Anatomy of a Single Girl

by Snadowsky, Daria

“Yeah, of course!” I exclaim, half-jubilant that all seems well with us, and half-angry at myself for worrying that it wasn’t. I wish my imagination weren’t so prone to run wild with worst-case scenarios.

  “Cool. If you don’t mind trekking to my ’hood, I can show you what I do all day.”

  “That’d be great! I haven’t been to Ford in forever.”

  We then plan for me to park my bike at his place so we can walk to the Physical Sciences Complex together.

  “Beta’s the big green house at the end of Fraternity Row,” he tells me.

  “Got it. So, I guess I’ll see you soon, then.”

  “Not soon enough, but oh, well. Till tomorrow.”

  My breath shudders, and I can’t help but project way into the future. It’d be so cute if we sent out engagement announcement cards with the heading “the physicist and the physician.”

  “Till tomorrow, Guy.”

  8

  The following evening, Guy answers the Beta house door with a smile and a kiss, before taking me, as planned, to his lab. While he proceeds to demonstrate how all the equipment operates with the same zeal as a kid in a toy store, I’m reminded of my only teacher crush, Mr. Chesnoff from tenth-grade chemistry. It was never my favorite science subject, but he was so brilliant and passionate in that sexy professor kind of way that I attended all his extra-help sessions just so I could have an excuse to stare at him.

  An hour later, as we’re exiting the Physical Sciences Complex, Guy proposes having dinner at a nearby sushi bar that gives student discounts on Fridays. “One of the Betas is studying abroad in Tokyo and keeps blogging about the food, so now I’m jonesing for it.”

  “Sounds good, but you’ll have to help me order. I’ve never had sushi before.”

  Immediately, Guy stops and gazes off into the distance.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’m just trying to decide which is more tragic—life without Star Wars or life without spicy tuna hand rolls.… I think it’s a toss-up.”

  “Hey, buddy! I’ve been managing just fine without either.”

  “No matter. My mission is clear. Somebody has to introduce you to the finer things.” Then he slings his arm over my shoulder and leads me to the restaurant.

  By nightfall, Guy and I have put away an entire sampler platter. I was afraid sushi would be slimy, but it’s lighter and tastier than it looks. My impression may have more to do with the setting, though, which includes a corner table, dark lighting, and bluesy jazz playing in the background with a very suggestive bass beat. Guy even insists on paying again in return for cleaning out my parents’ fridge last time. Then afterward, as we’re strolling back to campus, he winds his arm around my waist. It seems like forever since I’ve been this happy, which is a whole different ball game than feeling content or satisfied or blessed. I’m so happy, I don’t care how sad it is that I needed a boy to reach this level.

  “So, wanna hang out inside?” Guy asks as we approach my bike. “You already showed me your pad. It’s only ‘equal’ that I show you mine.”

  I knew this was coming, but my pulse springs up to three digits anyway. Before I can say anything, he adds, “Wait. Let me guess. You’ve never been to a frat house before, either.”

  I cock my head at him. “I’m not that sheltered. For Saint Patrick’s, some girlfriends and I went to a Sigma Nu bash. Although, we never did get past the yard—it was too packed.”

  “Well, crowds won’t be a problem tonight. Everyone’s at a bar crawl, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.” He shoots me a sultry grin, and it’s good that it’s dark out so he can’t see my cheeks burn at what we both know he’s suggesting.

  “The thing is, if I stay, it can’t be for more than an hour or two.” I inform him how Amy’s leaving early tomorrow for her bridesmaid-dress fitting in Tampa, and I already promised to spend the day with her and take turns driving there. “I need a full night’s sleep so I’m not bushed for the trip.”

  “That’s cool. We’ll make the most of our time.” He grins again before charging up the front steps.

  Beta’s ground level is laid out like a typical home, except it has a ton more couches and the biggest wide-screen I’ve ever seen. Crumbs and dust bunnies coat every flat surface. A three-foot stack of porno DVDs is piled right next to the Wii games. And no matter where you turn, there’s a wasteland of alcohol paraphernalia—discarded beer bottle caps, dirty shot glasses, a funnel tube.… The second level resembles a traditional boys’ dorm, complete with a long central hallway and the omnipresent odor of Febrezed-over pee. So all in all, it’s tamer than I envisioned. As Guy keys his lock, my heart speeds up again. Although I’m glad his brothers aren’t around to sidetrack him, being alone intensifies the atmosphere even more.

