AHHH.

  I had this thing, too, where it took me a while to warm up to someone I actually liked to want to be intimate with them. So, I was wondering when and how that would manifest in this relationship. Especially since he was a virgin. Did he want his first time to be a big deal? Did I want it to be a big deal? Or did he want it to be casual or did I want it to be casual?

  WHY WAS I MAKING THIS SUCH A BIG MESS IN MY BRAIN.

  I was such a weird conundrum. On one hand, hooking up with people I felt meh about made me feel shitty, and even though I had done it like ten-ish times, it always made me feel sort of icky. But then, when I actually liked someone, it took me longer to want to be intimate with them because I actually wanted it to be nice and romantic and warm and gooey and fuzzy, you know? It felt like something I should bring up to my therapist next time.

  My phone dinged suddenly, and I nearly dropped it. What do you know—it was from Landon.

  Landon: Hey. Super busy this week. Didn’t know if you wanted to go on a second date or not, but I would love to know what you are doing this weekend if you are interested? How’s your week been going?

  “IT’S HIM!”

  “I wouldn’t even know you were twenty-six years old. I would have assumed fourteen at the oldest,” Connor said, chuckling.

  “Shut up! This is exciting. Whew, okay, I’m texting back . . .”

  Me: Hey! I was just about to text you but didn’t know what to say which seems silly since I practically told you my life story on Saturday. But I’m good. I would love to do something this weekend. How does your Friday look?

  I sent the text and waited thirty seconds, then saw the three little dots appear.

  “He’s replying back!” I said, shaking Cory’s arm.

  “Ow, E. Put the claws away.” Cory rubbed his arm and batted me away.

  Landon: I wish you would have. I was thinking you might not be interested in another date. Friday works great!

  I typed quickly.

  Me: Very interested and excited to see you again. Black dolphin 8pm?

  The three dots popped up almost immediately.

  Landon: Me too. Sounds like a date!

  “SECOND DATE, BITCHES!” I said, shoving my phone in Cory’s face.

  He tried to snatch it away.

  “You gonna sleep with him?” Connor said innocently, snuggling next to Cory.

  “Uhh, I mean, I don’t know. We haven’t even kissed or anything yet, and he has never slept with anyone before,” I said, furrowing my brows.

  “So, you’re out here snatching people’s virginities?” Cory said sinisterly.

  “Please. Virginity is a social construct. Surprised he disclosed that on the first date, but you gotta hand it to him. He is living up to this transparency policy he set in place,” Connor said.

  “I just don’t know if he wants to make it a big deal or not and if even wants to have sex with me? I mean, we haven’t gotten there yet, so maybe let’s just start with some nice high school make-out session and go from there? I mean, we hit so many big topics the other night, like religion, past relationships, families, politics, kids, marriage, et cetera. So, physical intimacy should be no big deal, but I am low-key sort of freaking out but wildly excited. I’m an enigma,” I said with a goofy smile.

  I haven’t just made out with anyone in a long time without it immediately leading to sex.

  It would be nice to just kiss. Or hold someone’s hand. Damn, I loved hand holding.

  My phone rang again.

  “Hold, please. Need to answer this,” I said, holding out a finger and walking out of the room.

  “Hi, Mom!” I said, tucking my iPhone between my shoulder and ear.

  “Hi, sweetie. You got a minute?”

  Her voice sounded off, somber.

  “Uh, sure. Everything okay?” I walked into my room and shut the door.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Something happen to Sam?! Or Blair?! Dad?! Quartney or Ren?!”

  “No, sweetie. It’s your grandpa. He died a few hours ago.”

  I felt . . . nothing, which made me feel sort of repulsive in a way. Shouldn’t I feel something at the news that my grandpa died? But, instead, I just felt the exact same.

  “How’s Dad?”

  Even though they weren’t close, it would still be hard for my dad. He was still my dad’s dad, and he wasn’t grieving what was but what could have been. This whole thing was a big tangled spider web of emotions, old and new.

  She sucked in a breath. “He’s hanging in there.”

  “And you?”

  “Same.”

  “How can I help? When’s the funeral?” I said, trying to figure out when I needed to take off work and all the logistics of leaving town again.

  “Talk to your dad. Sam and Blair are coming over tomorrow night for dinner and then we are driving up Saturday for the visitation, and the funeral is Sunday.”

  “Okay, I’ll get it all figured out. I’ll be there tomorrow, too.”

  “Sounds good, honey,” she said, her voice emotionally distant.

  “Oh, Mom. I went on a date,” I said, wanting to lighten the mood and not think about how I felt nothing about the news.

  “With the drag queen?” she said, perking up.

  “Yeah! We have a second date Friday, actually. I’m excited about it,” I said, trying not to sound too happy.

  Ugh.

  “That’s great, honey! You never give out second dates. This is exciting news!”

  Her voice sounded a little less empty.

  She knew that I rarely gave anyone a second go. Usually, what would happen is, we either hooked up and then I decided no thanks, or the first date was not even good enough to get to sex, and I still thought, Um, no thanks.

