Anatomy of a Boyfriend (5 page)

Wes looks at me sheepishly, and I say, ―Go ahead. Kick ass. Here, take the strawberries and share them.‖

Our fingers brush when I hand him the tray.

―Thanks, Dom. I‘ll catch you after.‖

―Yeah. Sure.‖

So much for my being one of the highlights of his day. A minute later I peer in through the living room‘s panoramic window and watch as the boys dive into my strawberries and their virtual world. I once read in a teen magazine that guys think about sex almost constantly. If that‘s true, how come we girls get upstaged by sports and video games?

I retreat to the kitchen to look for Amy, but, not to my surprise, I find her on the pool table making out with one of her designated hookups from her art history class. So I spend the remaining two hours of the year on the patio, pretending to join the boring conversation of some girls Amy and I knew from middle school. They devote fifteen minutes to the topic of perfume alone. At one point we dance in a circle to the music, but the juvenility of it all makes me feel pathetic. All the while I keep an eye on Wes through the window. He never takes his eyes off the TV screen, and I start wondering what I‘m even doing here.

At about five to midnight, everyone descends upon the living room, where the boys reluctantly shut off their game and switch to MTV so we can watch the ball drop in Times Square.

Several couples start embracing, and for a moment I lose sight of Wes in the crowd. I sense someone come up behind me. I freeze. Then that someone gently tugs my hair. I spin around…it‘s just Amy.

We watch as Wes and his friends toast with their beer mugs and chug. I know Amy has already told me she thinks he‘s single, but it‘s still a relief to see he doesn‘t kiss anyone at midnight.

Once the ruckus subsides, Amy whispers to me, ―Carpe diem.‖

I take a few deep breaths as we approach my prey. Hope wells up inside of me again.

Wes turns to us and says, ―Heya, Braff. Dom, this is Paul.‖

―Hey, Paul!‖ I chirrup as we shake hands. ―Great job on the game the other day!‖ It‘s like my voice has gone into hyperoverdrive and I‘ve lost the ability to sound chill. I press my lips together.

―Thanks,‖ Paul says indifferently.

Awkward silence. Again.

―So,‖ Amy addresses Paul, ―I heard they renovated EFM‘s library over break. Have you seen it yet?‖

―No, but it‘s supposed to be sweet. All-new computers with voice recognition software and…‖

While Amy and Paul jabber on, Wes and I stand there listening, occasionally exchanging glances and half smiles. I notice a tiny scar on Wes‘s right cheek, right below his eye, and his two front teeth overlap ever so slightly. It‘s really adorable. But then he says he needs to get going.

―Oh,‖ I finally speak up, ―but it‘s barely after midnight.‖

―I‘ve been here since seven, and I‘m sure Jessica needs a bathroom break by now.‖

―Can‘t your parents take her out?‖ I ask.

―They‘re at a party in Naples and won‘t be back till late.‖

―Actually,‖ Amy interjects, ―Dom and I should probably get going too. But
I’m
gonna hit the bathroom first. Dom, can
you
go start up the car and turn on the heat?‖

―Sure thing, Ames,‖ I say as she hands me the keys.

Wes then offers to walk me to the car, like I know Amy was hoping he would.

Before heading to the bathroom, Amy addresses me with a wily expression. ―Remember, make sure to
turn on the heat
!‖

6

“B
rrr.‖ I shiver as we step onto the patio. ―It‘s nippy out, isn‘t it?‖

Nippy? Nippy? Why can’t I just shut up?

―Nah,‖ he broods, ―it‘s nothing compared to New York…. Watching Times Square on TV just now got me nostalgic for it.‖

―But you never lived there?‖

―No, but my grandparents live in SoHo. We visit them a lot, so it feels like home.‖

―I see. If—I mean,
when
—you get into NYU or Fordham, are you going to run the marathon?‖

―Yeah, but I‘ll probably come in last. I‘m bad at distance.‖

―Well, just the fact you‘re even willing to try to run twenty-six miles nonstop is pretty ambitious.‖

―You want to go to med school.
That’s
ambitious.‖

―Well, thanks.‖ I smile at him.

Wes says a few more goodbyes as we walk the small stretch of beach back toward the stairwell leading to the street. The night gets really quiet as we leave the din of the party behind us. We‘re in a fancy neighborhood, where tall majestic palms and high white stucco walls surround each home. I wonder what kind of house Wes lives in, and what his room is like.

―So, did you win at Grand Theft Auto?‖

―We didn‘t finish the game. I, um, I wasn‘t expecting to play for so long, Dom. It‘s just so addictive.‖

―I understand. I was never allowed to have Nintendo or anything like that, but I used to play at Amy‘s. It‘s fun.‖

―Yeah, but that stuff‘s a big time and money sucker. I don‘t blame your parents for sparing you.

As you could probably tell, Paul‘s parents aren‘t home much.‖

―Yeah. My parents are home
too
much.‖

We both laugh, but soon the only noises are our breathing and our footsteps on the stone sidewalk.

―So, what did you do today?‖ I ask finally.

―Ran, read, helped my dad take down the tree. You?‖

I‘m not about to admit I spent half of it preparing to see him.

―Um, I bratsat a neighbor‘s kid. Then I was gearing up for Science Quiz. You know, our team won the state championship the last three years. We‘re hoping to go for four.‖

―Mmm,‖ he hums, looking at the ground.

I‘m convinced I‘m boring him. Heck, I‘m boring myself. How can we keep a conversation going online for an hour but have nothing to say in person?

We‘re silent for the last block and a half. When we arrive at Amy‘s Camry, he takes the keys from my hand and opens the passenger side door for me. I just can‘t end the night having made so little progress.

I muster my courage. ―Thanks, Wes…. Um, do you want to keep me company?‖

―Um, sure.‖

As soon as he takes his place behind the wheel, the overhead lights fade out. I can tell his breathing has gotten faster in the last few seconds. So has mine. Fast breathing can be a physiological reaction to sexual arousal. If I were like Amy, I‘d be jumping him right about now.

Instead, I go in for the kill with another riveting question.

―So, what kind of car do you drive?‖

―A Ford Explorer.‖

―Nice!‖

―Nice for having a hundred thousand miles. It used to be my brother‘s back when he was in high school. There‘re tons of burn marks on the upholstery from his cigarette mishaps.‖

―Hey, I‘m jealous you have a car at all. I just have a road bike, which works out okay unless the weather is bad or if I want to wear something nice. I have to hitch rides a lot.‖

―That‘s another thing I like about New York City. You can walk everywhere.‖

Amy arrives a few seconds later. I feign nonchalance in telling Wes I‘ll be on IM tomorrow night. He grins and says I should drop by their first meet next week to root for the team.

―Yeah.‖ I smile back. ―I‘ll be there.‖

―Cool. The strawberries were wicked dee-lish, by the way.‖

―I‘m glad.‖ I smile wider.

―And I guess I
won’t
be seeing you at practice Wednesday, expatriate,‖ Wes pesters Amy as they switch places.

―You can count on it, Gersh…. Hey, Dom, you didn‘t turn on the heat!‖

Wes says, ―Oh, sorry.‖ He holds out his hand. ―Dom didn‘t get the chance. I have the keys.‖

Amy starts putting me through the third degree before we even turn the corner. After recounting everything I remember, I end with, ―Sitting next to him just now was so—‖ I can‘t think of the right word. ―Ames, I don‘t know how this is happening so quickly, but I think I could really, really like him.‖

―Wow.‖ Amy turns to me, her eyes solicitous. ―Even though things were kind of awkward tonight?‖

―Yeah, I just know there‘s chemistry there…. I also kind of like that Wes is on the quiet side. It probably means he‘s deep.‖

―Well, this is all uncharted territory for me. I don‘t think I‘ve met a guy yet I liked
that
much, as more than just a hookup.‖

―It‘s kind of nice.‖ I pause and look out the window. Just a few minutes into a new year and already so much possibility. ―A little frustrating, but nice.‖

7

Subject: Food!

Date: Wednesday, January 16, 12:14 a.m.

Hey Dom,

This Sunday my parents are having the trackies over to our place. We‘re probably gonna order up Chinese and watch some of the James Bond marathon on Spike TV. It‘d be great if you could come too. Even though she jilted the team, feel free to invite Braff so there‘ll be someone else there you‘ll know.—Wes

If you can believe it, this is the fifteenth e-mail Wes has sent me since New Year‘s! It‘s also the shortest. He usually writes upward of eight to ten paragraphs, and the subjects run the gamut from
Family Guy
(his favorite TV show) to how the only thing he hates about being vegetarian is the nasty protein shakes his coach makes him drink. Even though the tone of what he writes is still platonic, I‘ve convinced myself that flirtation is better measured by quantity than quality.

Wes and I have been sticking to e-mailing because we haven‘t been able to find common time to IM like we did before New Year‘s—track practice keeps Wes from getting home until eight or nine some nights, and I have to go to bed super early to make seven a.m. Science Quiz practice. I don‘t mind, though. There‘s something special about corresponding with lengthy e-mails the way people used to with snail mail.

On Sunday I arrive at Wes‘s fifty minutes late and in a bad mood because Grandma was particularly unpleasant during brunch this morning, my bike is in the repair shop, and Mom, who promised to drive me, was held up at an emergency faculty meeting. On top of everything, Dad was rummaging through our fridge this afternoon for a beer and accidentally toppled the tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries I made especially for tonight.

When I ring Wes‘s doorbell, a tall blond lady in a pink sweatsuit answers.

―Oh, look at that red hair! You must be Dominique! I‘m Wesley‘s mom.‖ She takes my hand in both of hers. ―Wesley has said wonderful things about you.‖

―Oh…that‘s nice of him,‖ I say, honestly a little shocked. Talking to his mom about me has got to be a good sign. It‘s funny—his mom, with her big hair and pastel clothes, is so old-school Florida Fabulous while Wes is so understated. But I can see where Wes gets his sharp nose and cleft chin from.

Mrs. Gershwin leads me to the den, where Mr. Gershwin is hunched over some papers at his desk. He‘s also wearing a sweatsuit, this one in green and yellow. There‘s no resemblance to Wes in his apple-shaped face and dark brown hair, but he does have those big blue eyes. Mr.

Gershwin stands up to shake my hand and says he‘s glad Wes has made a ―good friend‖ and I should sit next to them from now on during meets. I‘m positively beaming!

Mr. and Mrs. Gershwin are on the old side, probably eight to ten years older than my parents, but they‘re smiley and vivacious and ask me all about Shorr and premed programs. I‘m almost disappointed to leave them when Amy appears at the den door and motions for me to come with her. After I say my goodbyes and thank-you-for-having-meovers, I join Amy in the guest bathroom, which is decked out with jungle-print wallpaper and a gold papier-mâché parrot dangling from the ceiling.

―So,‖ she whispers, ―you‘re fashionably late.‖

―Yeah, I know. I should have just asked you to pick me up. You all weren‘t waiting for me to watch the movies, were you?‖

―No, but…‖ She leans in close to me, her wavy black hair cresting over her shoulders as she bounces up and down excitedly. ―Gersh asked me where you were, like,
three
times.‖

My blood‘s pounding in my ears. ―Oh my God, really?‖ I whisper-shout to her.

―Yeah! He kept saying, ‗So where‘s Dom? Shouldn‘t she be here by now?‘‖

―Oh, Ames.‖ It‘s hard to talk I‘m smiling so widely. ―You know, at the meet yesterday, he was walking to the sidelines to get some water, and he spotted me on the bleachers. He gave me the cutest smile and winked. Winking is much sexier than waving, right?‖

―Coming from Gersh, that‘s like a dozen roses.‖

―Exactly! I think something could happen tonight if we could finally get some alone time. I know it‘s only been three weeks—‖

―Only three weeks? My patience runs out after three minutes.‖ Amy looks pensive for a moment, the way she does when she‘s holding her palette before a blank canvas. Finally she says, ―All right, I figured it out. There‘s a guy here I wouldn‘t mind hooking up with, so if all goes right, we‘ll both be getting lucky.‖

―What are you going to do?‖

―No questions. Just follow my lead.‖

We walk into the living room, packed with over twenty trackies spread out on couches, ottomans, armchairs, and the Persian rug. Wes grins bashfully as soon as he sees me.

―Hey, take a seat,‖ he says softly while sidling left to make room between him and Paul on the couch. Meanwhile, Amy heads straight toward one of the discus throwers and seats herself on his lap as if they had been going out for months.

There‘s a huge spread of Chinese food in front of me on the coffee table, but I‘m too wired to eat with there being only an inch of airspace between Wes and me. Soon Wes stretches out his legs so his right ankle ends up resting against my left pinkie toe. It‘s as if a bolt of electricity surges through me, and all systems are on high alert. I freeze, careful not to move but also unsure of my next move. I try to catch Amy‘s eye to see if she noticed anything, but she‘s totally preoccupied with her guy. I already know what she‘d advise me to do, anyway.

I take a deep breath and am on the verge of returning a little foot pressure when Wes crosses his legs. My heart sinks into my stomach. Maybe his touching me was completely unintentional after all.

At the end of the evening, after almost everyone else has gone, Amy tells Wes she‘s bushed and wonders if he could drive me home since I‘m so far out of her way. Wes says sure, adding he needs to fill up with gas anyway. I could kiss Amy for being so sympathetic to my cause.