The Beginning of After

for them , I should stay but for her , I should go.”
    David paused, then said, “Aren’t you talking to your therapist about all this?” like it had just occurred to him.
    “I’m sorry. Am I boring you?”
    “I’m just thinking maybe I’m not the best source of advice here. Look at me. You said it yourself. Everything I’m doing is completely and totally all about myself and what I want.”
    “You’ve given me good advice before,” I said, prodding him.
    He paused, then looked at me squarely and said, “Just forget about the for thing. Don’t do anything for anyone else but you. You can be a little selfish.” Then he smiled crookedly. “Come on. You know you want to.”
    I remembered all the things I’d silently screamed to myself back in the chapel at the Palisades Oaks. He was right.
    “Thanks, David,” I said, trying to make his name sound like I, too, enjoyed saying it. But the end curled up into a strange ball of sound, high and tight. And before I knew it, I was crying again.
    Within a few seconds I heard the short, sharp breaths coming from David that meant he was crying too. And then I felt his hands on my shoulders, and a shifting of weight on the bed, and now he had me in his arms.
    I wiped my face with the palm of my hand and raised it up, and kissed him. I don’t think he was expecting it, because he jerked his face away for a half second. But then he kissed me back. Fast, with energy. He moved his hands to either side of my face and I felt like I was falling, not into a place or a hole, but into colors. Red and orange and purple. Deep and rich.
    David took one hand off my face and pressed it against my chest, pushing me down into the bed. Then one of his legs was on one of mine and the feeling of weight there, of being covered, was suddenly the best thing in the world.
    You slut! said a teasing Meg in my head, as we kept kissing. David ventured away from my mouth and onto my neck, my ear. I giggled.
    “Is this okay?” he whispered, and I just nodded, not sure what he meant. Was anything okay? Did it matter?
    And now David’s hand was slipping under my nightshirt collar, reaching for what passed for my right breast. Practiced, experienced. I wondered for a second how much sex he’d had when he was out in the David Zone, and whether it was with anyone really pretty.
    Is this it? Is this going to be where I actually do it for the first time?
    It was an intellectual question, like I was sitting at my vanity table a few feet away, watching myself on the bed. Then David’s other hand slipped down to the bottom of my frogs-with-candy-canes nightshirt, and started to push it up.
    I felt my body get tense, like it was fighting him off, but forced my mind to override that. Now both of David’s hands slid smoothly from my waist to my head, taking my nightshirt with them. Before I knew it, it was off, and all that was left was my underwear. I couldn’t remember which pair I was wearing and could only hope it was one of the new ones.
    David stopped and looked me up and down, his face full of wonder, as if seeing a sculpture unveiled. I looked back at him, this boy so beautiful all of a sudden—or maybe always—and knew I should be doing something. It’s my turn, right? I wanted to but was still frightened to make that first reach.
    With a deep breath I did it anyway, reaching my hands under his T-shirt and laying them on his stomach, which still felt cool from being outside. I ran my fingers across it, the soft hair, what felt like an exceptionally deep belly button. David sighed, and I felt brave enough to keep going, lifting his shirt and kissing him where his skin met the top of his jeans.
    In another quick, expert motion, David pulled his shirt over his head and pressed his chest to mine. I was falling into colors again, but this time a little too steeply. It made me dizzy, and the beginning of terrified.
    David reached one hand down toward my underwear, lifting the elastic away from my skin.
    That’s when I stopped him and said, “No.”
    As David pulled his head away from mine, I noticed we had matching sweaty patches of hair where they’d been connected. “Please don’t tell me to stop,” he said breathlessly.
    “I have to tell you to stop,” I said.
    “Laurel . . . please.”
    “David . . .” The dizziness ebbed. It was like stepping off a merry-go-round.
    He rolled over onto his back, still panting. “I thought you wanted this.”
    “I don’t know,” I