Of course, Marissa was careful to keep all her opinions to herself. She knew that, especially given how insecure Xan was about his artwork to begin with, voicing her true opinions would be an instant relationship killer. So she was very positive and upbeat, going on and on, exaggerating the few positives about his work and ignoring the many negatives. She knew she was taking it way too far- comparing his work to Picasso and Johns was about as overboard as it gets- but at least he didn’t seem to catch on that she thought his work was mediocre. Assuming that things with Xan worked out and they continued dating, she’d have to tell him her true feelings about his paintings eventually, but she hoped by that time he’d realize for himself that he didn’t have much of a future as an artist. Besides, the important thing- and one of the things she found most attractive about him to begin with- was that he was passionate about his art. So many people didn’t have passion for anything these days; they just went along with their narrow, selfish lives without really caring about anything. But Xan was different. She knew that if he transferred the passion he had for art to something else he’d be hugely successful.
When they started kissing on his couch, she wanted to make love to him, but he wanted to wait until he met her parents. She thought this was very sweet, but she was also terrified that her parents would mess everything up for her. Her mother had been so depressed and moody lately, and her father had been incredibly annoying with all his rules. He’d told her it was “time for some tough love,” but she felt like he was just doing it to annoy the hell out of her and make life at home so unbearable that she’d be forced to move out on her own and get a job. He was such a hypocrite, acting so high and mighty all the time, telling her that she was “passive- aggressive” and “acting out” and- the most ridiculous of all- “exhibiting attention- seeking behavior.” Meanwhile, who was going around shooting people? Who was the new Bernie Goetz? Who was the one who’d made a fool of himself in that interview for Daily Intel?
Marissa was expecting dinner to be a total disaster. She knew her father would interrogate Xan, and she was afraid her mother would be in one of her down moods and just sit there and not say anything. But, thanks to Xan and his charm, dinner went amazingly well. Xan handled her father perfectly- taking him seriously, not getting too defensive- and by the end of the meal they were talking like old friends. Her mom was surprisingly conversational and seemed to like Xan a lot, too. Actually, she seemed to like Xan a little too much, getting a little too flirty with him. At least a few times Marissa caught her mother making googly eyes at Xan. She didn’t know what was up with her mother and younger guys these days. Weren’t men supposed to have the midlife crises? What was she going to do next, start buying sports cars?
After dinner, it was great to finally be alone with Xan in a bed. As they undressed each other and during foreplay, it felt different than it had with previous boyfriends. This wasn’t just hooking up with some random guy. This was the beginning of something special.
But unfortunately, just like seeing his artwork, the sex itself was a major disappointment. It wasn’t due to a lack of passion, because Xan was definitely trying. If anything, he was trying too hard, making so much noise. It was embarrassing with her parents so close by, and it was hard for her to relax and focus. She whispered “Shh” a few times and said, “We have to be quiet,” but it was like he couldn’t control himself, and there was a limit to what she could say to him. She sensed that- like his art- sex was something he took very seriously and that any suggestions she made would be misinterpreted as criticism. She definitely didn’t want to offend him their first time doing it. Besides, Xan seemed very inexperienced- he’d only mentioned a couple of past serious girlfriends- and she didn’t want to make him feel self- conscious, like he was doing something wrong and needed coaching. She figured that once they got to know each other’s bodies, and some of his nervous ness and awkwardness faded, the sex would improve. Meanwhile, everything else about the relationship felt so perfect.
She left the house without bothering to tell her father where she was going and took the subway to Xan’s in Brooklyn. On the way to his building, she imagined that she was living with him. She knew she was getting way ahead of herself, but so what? It was fun to fantasize. Xan’s place was small, but it would be a good starter apartment, and with a little decorating and better use of the space it had a lot of potential. Living with a guy would be a blast, and she had a feeling that Xan would be very laid- back and easy to get along with. She had enough money to pitch in for rent for several months at least, and eventually she’d find some kind of job or go back to school or do something. When the timing felt right she’d gently persuade him to find a career outside of art. She wouldn’t really care what he did for a living, because to her who he was was more important than what he was. She’d never been materialistic. She didn’t want to marry some doctor and be miserable her whole life- she’d watched her mother make that mistake.
Xan buzzed her up to his apartment. Although it had only been a few hours since they’d seen each other, it felt like it had been days, and it was great just to be with him, to hug him, to feel close to somebody.
They got right into bed and lay side by side facing each other, kissing and giggling with their noses touching.
“So it sounds like it was pretty crazy over there, huh?” Xan asked.
“You have no idea,” Marissa said. “I walked into the kitchen, and they looked like they wanted to kill each other. My dad’s whole face was bleeding, my mother must’ve hit him or something, and then my dad said that he’s been cheating, too. When my mother comes home it’s gonna be a total disaster.”
She went on, venting, rehashing what had happened at the house. Xan didn’t say much. Occasionally he said things like “It sounds rough” and “I’m so sorry” and “Man, that sucks so bad.” But just having somebody to talk to, somebody who actually cared about her, made her feel so much better.
“I’m so lucky I have you in my life right now,” she said as they rubbed noses again. “I think I must be the luckiest girl alive.”
eigh teen
Dana was at the Starbucks on Austin Street in Forest Hills, into her second latte, contemplating her bleak future. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to imagine a life without Adam, but this time the idea of winding up divorced seemed more serious, more imminent, and the alternatives were as scary and as unappealing as ever.
She had no close relatives in the New York area, and she didn’t want to burden any of her friends, so if she moved out she’d have to go to a hotel. She could stay there for a while, maybe a couple of months, then what? She knew that Adam would go all out, hiring Neil Berman, an old college friend and a high- priced, cutthroat divorce lawyer. Berman was as slimy as they came. She’d have to counter with her own pit bull, and she and Adam would wind up spending tens of thousand of dollars on nasty lawyer correspondence. She knew he’d fight like hell to keep the house and would probably be successful, given that the house had belonged to his family before they were married. She’d probably be able to get half their stock market account and savings- only a few hundred thousand dollars total, because they still hadn’t recovered the money Adam had lost during the dot- com bust. They both had IRAs, and Adam had a 401(k) or a 403(b), but she wasn’t sure exactly how much was in Adam’s retirement accounts or whether she would be entitled to any of it. She would probably be able to work out some sort of alimony agreement, but Neil Berman was such a bloodsucking prick that Dana knew it wouldn’t be much. And even if she was somehow able to work out a decent settlement, it wouldn’t be enough to pay a New York City rent and all her expenses. She’d need some kind of job, and she doubted companies would be tripping over themselves to hire a forty- seven- year- old woman with limited skills who’d been out of the workforce for over a de cade. Yeah, she’d try to meet another man, but would that even be possible? In a few years, she’d be fifty and single, struggling to pay her rent in some tiny, modest apartment.