Justin nods. “Fair enough. Want me to keep going? Or are you getting jealous?”
“No,” I say. “Keep going. I feel like I don’t really know much about you. I mean after we were kids.”
“Devin told me you don’t really remember much from when you were a kid.”
“True,” I agree, relieved to be called out and to not have to keep that to myself. “Devin fills in some gaps. Kate fills in others. I remember bits and pieces every now and then. More about when I lived with Mom and Frank.”
“Gotcha,” Justin says. “I went to college for a couple of years after high school and dated a few girls but nothing serious. One girl named Kristine and I were serious for a bit but less than a year. We never even lived together.”
“Have you ever lived with anyone?” I ask. “I mean, not your parents.”
“No,” Justin shakes his head. “I usually like to spread out my painting stuff and work wherever in my house. Empty pizza boxes and dirty dishes tend to scare away most girls.”
“You sound like you live the way I do,” I say. I tell him about my sparsely furnished apartment with overflowing ashtrays and no bed frame. He laughs. “I think Devin and I are only keeping the house neat because we think we’ll piss each other off if we don’t.”
“Good, hopefully you guys keep it that way,” Justin agrees.
“How many women have you slept with?” I ask him point blank.
“Four.”
“That’s it?” I blurt out. Justin turns red and I glance down at my hands resting on the table. Now I feel like a huge whore. I am briefly interrupted when Jose brings our food to the table. The smell of grilled steak makes my mouth water, even though I’m not actually hungry after all of the grazing I’ve done. I think my new living situation has caused me to put on a few pounds, which really just means my ribs are slightly less visible than they were when I moved in. I cut into my steak and have a bite. I pretty much die it’s so good. I make sure Justin knows it and he looks really happy to have made me happy. “Do you want to know how many men I’ve slept with?” I ask him quietly.
“I’m not really sure,” Justin says, his brows crossing in concern. He puts down his utensils and looks at me. “Is it going to set you off if you tell me?”
“I’m offering up the information of my own free will,” I say. “Kate tends to show more when something happens against my wishes, if that’s what you mean by setting me off.”
“Only if you want to tell me,” Justin says.
“I have been with six men voluntarily,” I tell him. “And likely close to one hundred involuntarily.” Including one this week, I think, who could be counted on both sides. Justin is quietly looking at me. I feel like I’m being judged, but I want to be honest, and he’s listening. “I’ve had syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia before I was ten. I’ve seen four different psychiatrists. I spent my last year of high school getting my GED in a mental institution. Have I scared you off yet?” Justin shakes his head, no, but his green eyes are wide and concerned. “I’ve been diagnosed with D.I.D., which I’ve already told you about. I’ve also been diagnosed as depressed with a tendency toward extreme compulsive behavior. I had one psychiatrist call me a nymphomaniac when they found out I have a tendency toward compulsive masturbation and exhibitionism.” Justin has barely touched his food. He is looking directly at me. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing, and I’m feeling nauseous about how he will react. “Say something” I say. “Are you scared of me?”
“I’m scared for you,” he says. “Just because I can tell you’re unhappy. If you’re depressed, I think you should get help. But I know how you feel and I can’t make you do anything unless you’re dangerous. Either to me or Devin or yourself or whomever. But as for being scared of you, no, not at all.” He reaches under the table and I feel his hand on my knee. “I understand why Devin wants to help you so badly. It’s hard not to care about you, Jenna.”
I am so confused. Why isn’t he running out the door? Why is he looking at me with something that’s not pity or disgust but rather with concern and thoughtfulness? Did he just say he cares about me? It’s too soon for that, I think. I feel like my chest is going to explode, and I don’t understand whether it’s a feeling of grief or relief. “I think I’m full,” I hear myself saying. “Can I take this home?”
“Of course,” Justin says, and motions to Jose. I gush to Jose about how amazing the food was and swear I’ll be back, if just for that mango salsa. He apparently really wants me to come back because he sends us home with a vat of it. I feel bad for not eating more of the steak, but I’m ready to burst.