Thanksgiving Late Lunch with my family isn’t that bad. It isn’t that fun, either, but all things considered, it’s better than a sharp stick in the eye. Maybe my family can tell I’m trying for less snark, more…what? Chitchat? Let’s just leave it at less snark.
I help Mom cook—and do all the dishes since Jeremy is still holding the Salsa-Thon over my head. For dessert we have a big batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Jeremy is somewhat civil, for a dickhead. Dad is Dad: dorky but sweet. Mom is still holding one of her hundred grudges. The woman is impossible.
But eventually it’s five o’clock and time to go to Stenn’s (Ruby’s not invited) and get through their Thanksgiving feast so we can go downstairs and get it on. Yes, Stenn and I talked about the patch, and I’m still planning to use it, but now I can’t wait that long.
I change into the satin lace bra and undies I got that day with Jamie. I pick out a demure skirt and cardigan that will meet Mrs. Wagner’s approval. It feels very Innocent Outfit Hiding Sexy Vixen.
Cue the Barry White.
Dad drops me off at the Wagner McMansion and Stenn’s mom greets me at the door.
Scratch the Barry White.
There’s a crystal goblet of wine in Mrs. Wagner’s hand. With her, alcohol can go three ways:
1. Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) .05–0.10 = normal judgmental self, watching with hawk eyes, but prone to random smiling and demure hiccups.
2. BAC > 0.10 = 50 percent of the time, she gets friendly, even downright silly. But—
3. BAC > 0.10 = 50 percent of the time, she becomes mean as a rattlesnake, striking with no warning, and nasty venomous fangs.
Mrs. Wagner must be hovering around 0.08, because she’s smiling a little more than usual, but she still has me under constant surveillance. Her scrutiny is exhausting. No girl on this blue planet will ever be good enough for either of her two princes.
Stenn’s dad is generally pleasant but distant—as in, never-around, always-working distant. The few times when he is home, he doesn’t feel the need to relate to the under-forty crowd. At all.
Thank God, Stiv is always cool and nice, and their favorite aunt is fairly normal (and tipsy), because I’m seated between them, with Stenn far away across the table, between his mom and her bitchier sister. Place cards. Believe it.
Acceptable conversation topics: the success of Mr. Wagner’s businesses; recently published biographies of Great Thinkers; the quality of education at Mercer and/or Brown; the future of the internet, specifically monetizing social media and content marketing; tennis; the weather as it relates to flower gardening. Prohibited topics: partisan politics; weather as it relates to climate change; public schools.
Dealing with Stenn’s mom and family is as tiring, in a different way, as working at the tree farm—and I’d prefer lumberjacking. By the time Stenn and I start clearing plates, I feel like I’ve been mud wrestling grizzly bears. Probably look like it, too.
After dinner, the other members of the Wagner dynasty scatter around the many upstairses, drinking more wine or watching one of their huge screens or passed out in tryptophan comas.
Stenn and I retreat to the basement rec room, alone at last.
So, here we are. I don’t have the patch on yet, but we both know something’s changed in the air between us. It’s go time.
Stenn bought condoms with spermicidal lube. They are about to meet their prophylactic destiny.
Wow. This is it. We’re going to do it. This is huge. I’ll never be a virgin again.
I want it. I want to. But I’m shivering with nerves. So, like a complete and utter wuss, I start The Empire Strikes Back on their big screen. I sit on the marshmallow leather couch, poised to watch with utmost attention. Like it’s the first time I’ve seen anything like this crazy moving picture! It takes place in space! Space! What will they think of next!
Without complaint—but with a hint of disappointment in his face—Stenn sits next to me and we watch. After a while, about the time Han mounts a Tauntaun to look for Luke, Stenn pulls me over to snuggle on his chest. His lack of pressure is excellent reverse psychology. It’s totally making me love him even more. Well played, sir.
We snuggle, tension rising, while Luke snags the legs of an Imperial Walker.
This is it. Everything’s perfect. I kiss him, watch his eyes liquefy as I undo the buttons of my cardigan.
Stenn kisses me hard, sliding his fingers over the top of my bra. “This is really pretty.”
