****
Abby sat in her bedroom and watched the blood-red sunlight filter in through the blinds. She smiled as the sound of birds tweeting and cats purring and dogs barking filled the room – but then the smile quickly disappeared. Her boyfriend would be coming around soon. She knew that this was a thought that should fill her with joy and loving anticipation, but all she felt was dread. She wished that she didn’t feel this way – she wished that she could be normal like everyone else seemed to be, just being with their partner without the anxiety that she experienced – but she just couldn’t. She was twenty-five years old, and she was still a virgin.
She yawned, stood up, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was tall and her nose was pointy. Despite this, however, she was beautiful in her own way. Her skin was pale, her hair was very long, and her small breasts were tight and pert. Her cheeks, which were freckle-covered and reddened easily, were dusted with a soft layer of foundation. She had decided to wear something enticing tonight, as she was sure that Jack thought that this was the night that something was finally going to happen. She felt absurd standing there in the risqué dress – it was short and barely covered her at all. She supposed that was what men liked.
He said that he was going to be here at half past ten, and now it was twenty past. She tried to read but her heart was pounding too loudly in her head. She couldn’t focus on anything. Her palms were sweaty, her hands shook, her tongue was big in her mouth and her throat was dry – she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, let alone having sex. But she felt like she must. There was something shameful about being a virgin at this age, she told herself. She had to get it out of the way – even if she didn’t enjoy it. She had to do it.
When Jack had called her she’d been watching television. She’d answered the phone and said, ‘Hello,’ as some celebrity chef had been shouting at one of his employees.
‘ Hey,’ Jack’d said – and he’d sounded more serious than usual. He’d sounded somber.
‘ What’s up?’ she’d said.
‘ I need to see you. I’ll come around tonight.’
She’d hung up the phone and went back to watching the television program. In the end the chef made the employee cry. She knew that the phone call could have meant anything – maybe he needed to talk about something completely unrelated to sex. Maybe he didn’t want to have sex with her at all. But she also knew that Jack was a very sexually minded guy. He’d often brought up the topic with her and she’d just put it off until another time. Now was the night – she knew. Now it was sex or . . . or what?
She leaned down on the sofa and thought about the implications if she was right. If her assumption was correct – if Jack really did want to have sex with her tonight – what would happen if she didn’t? Would he stop seeing her? Was he that shallow? If he really was that sort of guy did she want to be with him? All this whirled around in her head, and then the knock came at the door and she had no more time to think about it. All she could do was numbly walk across the apartment. She was aware of the softness of the carpet and the coldness of the air – but now she couldn’t hear the myriad sounds that had minutes ago made her smile.
Jack’s face was a picture of seriousness as she opened the door – his eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was a stern line. ‘Hi, Abby,’ he said.
‘ Hey,’ she said.
She invited him in and asked if he wanted anything to drink , he declined, and they sat on the sofa opposite each other. They were quiet for a long while. There was an awkwardness between them that had never been there before. They had been seeing each other for three months now and this was the first time that she had ever struggled to find something to say. It was his fault. He was staring at the floor, fidgeting with his belt-buckle, and
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia