Page 22 of Words I Couldn't Say
After my one-time disastrous foray into the world of dating, I’d decided I hadn’t needed it. Nothing my fingers couldn’t do themselves, especially when we didn’t have to have an awkward conversation afterward. Not that I would have told Tawni that. What we did in our own bedrooms, only mere feet down the hall from each other, was our own business.
“Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to get a reputation,” I quipped. She was right, of course, but my sentiment was, also. “Slut-shaming is pretty big in Hollywood these days, you know.”
She laughed at that. Actually laughed. “Are you kidding me? If there’s anywhere to be aslut,” she said with air quotations, “it’s Hollywood. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
I waved a dismissive hand in her direction. “Oh, come on. You know there’s a complete double standard. Not just in Hollywood, but in life in general. Men can do whatever they want. Us? We’re expected to wait in our little Rapunzel castles until Prince Charming’s done screwing all the maids and finally comes with the keys to our chastity belts.”
Tawni burst out into laughter. I, personally, didn’t find it funny because it was true.
“If someone slut-shames a woman for having safe, pleasurable sex,” she said, “I say fuck them. This isn’t the nineteen fifties. We aren’t meant, as you said so eloquently, to be chaste maidens waiting for Prince Charming to arrive on a white steed with the hardware that leads to our happy place.” She snickered. “Although that last part isn’t a bad thought.”
“You’re awful,” I teased.
“It’s the twenty-first century. There are things in place to prevent diseases and unwanted pregnancies. I don’t find anything wrong with seeking pleasure just for that. Pleasure.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve put some thought into this,” I said, already having known that this was one of Tawni’s favorite soapbox points.
Funny enough, too, because I couldn’t remember the last time Tawni so much as looked at a guy. I supposed it was the psychology major in her.
She sighed. “I’m just so sick of the double standard. What they can do, we can do. I am woman. Stick a condom on. Fuck me senseless. Hear me roar! Then please, for the love of all that is holy, get out and let me sleep. Alone.”
The sound of a chair scraping across the floor caught my attention. My head swiveled around to see the eyebrows wagging of one of the men at the table next to us while he elbowed his buddy and snickered. If the way they’d scooted closer to us was any indication, they were utterly interested in our conversation. Thanks, Tawni.
I giggled, throwing my napkin at her. “If you plan on roaring, please go to his place,” I requested.
She sobered then tossed a glare to the men who were eyeing her. “Not gonna happen,” she shot at them, which caused them both to quickly turn their attention back to the baseball game. “Look, Ava, I’m not saying go sleep with a bunch of randoms every night. Just that a woman shouldn’t deny herself because of an antiquated societal belief that a lady who enjoys pleasures is a whore. We’re in our early twenties. We have no plans on settling down any time soon. We’re single, so who the hell cares if we have a bit of fun along the way as long as we’re safe about it?”
“And what about when we do settle down? Do you know how many girls I know who’ve lied to their significant others about how many sexual partners they had? Not because they were ashamed, but because men sometimes have fragile egos and are hypocrites? What happens then?”
“I want to settle down eventually. I want a husband and a family one day, but not now. And, when I do, I’ll be completely honest about my sexual past. If a man can’t handle it, then that man isn’t man enough for me.”
I raised my beer and tilted it in her direction. My girl had a point. Not that I’d be taking her up on her advice and she knew it, but still. I liked her soapbox.
“I agree. Sex doesn’t have to be about love,” I said. “It can be about pleasure and a good time. But my reality is I love Tucker, and the idea of another man touching me is… I just can’t do it.”
“And that makes sense to me. I’ve never been in love, so I can’t say I get it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t commend you for holding out. It’s just as brave.” She drained her beer then gave me a pointed look. “The only man you’ve ever wanted is thousands of miles away.”
“Yup.”
“So, what’re you going to do about it?”
I took a sip of beer and turned to face her. “I’m going to make a film.” Then I took another sip.
She waited.
“I’m going to Cincinnati.” Another sip.
Still waiting.
“I’m going to be the perfect Abby. Don’t worry, Tawni. I’ll do you and Mr. Bankman proud.”
She beamed, not saying a word, waiting while I downed the rest of my beer.
I placed my hands on the table and sat up straight. “And then I’m going to put on my Trevor pants and I’m going to win back the love of my life. Even if it kills me.”
As she pressed her hands to her heart, she grimaced, tears welling in her eyes. “Too soon, Ava. Too freaking soon.”
I laughed. “You read that book months ago!”
“It doesn’t matter! It still hurts like it happened yesterday.” She wiped the corners of her eyes with a napkin. Then she stretched across the table and took my hand. “He’s not gonna know what hit him.”
Her vote of confidence did little to bolster my own, but I didn’t care. It was abundantly clear what I had to do.
I had a movie to make.
Then I had a heart to unbreak.
Neither was going to be easy.