  Guy flips on his bed lamp, revealing his room to be surprisingly bare. It needs vacuuming like the rest of the house, and the trash can’s overflowing with empty chip bags and take-out boxes. Otherwise, there’s little else besides a lava lamp by the window, a barbell in the corner, a bobble head on his dresser, and a triple-screen monitor on his desk.

  “Wow, I never pegged you as a hoarder,” I joke.

  Guy smiles. “I try never to have more stuff than I can fit in my car. I hate feeling weighed down.”

  “That’s smart.” I recall the six giant suitcases required to pack up my dorm room, and that’s not counting all the boxes I put in storage.

  Next I take a closer look at the bobble head, which is a man wearing a colonial-looking coat and holding an apple. On the base it says SIR ISAAC NEWTON (1642–1727).

  “So is he, like, your idol?” I ask.

  “Let’s just say I’d give up sushi for good if I could be as badass as him.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is pretty huge figuring out gravity.”

  “And calculus. And optics. And the laws of motion. And what’s insane is, he came up with a lot of that stuff in the two years Cambridge closed down during the bubonic plague. So he essentially founded modern science on vacation!”

  I shake my head. “I’m so jealous. That kind of genius is unreal.”

  “Yeah, but brains are worth crap unless you put in the time. Newton was such a workaholic, he died a virgin.”

  I laugh nervously. That was the last thing I expected to hear. “Like … that’s documented fact?”

  “It’s pretty much assumed. There’re hilarious stories of John Locke bringing him women and Newton getting mad and turning them away.”

  I laugh again. “I guess that explains where he got all his time to innovate.”

  I scan the room for a less sexual conversation topic. Then I notice that the bed opposite Guy’s is stripped. “I thought Bruce roomed here also.”

  “He does, during the year. But there’re few enough residents now that we don’t have to share digs. He’s across the hall for the summer.”

  Suddenly Guy shuts the door behind us. My heart spasms in anticipation. I take a seat on the bare mattress and keep the dialogue going.

  “So, is Bruce researching in your lab, too?”

  “Nah-uh. He’s working at the campus observatory through July, and then at the planetarium next month.”

  Guy sits on his own bed.

  “Were you friends before pledging Beta?”

  “No. We had the same intro classes, since he’s majoring in astronomy, but I didn’t really get to know him till Hell Week.”

  Guy slides off his watch.

  “ ‘Hell Week’? Uh-oh. So you were hazed?”

  “Oh, yeah. The suckiest was the night Bruce and I were woken up at three a.m. and locked in a closet together with a raw onion. They wouldn’t let us out until it was gone.”

  Guy unlaces his sneakers.

  “You ate a whole raw onion? Sooooo nasty.”

  “P.S. Afterward we had to smoke a cigar, and then we weren’t allowed to brush our teeth for two days.”

  Guy slips off his shoes.

  “I’m sorry. That’s plain abusive.”
<
br />   “But effective. Nothing bonds people more than going through shit together.”

  Guy pulls off his polo, exposing a tight, white Hanes T-shirt.

  “Still, stories like that are what made me too scared to rush at Tulane.”

  “It’s worth it in the end, though. I’m alone in the lab so much, I like coming home to an actual house where there’s always people over and stuff happening. Well, that’s not the case now, obviously. Campus is dead in the summer.”

  Guy empties his pockets of his phone, Altoids, and wallet, which falls open as he sets it on the floor. I see that one of the credit card slots contains a condom.

  “But it must be nice having a room to yourself. That’s such a luxury in college.”

  “Yeah, it’s, uh … it’s definitely convenient.”

  Guy scoots back on the bed and lies on his side so he’s against the wall and his head is propped up on his bent arm. He’s giving me that hungry look like he did on my terrace.

  “So, Dom, I know there’s not much space here, but”—he places his other hand flat in front of him and pats the sheets—“care to join?”

