Page 36 of Bad at Love
“What?” I ask.
“That happened with Doctor David,” she admits warily. “I was chugging wine, you know, to counteract all the caffeine I had. Then I choked on linguine. David had to give me the Heimlich maneuver in front of the whole restaurant. Then after I spat it all up, I proceeded to give everyone a demonstration of the waggle dance.”
I stare at her, my mind trying to process. “The waggle…what?That’swhat happened on your third date?” I ask incredulously.
“Yeah.”
“Is that what always happens on your third date because if so, then we definitely know what the problem is.”
She glares at me, looking pouty. “No that doesn’t always happen. There are often variations.”
I raise my brows. “Marina…”
She shrugs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I told you I’m not good at this.”
“Okay, well now we have two things we know not to do, talk about bees and get sloshed. Why are you drinking so much anyway?”
“I told you,” she says defensively. “I get nervous. And now you know why I get nervous.”
Drinking is a delicate topic for the both of us. We do drink, naturally, but we’re also very aware of the way our parents are, or at least were and what that can mean for us. In my case, my father was a drunk and a gambler, which may have been one of the reasons why he left. I still don’t know the real reason and probably never will. Maybe it’s the same reason why my parents sent me off to boarding school to begin with.
As for Marina, her father has always been an alcoholic. He killed her mother in a drunk driving accident when shewas young and the two have had a tense and fragmented relationship ever since. Her father is on and off the wagon often, so sometimes Marina has to take care of him. Sometimes her aunt will help out but often it comes down to Marina which, in my opinion, is highly unfair. It’s a stress that she doesn’t need to deal with, and considering everything she’s gone through, I’m amazed at how positive and selfless she can be.
Though I have to wonder how much of that is a mask. I know she takes medication, I know she sees a therapist, I know that sometimes I see this darkness creep over her, rob her of her light and joy. When that happens, I wish there was something I could do for her, but all I can really do is just a be a friend, whether she needs it or not.
“You’ve got that look on your face,” she says in a low voice.
“What look?”
“The worried look. The disapproving look. The look that usually precedes a lecture.”
“No lectures,” I tell her. “We both know it’s a sensitive subject and I totally get why you’re nervous. But drinking too much on a date isn’t going to help anyone. So why don’t we attack the reasons why you’re nervous.”
Her eyes roll up to the ceiling. “You know why. Do I have to spell it out again?”
“Because you’re a virgin.”
“Keep your voice down,” she says in a harsh whisper, shrinking in her seat, her eyes flitting around the room. “I don’t want it advertised.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Easy for you to say. You’reverymuch not one.”
“I don’t think I appreciate thevery muchpart. I couldtell you how many women I’ve slept with. Do you want to know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She opens her mouth to say something then snaps her mouth shut. Her shoulder lifts up in a half shrug. “No reason.”
“Thirty-two.”
“Thirty-two!” she exclaims. People turn to look at her.
“Oh, so I can’t talk about your virginity but you’ll go and yell this out loud?”
“Thirty-two,” she repeats, wide-eyed. “Oh my god.”