  “He has this transparency and honesty policy, though. So, I feel like I should tell him ‘Hey, I’m going to a funeral because my grandpa died, and I sort of feel nothing, which makes me feel like a piece of shit.’” I scrunched up my face.

  “I know it’s weird. But this is life. Death happens. Trauma happens. Sounds like he might appreciate you being forthcoming about what your life is like. I’m sure, either way, it will be fine.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll let you know how it goes when it does happen, but in the meantime, I’ll talk to Dad and see you tomorrow, okay?” I said, laying on my bed.

  “Okay, love you, E.”

  “Love you, too,” I said before hanging up.

  Well, that was unexpected. But I guess I should have been bracing myself for it. I had filed away my grandpa since we had left Nebraska. It felt like the last thing on my mind, which continued to contribute to the weird shittiness that came with this whole ordeal and how it was a loathsome situation.

  I started texting people about getting work covered on Saturday and Sunday. The replies came in fast and quick, people offering their condolences, their “so-sorrys.”

  I felt like a fraud.

  People were offering their greatest sympathies, and I felt nothing. How did you explain that you had a nonexistent relationship with your extended family, but you had to go to the funeral out of obligation and not to be seen as the family asshole?

  Even though said dead person was an asshole to you and your family? And you feeling nothing makes you feel like something was seriously wrong with them and then making it about you makes you feel even more like a piece of shit?

  Didn’t feel like it was an appropriate time to unpack all of that.

  So, I said thank you so much and got my ducks in a row. I sent a text to my siblings as well, telling them I heard the news and that I would see them tomorrow and update them on my date the next day.

  Not funny in a ha-ha kind of way but more ironic that the busiest I had been in months included not only the possibility of a budding romance but also a death of a relative, none of which had happened in years. Why the world suddenly wanted me to have even more on my plate than I already did was beyond me.

  It was a lot. I was trying not to get overwhelmed by the thought of it.

  Idly, I wondered if my asshole uncle, aunt, and my annoying cousins would be there. They weren’t all bad, but most sucked.

  They, too, were conservative and religious and didn’t understand or agree with parts of my family, but they still prayed for us and loved us—aka they don’t actually accept us and care about us. They just want us to believe what they believe and think that we will go to hell. Well, if I go to hell, then, at least we will keep each other company.

  Whatever.

  This was for my dad mostly, and we damn well showed up for one another in this family.

  I texted Fatima, updating her on all the things, and desperately needed to call her but didn’t. Asking for help or comfort all the time wasn’t something I was good at. I needed someone to validate that it was okay that I didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. That it was okay I wasn’t weeping on the floor.

  I always hated it when people said that, no matter what, family is family, as if that excused their disgusting behavior. Especially in high-trauma situations. Blood didn’t mean shit unless you cultivated that relationship. People were fine with you getting rid of toxic partners and friends, but as soon as it was family, they assumed that, of course you would figure it out because they are your family, and you love them no matter what.

  Except that’s some bullshit.

  What an epic excuse to let problematic behavior run rampant and gaslight the hell out of people. No thank you, ma’am.

  I laid there, waiting for the feeling of grief to sweep through me, but there was still nothing. I was sure death would affect me at some time. Even if it wasn’t with sadness, it might be overwhelm or anxiety or my little bouts of seasonal depression, which I liked to nickname my little rain cloud.

  Would I disclose that to Landon? That I felt weird about this funeral? I wasn’t sure.

  Additionally, I needed to figure out how to have the HPV discussion, too, if we would continue seeing each other because there was a damn good chance he never had HPV since he hadn’t slept with anyone. I didn’t know the extent of what else he had done with other people, but he acted like it wasn’t much.

  Also, I was allergic to dairy. That would be fun when we went to dinner together.

  And the seasonal depression.

  Just because we got through heavy topics the other day didn’t mean I had to do them all in one sitting for god’s sake. People spent months getting to these topics, and we had shoved it into one night.

  In a way, I was grateful because I didn’t want to wait months to find out about the important, heavy stuff. I didn’t want to get invested and then discover later it would not work because we didn’t have a damn conversation.

  So, honest, it was.

  It was scary, but it also felt damn hopeful.

  CHAPTER Sixteen

  The Black Dolphin was a fun jazz bar down in the Crossroads of Kansas City. The windows were blacked out brick-lined walls with tall mirrors and black benches. The tables were shiny, with flames dancing on the candle centerpieces. The bar was all the way in the back, and the stage was snuggled up front, creating an intimate, moody setting.

  “It’s really good to see you, Elena!” Landon said, smiling from across the table.

  It wasn’t too crowded, and the band hadn’t played yet, so talking was relatively easy.

  “It’s really nice to see you, too.”

  He was wearing all black, like last time. A tight black shirt and black skinny jeans, with his blonde hair pulled back in a little bun and a black bomber jacket.

  I had changed my aesthetic with satin blue shorts, a long-sleeved black bodysuit, and nude kitten heels. My hair was long and unruly, hanging heavy down my back.

  “How has your week been?” he said before sipping his pineapple martini.

