I turned my eyes to Chase, who was staring at his plate, his face burning red. Then I looked back at his daughter, who was silent and listening, her mouth a little open. Ben stood by my side like a piece of granite. “A certain type of boy, Brielle, just assumes he’ll get sex. Some of them might try to force you, or tell you that you want it. But even if you were kissing or groping or whatever, you have every right to stop. Every right. You get to say no. No one has the right to put hands on you when you say no. Right, Chase?”
He looked halfway up but was unable to look at his daughter. “Right,” he managed, his voice strangled.
“And if that boy won’t let you go or gives you a hard time in any way, you punch him in the throat, Brielle. Hard. You call the police. You tell your parents. Because rape is no joking matter. It is a terrifying, life-threatening act of violence.”
“I know,” she said. “I do know.”
“Right, Chase?” I said. “You wouldn’t want anyone to hold your daughter down and tell her she wanted sex when she was trying to get away, would you?”
He didn’t look up, but a tear dropped onto his napkin.
“Chase?” I demanded.
“No,” he whispered. “I would never, ever want that.” Of course he wouldn’t. But Chase was one of those assholes who only cared about something when it happened in his little circle.
I sat back. “Sorry for the lecture, Brielle, but I try to take every opportunity to tell girls about consent. And boys. Boys need to hear it even more. Do you have a brother?”
“Yeah. He’s nine. We . . . we live in Boston with my mom.”
Aha. So Chase was divorced. Good. I hoped his wife got everything. “Be a good sister and talk to him about this when the time comes.” I stood up. “Well! Good talk! Enjoy your dessert.” I went back to my table. Ben stood a second longer, eyes on Chase, then came with me.
“Why did a stranger just lecture me on date rape, Dad?” I heard Brielle ask, and there was something in her voice that told me she knew . . . and it wasn’t exactly a surprise. No, there was steel in that voice. “Why would she come to your table and launch into that speech?”
I didn’t pay attention to his fumbling, stumbling words. A second later, they left, Brielle saying, “Dad? Explain what just happened. Dad!”
“Everything good?” my father asked. My mother’s eyes were narrowed and fixed on me like a laser.
“Everything is great,” I said. I sat in between Hannah and Ben, across from my parents.
“Everything doesn’t seem great,” my mother said. “Do you want to tell us something, Liliana?”
I hesitated. But, just as Ben never needed to know the accident caused me to lose a baby, my parents and sister didn’t need to know about something that had happened a quarter of a century ago. I was over it. I was finally over it.
All these years, and I’d only talked about my near rape a few weeks ago. All these years of buried fear and rage and shame. The assault—because that’s what it had been, no matter that I’d gotten away, no matter that I’d willingly stumbled into his bedroom—had been secondary to the car accident and my injuries, I’d always told myself.
I never focused on why I’d been in Ben’s truck.
I hadn’t realized that, by burying that night so deep that I never spoke about it, I’d created some kind of . . . link to Chase Freeman. I’d given him power over me, let my fear from that event prevent me from dating for years afterward. No wonder I’d picked Brad, who’d seemed so gentle—who had been so gentle—so unintimidating. The kind of guy who’d never give me trouble, never physically scare me. We used to joke that I was stronger than he was, because it was true. Brad had been the kind of guy I could beat in a fight. Who would always follow my lead in bed and in life （until he didn’t anymore）。 He was not a strong man in any sense of the word, and maybe that was exactly why I’d picked him.
“The only thing I want to tell you,” I said, “is that I’m very happy to be with my family.”
“Hmm,” my mother said. Dad stared at me, and thankfully, the waitress brought me a martini.
“I ordered that for you,” Hannah said. “Same kind I drink, so you know it’s top of the line.” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “Oh, hang on, before we toast Lillie, just one second.” She pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, and my son’s face appeared via FaceTime.