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“—drunken slut. Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that.”
“Actually, I was going to say ‘slutty drunk.’”
E.V. ignores her. It’s more efficient that way. “Speaking of slutty, do you remember your first kiss?”
“No.”
“Everyone remembers their first kiss.”
“Firsts are highly overrated. First kiss, first intercourse, first…” Terra says with a shrug, “marriage.”
E.V. frowns. Her father, having died several years ago, is not exactly in a position to defend himself.
Terra slips off a Jimmy Choo and rubs her heel. “Why do you ask?”
“I just feel like I’m behind the curve,” E.V. says. She points to her laptop. “Look at this time line. I mean, tick tock.”
Terra glances at E.V.’s screen. “You gave the Cretaceous Period too much space. Also the Triassic.”
“My point is: I’m not keeping up with my peer group.”
“Pfft. You’re only seventeen.”
“Fifteen.”
Terra pauses, calculating. Milestones are not her strong point.
“I’m emotionally delayed.” E.V. realizes she must need more sleep. She does not talk about feelings with her mother. Her mother is a businesswoman. She does n
ot like feelings. She cannot patent them.
Terra purses her lips. Twin frown lines make it clear she’d prefer to be drawing her bubble bath.
“Aislin says I’m too much of a perfectionist about guys,” E.V. adds. She is beginning to feel quite sorry for herself.
“Aislin will happily bed any carbon life form with a credit card.”
“Maybe I am too picky.” E.V. tries unsuccessfully to comb her fingers through a knot in her hair. “I keep thinking if I wait long enough, the perfect guy will materialize. You know: fate. Kismet. True, perfect love.”
“Let me tell you what true love amounts to: pheromones and a nice Cabernet.”
“You loved Dad.”
“Yes, well. To err is human,” Terra says. She half smiles.
E.V. hopes it’s wistful, but she doubts it.
“Today’s his birthday, you know,” E.V. says softly.
“Is it?” Terra asks, and then she is gone.
“Thanks,” E.V. murmurs to her empty room. “I’m so glad we had this little pep talk.”
History homework beckons, but first, E.V. rereads Bob’s e-mail. She searches the trail of ellipses for a reason she might have accepted his invitation to the dance in the first place. He’d seemed … not unpleasant. Sweet, in a Labrador-like way. Although his douchey e-mail indicates she may have misjudged him.
In fairness, she had just humiliated him in front of the whole school. The BMW remark notwithstanding, he was probably just venting. In any case, douche or not, she owes him some kind of explanation, doesn’t she, or at least some cash for the dry-cleaning bill?
E.V. stares at the e-mail, starts to push DELETE, then hesitates.
