“He’s your college boyfriend. That’s like saying. . . you’ll. . . oh, my God. . . I mean. . . get married to someone who took you to your first formal or something. For heaven’s sake.” Casey had not intended to sound so dismissive, but Tina’s argument was preposterous. Fantasy or, worse, orthodoxy.
“But you said that the sex was better when you love . .”
“Yes, of course. . . but. . . love is not the same as a promise to be together always.”
“But that’s what I want. And I think that’s what we all want, at least in the beginning.”
“Well, yes. But I’m glad I didn’t marry Sean Crowley.” She mentioned the boy she gave her virginity to when she was fifteen.
“But are you glad that you. . . slept with Sean?”
The answer was a flat no, but then Casey didn’t want to say that. “I’m glad I had that experience,” she said. The reluctance in her voice was obvious.
Pleased by her modest win, Tina continued: “I know what I want. I want him to promise me that he will want only me. There should be some sort of promise.” She couldn’t think of a better word.
“You mean like a goddamn covenant?” Casey recoiled physically, almost repulsed by this suggestion. “Oh, come on, Tina. Get real. You’re twenty. You can’t get married. And what do you do if he’s terrible in the sack? That’s fucking ridiculous. You could be married for fifty years. Hell, with science the way it is, you could be married for seventy years. Then what?”
“But you’re supposed to love. . . and you said that if you loved each other. . . that it’s better . . Then under your argument, how could the sex be bad? I’ve been thinking about this . .”
“Yes, I can see that.” Casey laughed.
“I think it would hurt so much if I wanted him, but he didn’t want me. . . for. . . for. . . always. You know? And vice versa.”
“Yes, it would hurt.” Casey threw up her hands. “Sure. Of course it would hurt. But damn, Tina, love. . . is. . .” She stopped. “It’s this naked thing. You can get screwed over. . . but. . .” Casey felt her position was weaker because she believed less in her own theories. She felt her face sting suddenly. The swelling was worsening. She touched her face, not really wanting to know how bad it was.
“You okay? Here, let me.” Tina pushed the hair from Casey’s forehead.
“I’m fine,” Casey snapped, jerking her shoulder back. Then she saw Tina’s hurt expression. “Sorry. What I mean is, with love, you have to march into the possibility of losing.”
Tina nodded, thinking Casey didn’t sound wrong.
“Never mind,” Casey said. “Don’t do what I do but what you think is right. But whatever you do, you can’t keep yourself from getting hurt. The heart doesn’t seem to work that way. I want love, Tina. I want that. I’ll pay.”
The streetlamps turned on, lighting Casey’s face, and Tina gasped at the depth of the bruises. “Your face. . .” Tina closed her eyes, then opened them, and a rush of sympathy overcame her.
“Is it bad, Dr. Han?” Casey said with a smile, refusing to be moved by her sister’s concern. She bit the inside of her left cheek, knowing from Tina’s look that it must be awful.
“We have to clean that up,” Tina said. She was trying to remain calm and keep from crying. “C’mon, let’s go.”
3 NET
WHEN THE SISTERS GOT DOWNSTAIRS, Leah and Joseph were in their bedroom with the door shut. The kitchen table was bare except for the plastic napkin holder stuffed with paper napkins and a shot glass filled with wooden toothpicks; all the surfaces had been wiped down, with no trace of a meal that had been thrown on the floor. The living room, located in the back of the building, was quiet except for the occasional screech of a distant car. In the bathroom with the burble of the tap running, Tina cleaned Casey’s face. Neither spoke—anxious that their father might be roused from sleep. After Tina finished, Casey put in her contact lenses. In their current state, her eyeglasses couldn’t be worn. She packed a duffel and messenger bag.
Tina sent her off, giving her the money and securing Casey’s promise to call later that week. The sisters parted without any hugging or kissing—the intimate gestures that came so easily to Americans. The painted elevator doors closed, taking Casey down to the lobby, and Tina turned back to the apartment.
Casey walked toward Queens Boulevard. She’d catch the N or R at Grand Avenue. She wore a wide-brimmed canvas beach hat and a pair of mirrored ski sunglasses lifted from a lost and found at Sabine’s. The pin dots of blood on her collar were indiscernible, so she hadn’t bothered to change her shirt. She was too exhausted to care. All she wanted was to fall into Jay’s bed. She didn’t want to talk, and he was likely at the office anyway. He worked most Saturday nights and Sundays.