Page 24 of Later Bloom

“No, I mean, it could be for religious reasons, too, but your profile said you’re agnostic, so I thought...” He trails off, leaving his silence to do the heavy lifting for him.

“And there’s no other possible reason someone might not have had sex by a certain age.”

Raphael sits up just a hair. He seems to actually be pondering Aubrey’s point. The conversation still feels light, the tension eased by the water and the wind and their matching hesitant, polite smiles. “I guess there could be,” he finally agrees. “It’s just, you really don’t look like someone who’d stay a virgin so long. I mean it in a good way.”

“Mm. That’s a weird kind of compliment.”

“Is it? I’m just saying you’ve got a head on your shoulders, you’re not super shy or anything.”

“Okay. Well, thanks, I guess. But then, let’s say I am still a virgin, and you’re saying all this about how it’s just impossible that I’ve never had sexual intercourse with anyone. Because to you, sex might be an intrinsic part of fitting a certain image, and then you can simply decide, by your own standard, whether someone who fits that image ticks all these boxes you’ve assigned to it. And everything in your language, and the way you think, suggests that of course this girl sitting in front of you, who you’ve deemed pretty enough to be desired, could never be this weird, shameful thing you can’t even wrap your head around.”

“Okay, well, I never said it was weird or shameful.”

“Because you won’t even acknowledge it could be true. That I could just be attractive, and talkative, and a virgin.”

“I guess.” Raphael’s eyes seem to see too much, look too closely. “It’s just something I’ve never encountered before.”

“So it couldn’t possibly be a reality.”

“Is it a reality, though?”

“It doesn’t matter whether it is or not, that’s the thing. The point is it could be. And if it was, I wouldn’t reveal it now, after you’ve made your feelings about the idea so clear.”

“I don’t think I have any set opinions on the matter. I mean, sure, I didn’t consider it as a possibility. I’m sorry for that. I guess it’s just not something I’m used to hearing, or considering. But it doesn’t mean I would judge or look down on anyone for it.”

“Wouldn’t you? You can’t even think of a reason why someone would ever choose to willfully refrain from having sex with anyone, other than religion. You are aware asexuality is a thing, yes?”

“Of course I am.” He runs a hand down the length of his face, as if exasperated, but there’s still a smile in there, lingering. He finds this entertaining. Aubrey fixes her eye on the water. She can’t make up her mind about him. Mostly she finds him irritating and disappointingly predictable, but she also wants to know what he’ll say next. She itches for him to catch her off-guard and prove her wrong. She wants to smile with something more than guarded hesitation.

She waits. After a second he says, “God, I don’t know. I guess you’re right then.” It’s far from convincing.

Aubrey laughs. The wind blows her hair into her face. “This isn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be.”

“I swear I’m an open-minded guy. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know you think that.”

Raphael sucks air through his teeth. “Ouch.”

“Let me ask you something. Let’s say you meet a twenty-eight-year-old woman, and she’s never been in a relationship, but she’s had sex. Only once, when she was twenty-one and she couldn’t bear that feeling of lagging behind anymore, and she couldn’t stand listening to her friends talk about their boyfriends, and their lavish sex lives, and she got told she should just get it over with, that it’s not that fun or special anyway, the first time. And so she does it. It’s awful and awkward, but it’s done. She’s not a virgin anymore. And that’s it. You view her entirely differently because she doesn’t wear this tag now, right? But what is so different than if that same woman decides, in the moment, that she doesn’t actually want to go through with it? That she’s uncomfortable, and it doesn’t feel right, and she ends it and walks away? And then it’s years later, and she’s yet to find someone she feels comfortable enough with. That she desires enough. What differentiates these two women other than the title we give them, and the weight we attribute to that title?”

If they were at a bar, Aubrey could order another drink and wash down the lump in her throat with some beer. But they’re not. They sit on this grass watching a small fishing town in the distance, and she finds nothing to give her courage. Instead, she wonders where this could go now, how this could possibly end well. But when she looks over at Raphael, she finds that his expression hasn’t changed, that even now he wears a soft, amused smirk. He sinks back into his shoulders and watches the little waves crashing at his feet.

“It’s a good question,” he says. “I think you know there’s really no way for me to answer it other than to agree that there’s not much difference. I don’t think it’s fully true, but it’s what I should say in this situation, and you’re aware of that.”

“Right.”

“But the title exists. And the timeline exists. The expectations and all, they exist. I mean, obviously I could do better, yeah? But it’s hard to do better until you’re face to face with it. It’s just not something I’ve ever really had to think about.”

“No, I get that. I’m just saying, it’s an odd question to ask, in the end. When you really think about it.”

“It is. I almost wanted to ask which of the two women you are.”

“Ah.”

“It’s a very specific story.”

“Right. Well, you’re not the first guy to ask odd questions, you know. A girl’s got to come up with a good answer.”