thinner with a ridiculously gorgeous new man on my arm. At first they’ll wonder what happen to the first hot guy they saw me with, then they’ll conclude he was probably just a boy toy. A rebound guy who ushered me into my new life as eligible bachelorette, a woman about town, the female equivalent of a ladies man. Then I realize that because of double standards, the female equivalent of a ladies man is a whore, which makes me angry at society.
“What are you thinking about?” Rio asks, leaning back and resting an arm over the back of his char.
“Society.”
He gives me a questioning look but I just shake my head. A crisp autumn breeze blows by and we both rush to catch our paper napkins before they blow away. Then we turn and watch a couple pass by on the sidewalk alongside us. We sit sipping our drinks in conformable silence, and I touch my finger to the salted rim of the margarita glass and lick it.
I look across the table at Rio, admiring his profile and the way his wind-tousled hair makes him look like he just got out of bed. And at that moment, I wish I could tell him my entire life story and make him understand. But I don’t know how, so instead I ask, “How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?”
“Do you?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “No one serious.”
“So you have an un-serious girlfriend?”
“There are a few friends I see, no strings attached.”
Ah, friends with benefits—and more than one. It would be ridiculous to think a guy like Rio would go through life celibate, yet the idea of him having multiple fuck buddies makes my heart sink.
I sip my drink casually. “How many lady friends do you have?”
“Three.”
“Three?” I set my glass down harder than I meant to, and it thumps loudly on the table. “That’s just gross.”
He looks surprised, then understanding seems to dawn. “You’re very innocent, December. It’s a beautiful thing—don’t ever lose it.” He slurps the last of his club soda, then sets the glass down and stands up to go.
“Wait, you’re leaving already?” I ask.
“You said just one drink.”
“Yeah but…it’s only been like five minutes.” My words sound desperate to my own ears, and I realize I don’t like the way I’m acting, like a clingy, needy loser. “Ugh, fine. Just go. I’m tired of you anyway.” I turn away from him and pick up my drink. I expect him to leave, but a moment later I hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he sits back down.
“Don’t feel obligated to stay,” I tell him, still staring at the treeline ahead. “I was captivated by you for like a minute, but I’m over it. I won’t bother you for anything other than workout advice from now on. Thank you for making your feelings brutally clear.”
A few minutes go by in silence, then he says, “You asked me why I volunteered to be a big brother.” I don’t respond, just keep staring out at the pink and purple sky above the treetops.
“I grew up in foster homes,” he says. “I had a foster brother. This guy Darius. He took me under his wing and helped me out when I was completely alone. I was a little older when I was put into the foster care system, and I got shipped from home to home, school to school, family to family. I was angry and messed up, but Darius kept in touch with me and taught me how to box. And it saved my life. No matter what was going on or how pissed off I was, I finally had an outlet, you know? Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me going. So I try to honor him by doing what he did for me for someone else, other kids who need someone to look out for them.”
“Your foster brother must be proud,” I say.
“Unfortunately he passed away a few years ago. He was in a rough neighborhood, visiting a girl. He went out to his car to get something and the police were passing by. They thought he was breaking into the
“What are you thinking about?” Rio asks, leaning back and resting an arm over the back of his char.
“Society.”
He gives me a questioning look but I just shake my head. A crisp autumn breeze blows by and we both rush to catch our paper napkins before they blow away. Then we turn and watch a couple pass by on the sidewalk alongside us. We sit sipping our drinks in conformable silence, and I touch my finger to the salted rim of the margarita glass and lick it.
I look across the table at Rio, admiring his profile and the way his wind-tousled hair makes him look like he just got out of bed. And at that moment, I wish I could tell him my entire life story and make him understand. But I don’t know how, so instead I ask, “How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?”
“Do you?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “No one serious.”
“So you have an un-serious girlfriend?”
“There are a few friends I see, no strings attached.”
Ah, friends with benefits—and more than one. It would be ridiculous to think a guy like Rio would go through life celibate, yet the idea of him having multiple fuck buddies makes my heart sink.
I sip my drink casually. “How many lady friends do you have?”
“Three.”
“Three?” I set my glass down harder than I meant to, and it thumps loudly on the table. “That’s just gross.”
He looks surprised, then understanding seems to dawn. “You’re very innocent, December. It’s a beautiful thing—don’t ever lose it.” He slurps the last of his club soda, then sets the glass down and stands up to go.
“Wait, you’re leaving already?” I ask.
“You said just one drink.”
“Yeah but…it’s only been like five minutes.” My words sound desperate to my own ears, and I realize I don’t like the way I’m acting, like a clingy, needy loser. “Ugh, fine. Just go. I’m tired of you anyway.” I turn away from him and pick up my drink. I expect him to leave, but a moment later I hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he sits back down.
“Don’t feel obligated to stay,” I tell him, still staring at the treeline ahead. “I was captivated by you for like a minute, but I’m over it. I won’t bother you for anything other than workout advice from now on. Thank you for making your feelings brutally clear.”
A few minutes go by in silence, then he says, “You asked me why I volunteered to be a big brother.” I don’t respond, just keep staring out at the pink and purple sky above the treetops.
“I grew up in foster homes,” he says. “I had a foster brother. This guy Darius. He took me under his wing and helped me out when I was completely alone. I was a little older when I was put into the foster care system, and I got shipped from home to home, school to school, family to family. I was angry and messed up, but Darius kept in touch with me and taught me how to box. And it saved my life. No matter what was going on or how pissed off I was, I finally had an outlet, you know? Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me going. So I try to honor him by doing what he did for me for someone else, other kids who need someone to look out for them.”
“Your foster brother must be proud,” I say.
“Unfortunately he passed away a few years ago. He was in a rough neighborhood, visiting a girl. He went out to his car to get something and the police were passing by. They thought he was breaking into the
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