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“That’s exactly what I mean. I’m hardly in the business of suiting other people, am I? Anyway, the point is, I’m not a man who has regrets. I don’t regret it. I meant it, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“The point is, you’re not a man at all.” She muttered these words into her plate.
“What?”
“I said you’re not a man at all. Do you think I’m impressed by all this posturing? Playing the tough guy, or whatever you think you’re doing? The guys where I grew up eat boys like you for breakfast, and spit out their bones on the highway on their way to work.”
“Is that so?”
“You know it.”
“What I know is that you shouldn’t be fooled by the expensive clothes and exclusive education, I’m a lone wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
“Noted.” She didn’t even sound slightly convinced.
“Anyway, your turn. Two truths, one lie.”
“Ugh. I don’t know why I’m humoring you with this shit, but okay. Number one, I can’t whistle. Number two, you’re the first guy who’s ever been home to meet my dad. Number three, I can drive a stick.”
“Hmm… easy. Clearly a girl like you has had guys at your house before.”
“Girls like me? What do you mean, like hood rat satas?”
“No. I mean girls who look like you.”
“Girls who can pass for guys?”
“Jesus Christ, are you trying to be an ass about this? Girls as beautiful as you. You would have had guys queuing around the block.”
“Yeah, because flat-chested androgynous-looking chicks no curves and no booty get all the guys.”
“They should. And for the record, I love your tits.”
“Also noted. Not that I give a fuck what you think about my body. I mean, I did date when I was at school, but it wasn’t like I was prolific. I guess I just don’t have the most obvious attributes that high school boys are looking for in their ideal girl.”
Maybe not, but you have the obvious attributes of most supermodels. “And what do high school boys know?”
“Yeah, well, like I said, I was hardly celibate. The main reason I didn’t bring guys home was because I didn’t want to worry my dad. He knew a couple of the guys I dated from when we were kids—back when he was still fit and healthy and could still get out of the house—but never as my boyfriend. And now I’m older, it’s just really none of his business who I’m hooking up with, so I don’t shit where I eat.””
“Hmm… well that makes sense of why he was so keen to show me all your baby photos, and shit.”
“Tell me that didn’t happen.”
“Oh, believe me, I would like nothing better than to be able to tell you that, because that would mean I didn’t have to sit through it. Unfortunately it did happen, and I endured like a champion. The only saving grace is that you were one cute little chiquita.” I loved how utterly mortified she was. Apart from anger and indignation, it was my favorite look on her—it was totally real, raw and unfiltered. In lives filled with as much fakery as mine and hers, I appreciated it.
“So you can drive a stick shift?”
“Ha! With my eyes closed! Like my dad told you earlier, he treated me like the son he never got to have,because… I mean, I was a tomboy. Big time. He had me doing burnouts from about twelve or thirteen.”
Because what? I wondered.
“Why do you think I can pass for a dude? I pretty much grew up as one. Racing, fishing, golf. You name it, I did it. Hence I can whistle like a sailor, and cuss like one too. I also learned that if I drop my voice a little lower, not only do I sound more like a guy, but people take me more seriously, too. Apparently it’s an animal kingdom thing. Even dogs respond better to deeper bark, or a lower human voice—female dog trainers drop their voices to get the dogs to take them more seriously as the pack leader.”
“But then with that, you also did gymnastics, and shit as well?”
“Yeah. I did most of that boy stuff to please Dad. To play the role he needed me to play. But I always loved gymnastics, then when I got older that morphed into circus skills, pole, silks, lyra.
“Lyra?”
