Her pupils dilate, her nostrils flare. Her chest swells as she sucks in a breath.
God, she’s responsive. Sensitive.
I clamp down hard on that line of thinking. Kiss the back of her hand, and then let go. Sit on the bed and take off my boots, my socks.
My jeans are tight and I’m ready to take them off, but that seems kind of forward. Issue is, I didn’t bring shorts or anything. I hadn’t anticipated a need.
She’s just watching me. She’s kicked off her shoes and is looking at me, as if waiting for something. “Now what?”
I laugh. “No idea. I’m gonna brush my teeth. Maybe turn the TV on for a few minutes, just to unwind.”
She glances at her suitcase, which is a small, hard-sided roller with an extendable handle. New, nice, and lightly used. Her eyes widen, and she smothers a shocked laugh with her hand. “Ohmygosh. I just realized something.”
“What?” I ask.
“I forgot to pack pajamas.”
“What do you usually sleep in?”
She blushes. It’s adorable. “Um. Usually just whatever shirt I was wearing and some underwear. Or just my underwear.” The blush spreads, deepens. “I wasn’t even thinking about pajamas.”
I laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t bring any either. I’m like you, just my underwear, usually.”
“So…what do we do?”
I shrug. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. I can sleep in my jeans and T-shirt.” The thought makes me cringe, but I’ll do it for her.
She shakes her head. “We can be adults about this, right? Nothing to be weird about.” She bites that lower lip again. “It’s just underwear. No different than wearing a bikini to the beach.” She snickers. “I don’t own a bikini, but still.”
“You don’t?”
A shrug. “Nope. Once pieces only. My parents are pretty conservative. My grandma is a Christian, and raised my dad that way. We don’t really go to church much, but they still hold to a lot of the more conservative ideals and such, such as modesty. And, you know…no sex before marriage.” If she blushes any deeper, I’m worried she’ll faint from the blood rush or something.
“And what about you?” I ask. “What do you believe? You personally, I mean. Not them, butyou.”
She sits on the bed beside me, hands propped behind her. The bed is high enough and she’s short enough that her toes don’t touch the ground, and she bounces her foot off the side of the bed. “You know, funny you should ask.” A sniff of a laugh. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. My beliefs are…complicated. I’ve spent a lot of time in oncology wards, as you can imagine. And I’ve seen…some incredible things. Miraculous healing—literally, a girl I know was stage four, terminal, and she just…one day, was healed. No cancer. No surgery, no chemo, no radiation, no treatment of any kind. It just vanished without explanation and last I knew, never came back. But then I’ve seen someone go from a benign tumor to dead in weeks. There’s…more, to life. More than just what we see. I have no doubt of that whatsoever. What I struggle with is the question of…is it God? And does he care? He, she, whatever, I don’t know. It’s God, maybe gender doesn’t apply. And if it is God, and if God cares, why am I dying? Why me? Why anyone? It’s impossible to figure out.” A slow sigh. “Not the question you were asking, I know.”
“No, this is the stuff I want to know, want to talk about. Not just surface stuff.”
She nods, but her eyes see nothing, staring into middle distance. “What do I believe? I believe in love. Mom and Dad are proof. They love each other, and that love has gotten them through…well, everything with me. And when I was little, Mom miscarried at twelve weeks. I remember her being sad for a long, long time. It was before I was sick. So she went from that to me getting sick, and Dad just…he was there for her. Loved her through her sadness. So I believe in love. What else do I believe?”
A long pause. I don’t rush it.
“I believe a certain amount of modesty is necessary. I think there’s a little too much emphasis in our culture on provocative, overly revealing, overly sexualized clothing, and it just seems unnecessary. Like, keep some of that private. But I also believe that’s an individual choice. I wouldn’t walk around half naked like some girls I see, but then again, I posted that video of me, and it’s obvious I’m not wearing a bra. Some people might think that’s immodest. I know Mom said something about it, after I showed her the video. But I almost never wear a bra so I didn’t even think about it.” She shrugs. “I think…I think my life experience has made it kind of impossible for me to say I know what I believe regarding sex before marriage. I honestly never really imagined it’d be an issue for me, so why bother worrying about it?” Her eyes cut to mine. “I guess maybe it does apply, now.”
“Doesn’t have to, Jolene. I want you to really understand that this is all about you. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
She smiles. “Thank you. And I guess I need to figure that out, huh?” Another pause. “I guess…I think…I feel like…it should mean something. Sex, I mean. It shouldn’t just be…whatever, you know? Like, something to do, for fun or just because it feels good, or…or whatever. It should be meaningful. Maybe it doesn’t have to be within the context of legal marriage, though. That feels a little backward to me. Or, archaic, maybe. But it definitely shouldn’t be casual. To me, at least.”
“I feel the same way,” I say.
“You do?”
I nod. “Yeah, for sure.”
She bites her lip. Glances at me. “Can I…can I ask you a really personal question?”
I smile at her. “Of course.” I know what the question is.