He scoots me down and lies on top of me. Starts kissing my neck, my chest, pushes my bra down.
“Are you sure you want to?” he asks.
I nod. “I think so.”
He starts lifting my skirt. “I want you to be sure. I don’t want you to regret anything.”
Am I sure? I’m not sure. How will I ever know if I’m sure? The more you think about whether you’re sure, the less sure you feel. “I think I’m sure.”
He puts more of his weight on me, kisses me again. He whispers, “We can wait if you want.”
“I want to.”
He lifts up a bit. “Want to what? Wait? Or do it?”
Do it. Wait. Do it. “I—” Air! I need some air! I push him back.
Stenn sits up. What’s his expression? Frustration. Annoyance. Some softness there, too.
We sit, kind of blankly looking at the TV. He is quiet.
Way to ruin the moment, Sarah. I mean ruin the moment.
Onscreen, Leia kisses Luke. Brother-sister tongue kissing. And suddenly I can read Stenn’s mind. I know he’s thinking—we’re both thinking—about Emmett, about our conversation on the playground during Emmett’s soccer game. And by conversation, I mean fight.
The freaking movie. It keeps going. Leia storms out in a huff. Chewie roars something to Han. Luke makes a face like an idiot.
And Stenn finally speaks. “You know what?” He’s still looking at the TV. “I can’t do this, Sare.”
My scalp goes numb. “You can’t do what?”
“This. You and me.”
My ears start buzzing. “What do you mean?”
“Here we are, and I’m thinking, finally we’re going to be together, you know—”
“Have sex,” I say.
“Yeah. And it’s like you’re not even into it. I mean, do you want to be with me, or don’t you?”
“I got a little freaked out back there. That’s all. I’m fine. It’s all good. Everything’s fine here now. Thank you. How are you?”
He heaves a huge sigh. “That’s great, Sare. Make everything a Star Wars quote. Is this all a joke to you?”
“It’s not a joke. You make with the quotes a lot too, you know. Let’s not make a big deal about this.” I tug his shirt. “Why don’t we pick up where we left off?”
He moves. It’s not a push, not really, but he makes it so I have to sit up and slide away. He says, “I’m not into it anymore.”
What? This is not happening. I’m offering up my virginity on a platter, and he’s turning it down? How much of a loser do I feel like right now? Slowly, I smooth my skirt, fix my bra, start doing up the buttons of my sweater.
So quiet.
“I just…,” Stenn says, “I need some space.”
I look at him. And because I’m terrified, the snark box kicks into gear. “Isn’t that supposed to be the girl’s line?”
He tilts his head. He’s not taking the bait. “You know, Sare, everyone keeps telling me I should break up with you.”
“Everyone! Everyone who?”
“Guys on the team—”
“Soccer guys?”
“Yeah. And also Midge and—”
“Awesome. You’re talking to Midge about me.”
“Yes, I am. Because she’s my friend. And I keep telling Midge, and everyone else, they’re wrong. I keep saying no, you’re not yourself, you’re depressed and still, like, grieving. I keep thinking you’ll get better. And the other day at the playground, and then Mr. Big’s? That was so…hopeful. But you know what? Maybe this is it. Maybe this is who you are now.”
“And your point is?”
His eyes look sad. “It’s tiring. You are tiring. I need a break.”
“Well, you got it.” I finish buttoning my sweater and put my shoes on. My coat’s upstairs; I’ll get it on my way out.
“Sare, you don’t have to storm off.”
“Oh, but I do.”
“Let me give you a ride home, at least.”
“No.”
“Sare, come on.”
“No. Don’t follow me. Don’t call me. Don’t try to give me a ride home. You want space, you got it.”
Alone, freezing, dark. Walking.
Damn it. Where is he? Why don’t guys realize they’re supposed to chase you when you storm off? Even if you say, “Don’t follow me.”
Especially if you say, “Don’t follow me.”
Irritating.
More irritating: Why do I expect Stenn to know this is the one time I want him to do the exact opposite of what I said?
I blame my misery on every romantic comedy ever made.
And it is misery. A long, miserable, lonely walk home.