Nick pulls away from me so quickly I feel cold, missing the heat of his body. His face hovers over mine, like he’s searching for an injury.
“Ada?” His fingers touch my cheek. Shit. I’m crying. I try to hold it in, to keep the broken pieces together, but they crumble. The tears start to pour. I clap my hand over my mouth as I start to sob—a full-on ugly cry, right there in the middle of the bed.
Nick shifts to lie next to me, still hovering. “Are you hurt? I didn’t . . . What’s wrong?”
I can’t answer. I just cry.
Time passes—I can’t perceive how much. Outside the light fades from the sky. When I return to myself, slowly, Nick is still beside me. He brushes my hair out of my damp face. “Hey. Welcome back.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, then blink the last of the tears away. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” I sit up and pull the sheet around me to cover my body. “I’m fine.”
He scoffs.
“No, really,” I say with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Just give me a minute. We can still—”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” he says, and hands me a tissue.
I take it and blow my nose. When I look up again, he’s put his boxers back on and is sitting at the edge of the bed.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again.
His eyes close. “You’ve got to stop saying that. There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”
“But this was our first time, and it was going to be . . . epic, or at least nice—I think it was going to be nice, and then I had to go and—”
He shakes his head. His face is brick red, from his chest to the lobes of his ears. His heart is beating fiercely in his neck. “I couldn’t have done it, anyway.”
“What?” I’m confused.
“I don’t know what happened. I was fine while we were kissing and stuff, and I think my back is an erogenous zone because when you ran your fingers down it—wow. I was . . . good to go. But when it was time to actually do it, I don’t know. The little guy just wasn’t up for it.” He looks away. Coughs. “I think I got scared.”
This makes me feel somewhat (but only slightly) better. I try to cover my utter humiliation by being funny. “I see. So the little guy got stage fright.”
“Hey, he’s not that little. I just said little by comparison with the rest of my body. I believe him to be a perfectly average size, as penises go.” He smiles.
I do like that smile.
But I’ve made a mess of everything.
“It just wasn’t the right time,” he says. “Maybe we’re too young, you know? There’s a reason why grown-ups are always saying we should wait until we’re older.”
I nod.
“Maybe we could try again next year,” he says.
“Okay. Maybe next year.” I blow my nose again, and glance at the clock on the bedside table. “We should probably get back to the awards ceremony. We’ve been gone for more than an hour.”
My mom will have noticed my absence by now. But I try not to think about how I’m going to explain myself. Another lie, probably, which I am getting so sick of.
Nick leaps up and puts his pants on. He runs around and picks up my dress and underwear from the floor and hands them to me. “I can turn my back, if you want to go use my bathroom.”
“Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “I think I will.”
In the bathroom I pull on my dress again and smooth it down my legs. It isn’t too wrinkled. I wash my face with cold water. The mascara is supposed to be waterproof, but it’s no match for my torrent of tears earlier. I use the handy package of makeup remover that’s sitting next to the soap on the kitchen counter, and scrub all the makeup off my face. In the mirror I look like myself again, a blotchy, obviously-having-a-rough-night version of myself, but me.
Still a virgin, but okay with that.
Nick stands up when I exit the bathroom. He’s wearing his suit again, jacket and everything, but without the tie.
“You still look really pretty,” he says after a minute.
“So do you.”
It’s awkward between us as we go out.
And awkward as we wait for the elevator.
And as we ride the elevator to the bottom floor.
And as we shuffle back toward the Palace Tower.
But then Nick stops walking, so suddenly that I bump into him.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you hear that?” He tilts his head slightly to one side. “What is that?”
I hold my breath, listening. “Music?”
“Yeah.” He looks around.
“Probably from the awards,” I assume.
“No, it’s that song . . .” We’re quiet as he listens again. Then he starts to sing along. “Somewhere . . . over the rainbow . . . way up high . . .”
“Uh-oh, are we about to end up in Oz?”
“It’s coming from over there,” he says, and takes my hand. “Come on.”
I don’t argue as he tugs me toward the music, away from the Palace Tower and the awards and my family, in the direction of the beach. It’s fully dark now, but there’s a space lit by lanterns and strings of white lights on the other side of the chapel. The music gets louder and louder, and suddenly we come upon the source: a large man with a ponytail playing a ukulele and softly singing “Over the Rainbow” mixed with “What a Wonderful World” to a crowd of people dressed in formal wear. They’re chatting and laughing and drinking tall glasses of champagne.
“It’s a wedding.” Nick frowns. “No, it’s the party after the wedding. What’s that called?”
“The reception.” And he’s right. At the end of the crowd is a woman in white—the bride—holding the arm of a man that I can only hope was the groom. Behind them is a table bearing a classic white wedding cake with a topper that reads, Happily Ever After.
My chest feels tight. The anger bubbles up again. Everywhere I look, people are getting married, while the one marriage I most want to be doing well is falling apart.
“We should get back,” I whisper.
“Yeah. But what if we don’t?” Nick says then.
I tear my gaze away from the cake to look at him. “What?”
His eyes dance with the reflection of a thousand tiny lights. “Let’s not go back,” he says. “Let’s stay here. We’re wearing the fancy clothes. We’ll fit right in.”
“You want to crash these strangers’ wedding reception?”
“Hey, could you say that a little louder?” He glances around. Nobody gives us a second look, because, like he said, we fit right in. “I don’t want to crash anything. I just want cake. And the hors d’oeuvres look tasty.”
We shouldn’t, I think. I check my phone, where there’s a single text from Mom (Where are you?) followed by a text from Afton (You’d better get back soon. Mom is freaked). And I find I’m not ready to go back just yet.
“Shall we, my lady?” Nick offers me his arm.
I take it. Why the hell not? “We shall, good sir.”