You did the hard part…chief.”
A moment of silence.
“You forgot my name, didn’t you,” he said.
“No, no, I know it. It’s…” It was a grandpa name. Decidedly unsexy. God, why was it so hard to think? “Harold.”Harold didn’t sound quite right, but hopefully it was close enough to not offend him.
“Sadly, you’re in the ballpark.” He sighed. “This is weird, though.”
“Why?” She sat up, though it took some effort, and propped herself up on her elbow facing the pale, scrawny boy. He followed suit.
“I’ve never done something like this before.”
“Had sex?”
“Not without getting to know someone first.”
She considered this, trying to figure out what to say. It wasn’t her first time, but there was probably no good way to say this. She also hadn’t really planned on keeping Not Harold around, but there was no great way of saying that either. Still, she didn’t want him to walk away feeling icky about the whole thing. Or about her.
“Well, maybe we could get to know each other. Would that make it feel better?”
“I think so.”
“OK, then.”
He took a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver a monologue. “I’m Arthur. Not Harold, but again, you were close. I’m an English major, and I went to high school at—”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Sorry?”
“I mean, OK, basic trivia is fine, I guess. I’m Wren, I’m an art major and a Capricorn and I have a heart-shaped mole on the bottom of my foot. There, we’re caught up. Now tell me something real about yourself.”
“Real…”
“Like what do you want to do with your life?”
“Be a teacher,” he said without hesitation. “I like kids, and I think I’d be good at it.”
This guy. There was something so earnest and genuine and naively straightforward about him. He made no attempt to be cool or aloof, had no slick lines up his sleeve. The weed from earlier was wearing off, and yet she found herself feeling even more relaxed the more they talked.
“Shaping young minds, giving back to the community, that’s legit,” she said. “Me? I want to swim with great whites.”
“Sharks?”
“No, just some awesome white people. Abraham Lincoln. Betty White. Mr. Rogers.”
She winked and he laughed, laughed so hard he doubled over and nearly fell off the bed.
“So that’s your life goal?”
“Well, it’s one. Something I want to do before I die. Ideally before I turn thirty.”
“Why thirty?” he asked.
“Your life’s basically over then, isn’t it? The good part, at least. After that it’s kids and a mortgage and chronic back pain for the rest of your life.”
