I was a bit of an antiques nut, which was kind of weird for a guy my age. But thinking about vintage audio equipment took my mind off my nerves. I was sweating just from climbing two flights up the curving stairwell. So when I reached Alison’s floor, I kept climbing. There was an odd little landing about ten steps further on. I set down my gift bag there, taking care to keep the bottle of champagne upright.
Removing my jacket, I took a deep breath. There was really no reason to be nervous around Alison. We’d been seeing each other since last spring, when we were both freshmen. We’d taken things slowly with our physical relationship. I was always ready for more, but Alison told me straightaway that she was a virgin, and when I admitted the same, she seemed enormously relieved.
I was patient with her, even though it was sometimes frustrating. There was a lot of kissing and cuddling on the couch. But she seemed to have a whole lot of sexual tripwires. One minute we’d be making out, and then suddenly she’d push me away. Not only did I always go home horny, I went home confused. And the confusion was by far the more painful condition. I didn’t like wondering what it was about me that didn’t quite do it for her.
After a couple of these awkward endings, I’d tried to get her to tell me what was wrong. But she’d just say, “I’m not comfortable,” and then change the subject.
And what kind of an asshole pressures his girlfriend for sex? I wasn’t going to be that guy.
There was a whole lot of good stuff between us, anyway. Alison always got my jokes, and I loved the way her face went soft when I paid her a compliment. I did that often, too. Because Alison was pretty great. She was smart and funny, as well as gorgeous. With all that fine, blond hair framing her face, when I looked at her, the word angel would pop into my head.
My mother said that Harkness College had given me an unhealthy attraction to pretty white girls. “What you need is a nice Latina,” she’d say. “Someone who will never look down on where you come from.”
Mostly I ignored my mother’s prejudice. But sometimes it was hard not to worry, or to read too much into Alison’s reluctance to get me naked. At Harkness I was surrounded by people who had a lot more money than I did, including Alison. I worried sometimes that she thought I wasn’t good enough for her.
That was probably just paranoia.
Summer vacation had separated us. I spent the month of June working in my mother’s restaurant, and trying not to die from heatstroke on the subway platform whenever she sent me on errands. At night, before I went to sleep, I’d lie on my little twin bed in our cramped apartment and talk to Alison on the phone, while the window unit blew cold(ish) air across my mostly naked body.
There was never any phone sex, of course. But I loved the sound of her soft voice in my ear, telling me all the things she put up with as an intern at the San Francisco art gallery where she worked. “I miss you, Rafe,” she’d say. “I was thinking about you when I was serving coffee to a table of old ladies. They’d asked for decaf, but I gave them all high-test by accident, because I was remembering that letter you’d written me on the old typewriter, instead of paying attention to the coffee.”
That made me laugh and miss her all the more. So I kept the old-fashioned letters coming. And the weeks flew by.
In July, Alison had called me, all excited. “Do you remember that international program in Ecuador that I applied to?”
Of course I did. After she’d been wait-listed, she’d cried a puddle onto the shoulder of my Harkness sweatshirt.
“A spot opened up! I’m leaving next week!”
“That’s awesome,” I’d said, feeling happy for her even though I knew I wouldn’t get to talk to her for six weeks. The Ecuador trip was an immersion program, and students weren’t supposed to speak to outsiders the entire time.
So that had sucked.
Needless to say, three weeks ago, when she’d finally stepped off the Connecticut Coach from LaGuardia airport to start our sophomore year, I’d been desperate to see her.
That first night back, I’d asked her to sleep in my bed for the first time. “I am not ready to let you go yet,” I’d told her. “Just stay with me. It isn’t a ploy to get your clothes off. And Bickley isn’t back until tomorrow, anyway.”
Her face had softened. “Okay, I can do that,” she’d said. I was actually stunned that she went along with it, because whenever I’d suggested she spend the night before, she’d turned me down.
But not this time. I’d given her one of my T-shirts to wear, and she’d looked sexy as hell in it. Of course, when we’d settled into my bed together, my body had gotten big ideas all its own. So I’d rolled onto my back and pulled her head onto my shoulder.