  I didn’t know it was possible to feel this ecstatic, wary, and turned on all at the same time. After a deep breath, I stand up and tentatively cross the two yards of space separating us. Instead of lying next to him, though, I kneel by the bed and place my hand on his.

  So, of course I want to hook up with Guy. If you haven’t already picked up on it, that has pretty much become my default daydream. But I love where he and I stand right now. It’s like we’re on the brink, and everything’s full of excitement and potential precisely because the heavy making out is still something to look forward to. I realize we can’t remain PG-rated forever. I’m all too aware, though, how easy it is to let hooking up become the crux of a relationship. Then you forget how to just be together and why you should stay together. So for the meantime I’d like to take things slowly in order to prevent hooking up from ever getting too important.

  Amy would say I’m overreacting, but I’m just trying to learn from past mistakes. And if Guy isn’t an asshole, which I’m confident he’s not, he’ll go along with it.

  I’m about to speak, but Guy pipes up first. “This might sound strange, but you smell really good.”

  Even stranger than his saying that is that I’m thinking the same thing about him. It’s not of anything in particular. His aftershave has long since worn off. He just smells … right.

  Abruptly, Guy sits up, cups my face in his hands, and gives me a long, soft kiss. Then a harder one so my lips are smashed against my teeth. Next he slides his mouth down to my neck, and I giggle when his poufy hair tickles my cheeks and chin. Soon we’re kissing again as his hands run up and down my sides, and it feels so amazing—like little fireworks beneath the surface—that I wonder how I’ve been able to live for the last several months without being touched like this. It’s a medical fact that babies are less likely to survive if they’re not frequently held, so has my skin been starving all this time? Within the minute, though, Guy begins pulling me toward him onto the bed, and I sense the tip of his tongue pressing between my lips. I jerk back.

  “Oh, crap,” he says, holding his hand over his mouth. “Does my breath reek of soy sauce? I took two Altoids.”

  “Oh, no. You’re fine. It’s, um … it’s me.”

  “You need time to digest or something?”

  I laugh again. “No. It’s, uh …”

  I stand and pace and strain to come up with the words while each of my body’s fifty trillion cells is screaming for me to rip the Hanes off this younger and cuter Mr. Chesnoff type, who’s mine for the taking.

  “It’s just that … I would like … to wait more … before we go … any further.”

  “Oh.” He doesn’t look angry. Just confused. “All right.”

  I raise my eyebrow at him. “You sure that’s okay?”

  “Yeah … Well, it’s not what I’d choose, but, Dom …” He sits up and gazes plaintively at me. “I’m really sorry. I hope you didn’t feel, you know, pressured or anything. I swear I thought you wanted to mess around.”

  “I did! I do!” I kneel down again so we’re eye level. “Everything that has happened so far has been great. And it’s not that I haven’t done any of this before. I’ve done a lot more. But for now I just … I want … For me … It’s hard to explain.”

  “You don’t have to.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “You’re just not ready or whatever.”

  Actually, the more accurate assessment is that we’re not ready, but there’s no point in splitting hairs when he’s taking this as well as I could’ve hoped. He seems uneasy, though, so I sidle next to him and say, “Guy, I’ve loved every minute of tonight. I don’t want you to think anything’s spoiled.”

  “Hell, no! Dom, you’re the first girl I’ve met this summer who I look forward to just talking to.” He wraps his hands around the top of my head. “I like what’s in here.” He squeezes. “As for everything else, you set the pace.”

  My eyes start tearing. “Thanks, Guy, for being so cool. Lots of boys wouldn’t be.”

  “I’ve never understood that—that there’re some dudes who’d make a girl feel bad for not putting out. How could a guy enjoy it if the girl doesn’t really want it?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s so sad so many girls think they’re undatable if they don’t go all the way. I’d never do it just to please a boy,” I say proudly. However, I immediately question whether that’s totally accurate. Although it was my idea to start having sex back when I did, at least a tiny part of my motivation may have been to try to receive extra commitment in return. I hoped that having sex would add formality and legitimacy to being in a relationship, and that it would elevate us to a higher plane than merely two star-crossed teenagers in love.

  “Anyway,” Guy goes on, ”I’m just glad you spoke up before. And please keep telling me what’s on your mind, because apparently I suck at reading it. I don’t want to do anything with you unless you’re on board.” Guy casts down his eyes. “I’d feel so guilty if you ever regretted something we did.”

  “Aw, I never doubted that.” I wrap my arms around him and lean against his shoulder. That he’s sensitive to this stuff makes him all the more attractive.

  “Damn,” Guy says. “Nothing like a little wellness seminar on a Friday night, huh?”

  I laugh. “Still, it feels really nice being so open about everything.”

  “Yeah.” He throws his arms around me too. “It does.”

  We continue holding each other as we share a long silence. There’s no awkwardness, though. I’m more comfortable with him than ever. Eventually Guy asks, “How about we go downstairs and finish watching episode six till you have to leave?”

  I plant a kiss on his cheek, grab his hand, and pull him off the bed. “Let’s do it.”

  9

  “Sushi?” Dad repeats disgustedly while stringing his fishing rod. It’s eleven a.m. on Sunday, and my parents and I are finally together on our little boat, drifting along Pine Island Sound. “ ‘Sushi’ is just a fancy word for ‘bait.’ ”

  “Millions of people eat it every day, Dad. Raw seafood is a delicacy.”

  “Delicacy, shmelicacy. If I took one of the seven-pounders I intend to reel in today and bit off its flesh with my bare teeth, that wouldn’t be so delicate, would it? The mark of civilized man is using fire to cook his kills!”

  “Whatever.” I finish applying sunblock to my face. “Guy and I had fun.”

  “Are you sure you want to keep seeing him?” Mom prods.

  I look at her like she’s crazy. “Um, yeah. Why shouldn’t I?”

  I’m sorry for asking. Mom takes it as another cue to harp on how this isn’t the time to be tying myself down to one person. So I just tune her out while concentrating on what a wonderful weekend it’s been so far.

  After Jedi on Friday, Guy walked me to my bike, where he kissed me goodnight and promised to call t
he following evening. Then in Tampa yesterday, Amy and I laughed our way through Bonnie’s Bridesmaids Salon, the Lowry Park Zoo, and the museum of art, not to mention the two-hour-plus car ride each way. When I got in last night, Guy phoned like he said he would, told me about an NPR story he just heard on stem cells, and asked when he could see me again. So now I’m counting the hours—seven—until he picks me up this evening. At the dentist’s last week I read an article in Cosmo claiming that couples can’t say they’re officially together until they’ve gone out three times. It’s a groundless rule, though I’m still giddy about tonight being our third date.

  “… but despite all that,” Mom concludes, “your father and I are glad you’re getting out there and having a good time. And we’re very impressed at how well you’ve been balancing that with your work responsibilities.”

  “Even if it means we haven’t seen you for so much as a meal,” Dad ribs.

  “Sorry, guys. I’ll try to be better. And I’m here now!”

  “Indeed you are,” Mom says provocatively. “And while we finally have you to ourselves for a while, we’d like to share some important news.”

  I look up from my tackle box, suddenly not feeling so well. My parents never have news, important or not. The only “new” thing that has happened is that Dad’s now sporting a fully shaved head, an act of defiance after begrudgingly accepting that the toupee he bought last month didn’t fool anybody.

  My face turns to stone. “Is one of you sick?”

  “No, God forbid!” Dad exclaims, setting down his rod. “Your mom and I are just going to be … making a change.”

  “Change” is as bad as “news,” and next I think of divorce. This year the parents of two of my dorm-mates separated. One of the girls said it was because of empty-nest syndrome, and the other girl said her parents had planned to split for years but held out until she started Tulane so she wouldn’t have to live through the upheaval. But my parents don’t have a hint of dysfunction in them. They’re a sickeningly cute couple whose biggest fights revolve around how best to cook the fish they catch. Furthermore, Mom’s schoolhouse decorum is a perfect counterbalance to Dad’s jailhouse gruffness, so I don’t know how either could hope to find a more compatible match. Plus they’re grinning, which you don’t typically do before announcing the breakup of a marriage.