Chapter 39

chapter 39

“Sex,” proclaims June when I come homefrom school a few days later. “Sex,” she repeats, when she realizes any curiosity on my part is not forthcoming. She’s eating Stoneground crackers out of the box at the kitchen counter and spraying crumbs everywhere.

I’ve been too scared to go back to my apartment since the night with the actor. Jeremy’s texted twice complaining about the lack of hot water. I hadn’t expected him to check in on me, but the full extent of his selfishness is breathtaking.

The thought of sex turns my stomach.

“What about it?”

“I’m having it.” Sure enough, she shows me the highlighted word in her bullet journal. “I’m making a checklist to accomplish before November nineteenth.”

I pull out my phone and check my calendar. “What’s November nineteenth?”

“My surgery date.” She flips her datebook and shows that to me too. The violence of communicating with my sister is outrageous.

“But that’s, like, next week.”

“Week after next,” she says. “Tuesday. Seven thirty a.m. I got the first surgery of the day.”

“June.” I almost reach out to swat the cracker out of her hand. “Well, can I come?”

“If you want.”

“When did you make the appointment?”

“In Texas.”

“But I was with you the whole time.”

“Can we get back to talking about me?”

I shake my head, completely flabbergasted. “How are we not talking about you?”

“You’re talking about my organs,” she corrects. “I’m trying to tell you about things I want to accomplish.”

“Like sex.”

“Exactly.”

“How is that not talking about your organs?”

“Fuck you,” she says, laughing. “Wait.” June tilts her head quizzically. “Is a vagina an organ?”

“What?” Again, I never know if she’s messing with me. “Of course it’s an organ.”

“Is it? No, it’s not. Lungs are organs. Your heart, liver, those are organs. They have, like, a wrapping.”

“Just because you name other organs doesn’t make a vagina not an organ.” I can’t believe this conversation. “A penis is an organ.”

“Right. It has a wrapping,” she says, pulling out her phone. I know she’s checking, so I google as fast as I can.

“The vagina is a tubelike muscular…,” I recite off my screen.

“…but elastic organ about four to five inches long…,” she chimes in, and starts speed-reading to beat me.

“November nineteenth?” I set an appointment for 7:30 but then delete it. I hate the idea of JUNE SURGERY sharing space with my work schedule and homework assignments. And there’s no way I’d forget.

“So I have to get D’d before then.”

“Yuck, June, God.”

I haven’t had sex in months and I’m fucking relieved. Jeremy had one unvarying move. This numbing pneumatic thrusting that made me feel as though I was being drilled for oil. He also had the mortifying habit of talking dirty. It wasn’t that it was crudely kinky or filthy. It was a generic recitation, an almost dry-running commentary of what he was doing.

Now I’m going to put my… And then I’m going to…

“When’s the last time you…,” she begins. “Actually, don’t answer that.” My sister shudders slightly. “Gross.”

June pulls down a cookbook from her shelf. “I was thinking of having a party. Invite people over.” She flips to a picture of kicky hors d’oeuvres featuring edible flowers. “See,” she goes, pointing, “I could do this.”

The recipe involves anchovies. I take it from her and shut it. “June, nobody gets laid at a dinner party. Just get on Tinder and be clear about your intentions. That you want to touch organs. Who are you inviting?”

“Work people I can hate-fuck.”

I try not to envision my sister’s naked body squirming rhythmically under some finance douche and fail.

“And some friends,” she adds, clearing her throat. She reads something in my face and her expression shifts. “They’re probably not as cool as your friends, but they’re good people.”

“Okay,” I say carefully. And then, to add levity, “Can finance people be good people?”

“Fuck you,” she snaps. “They’re nice to me.” She watches me closely. I can’t tell if she’s defending herself from an insult that I have no intention of lobbing or if she’s taunting me. “It’s not going to be a big party or anything, but it’ll be fun. Or not fun, but chill.” She rolls her eyes and begins to furiously type into her phone. “You’re coming, right?”

Her eyes widen at my half-beat of hesitation.

“Yeah,” I manage. “Of course.”

“Well, don’t do me any fucking favors,” she says hotly, and storms off into the bathroom leaving me to stare after her with my mouth open.