GROW UP GINGER

Ethan ordered our drinks and Paolo gave him a small, knowing nod.

“Your friends left you here?” Ethan asked me.

“Yeah. The girls went somewhere with some guys. I figured I’d stay.”

“Well.” His eyes met mine over the rim of his glass. “I’m glad you are here.”

We talked about everything and nothing. He was easy to talk to. He listened, which sounds simple and isn’t. He laughed in the right places. He didn’t fill silences with himself. I found myself leaning closer to him, sip by sip, drink by drink, until I realized our shoulders were touching.

“You know,” I said, before I could think about it, “there’s something about you.”

I tried to think of how to finish the sentence. His breathing was very close to mine. I could feel my own heart in my throat. He was looking at me with that particular attention, the slow, deliberate kind, and I thought: I am going to kiss him.

But before I could, I looked at him.

Just looked.

And then I leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He laughed — quiet, surprised, almost delighted — and then his hand was on my jaw and he was kissing me properly, and the bar disappeared, and the people around us disappeared, and somewhere behind us Paolo politely refused to make eye contact with anyone.

When we broke apart, Ethan whispered against my ear:

“You’re driving me crazy.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“How about we get out of here? Continue this conversation somewhere more private?”

I hesitated. I texted Bonnie that I was leaving with him and would meet them at home.

“Sure,” I said. “But you need to drop me off later.”

“Of course.”

The Zappy arrived. Ethan opened the door for me, and as we slid into the back seat he leaned forward and said something to the driver in Italian — easy and fluent, like water. I watched him do it and thought: he contains entire rooms I haven’t been in yet.

I will be eighteen tomorrow. Everything felt like a door.