Page 113 of Girls Will Be Girls
“That’s my favorite kind.”
He pulls at our intertwined hands gently so that his lips can find mine for the slightest touch. Even the smallest taste of him makes me feel giddy, makes me desperate for more. He’s like my own personal sugar rush, and I never want the high to end.
We make our way from cafe to cafe, bakery to bakery, getting one drink and one baked good from each to share. Starting off with a chocolate chip cookie and vanilla frappuccino, and Lou asking me about my life back home. I tell him about my friends, about where I live with Frida, and about my love for New York in the fall.
With a jam donut and a mango slushy-type drink, Lou tells me about his life in DC. About working a lot, about the apartment he barely spends any time in, about his friends who work just as much, and how some of them truly embody the saying‘work hard, play hard’— like Noah.
When I take a bite of the donut, the jam squirts out onto my face, and between laughs, Lou wipes it off my cheek before kissing the remnants from the corner of my mouth.
It takes me roughly ten minutes to recover from it.
We hit the serious part of the date during a salted pretzel and caramel swizzle when we talk more about our families.
“So, you said you had a sibling?” Lou asks.
“Yeah.” I nod around a sip. “An older brother. He works on Wall Street.”
“Wow,” Lou says. “Intense.”
“Very.”
Lou strokes the underside of my wrist where his hand holds mine. “You see him a lot?”
“About the same as my mom. Holidays or special occasions.” I say. “We all sort of live our own lives without each other.”
I swallow down the gnawing shame and guilt I feel whenever I think of my almost non-existent relationships with my family. When I think about how they don’t really know me at all.
“How about you?” I say, turning the conversation away from me. “Do you see your parents much?”
“Not if I can help it.” I squeeze his hand as he goes on. “They can be pretty… intense. I told you how competitive things were between me and Otto as kids, and I guess they still are. My parents sort of encourage it. They want us to be the best of the best, and competing with each other makes us that.” He says. “Apparently.”
“Are they journalists too?”
“My mom was, which is why I am.” He says.
“You wanted to do what she does?” I ask.
“More like, they strongly encouraged us to do what they did.” He says. “My dad was a politician, and he expects one or both of us to follow into it.”
“Is that why you’re so good at being confident Mr. Politician?” I say.
He laughs. “Didn’t realize I was.”
I raise my eyebrow at him. “The first class tickets?”
“That was because I’m just effortlessly charming.”
I roll my eyes.
He shrugs. “I guess it’s just habit.”
“Do you want to be a politician?” I ask.
He lets out a humorless laugh. “I would rather broadcast the Chuck story on national television than have that happen.”
“Noted.” I laugh gently. “So, does Otto see them a lot?”
He shakes his head. “No, we both tend to avoid them as much as we can. They keep tabs on us, and we see them for the occasional dinner or event, but mainly I just keep my head down and avoid them.”