  “Um, well, not the best, I suppose,” I said, then gnawed on my bottom lip.

  I was trying to be honest without being too honest about what was happening with my grandpa. I mean, hell, he already knew how many people I slept with, so what was a little conversation about funerals and death on the second date?

  Concern flashed across his features as his dark-blue eyes crinkled, and he said, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “Well, my grandpa died.”

  “Oh my god, Elena. I am so sorry. We could have absolutely rescheduled. Do you need to be with your family right now?”

  He looked taken aback.

  “Thank you, but, actually, no. We weren’t close at all. He was sort of an asshole to me and my immediate family. My grandma and him have been very vocal about his distaste for me and my siblings. I’m bi, my sister married an Asian American man, my brother is trans and gay. We all got shit on by him, so to speak, and we, actually, just went to see my grandma and him the other day in Nebraska.”

  Landon just continued to meet my gaze, and I plowed on.

  “It was really to support my dad, though, because it felt like we were there to make them feel better about the way they had treated us. As if he could finally rest peacefully, knowing that we all ended as a big happy family. Except we didn’t. No apologies or reparations were made.”

  Landon’s fingers twitched on the table like he wanted to grab my hand.

  “I feel like an asshole because I feel nothing. And the whole time we were in Nebraska, it felt gross. Like very performative and selfish on his part on his deathbed. And I know you aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, but the whole thing was fucked up. And I feel fucked up because I can’t explain this to people that ‘Hey my grandpa died, and I need to take off work, and I know you all are saying your condolences, but I actually feel super unaffected and sort of low-key annoyed that I have to take off work to go to a funeral for someone who detested my existence as well as my siblings and thought we deserved to burn in the fiery pits of hell for it,’ you know?”

  I rambled on and couldn’t stop myself.

  “Like, the whole thing is just messed for me, my siblings, and my dad. But I want to be there for my dad because his feelings are even more complicated, but, shit . . . this sucks . . .” I took a big gulp of air.

  Landon’s face was unreadable.

  “Sorry, that was probably more than you thought you signed up for right now,” I said, looking at my drink and sighing.

  Real smooth, E.

  “You don’t need to apologize for that. I asked, and I am glad you shared with me. I can’t imagine how complicated all of this feels, and I really appreciate you giving me some of your time this evening and being transparent about what’s going on.” He laid a hand on my twisting fingertips. “Family is messy and hard. I’m glad you are able to support your dad, even when your grandparents didn’t support you.”

  I looked at where his hand laid on mine. Our hands were about the same size, and his nails were manicured in light pink. I intertwined my fingertips with his to test out this new physical touch.

  “Sorry to just dump all of this on you,” I said, smiling sheepishly.

  “You know that’s the second time you’ve apologized for talking about your feelings. You don’t have to do that, especially not with me.”

  Did I apologize for how I felt a lot on the regular? Yeah, I think I did.

  “Okay.” I nodded, slipped my hands from his, and sipped from my martini.

  The band saved me from saying anything else and started a slow, smooth song. We both turned and watched the musicians warm up, and I tried to think of what to say next.

  “Want to tell me about your week? I’m not the best at being emotionally vulnerable, so I would love to not talk about me for a second.”

  “What?” he said as the music got louder.

  “Want to come sit by me?” I gestured toward the bench seat next to me.

  I was seated along the smooth length of the benches against the wall, and he was sitting in a chair opposite of me.

  “Sure,” he smiled.

  He slid into my side and wrapped an arm around me, and I pushed into his side. This felt . . . very nice. I ran my fingertips along the smoothness of his gel manicure.

  “I like your nails,” I said, looking at our hands.

  “Thank you,” he said, and we locked gazes.

  We stared at each other for a second, and he gently leaned in, untangling our fingertips and cupping my cheek.

  “Can I kiss you?” he whispered against my cheek.

  “Yes, please.”

  Our faces were less than an inch apart. He leaned in, and it was soft and sweet. A press of lips against one another, and I smiled against his mouth.

  “What?” He pulled back with a crooked smile.

  “That was really nice. Can you do it again sometime?” I said, mirroring his grin. He laughed loud.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Tell me about your week, please,” I said, grabbing his hand and running my fingertips along the smooth lines of his nails.

  “Well, I filmed for a local talent show, a wedding shoot that needed videos of all the dresses for their website, lots of editing on multiple projects, and preparation for a trip I have this upcoming week. So very busy. I’m glad to be here with you tonight. I didn’t know if you wanted to go out again, since you didn’t text me,” he said, looking at me openly.

  “I wanted to text you. I just didn’t. I was nervous and felt like I had no idea what to say to you, even though this feels really easy and nice in person, so I am not sure why texting is such a challenge,” I said, furrowing my brow.

  “I understand that. Which I have another hard topic for us to unpack tonight,” he said mischievously.

  “What else could we possibly cover tonight?” I chuckled.

  “I am really interested in exploring outside of gender norms in a relationship. I know what we are doing right now is very cis heteronormative, and I am happy to be here with you starting off this way, but I would love to hold space for nontraditional things in relationships and not restrict ourselves to the roles of men and women.”