Requisite.

Zaina and I have had sex three times, and already I feel like I can define how it will be in our relationship: requisite. And not as if it’s something that needs to be fulfilled–more like it’s something I have to do in order to keep our relationship moving forward.

Sex is not what I thought it would be, that’s for sure. Shouldn’t I want to be with her, sexually? I’m attracted to her. I always have been. But I’m not entirely sure we’re sexually compatible. I’m not looking forward to doing it again with her, if what I have to look forward to is what we’ve done already.

“What are you thinking about?” She coos in my ear, wrapping her arms around me as we sit in our first-class seats on the airplane.

I stare out the window in a daze. “Things,” I say, my eyes fixated on a couple standing inside the terminal. Their passion for one another is evident. It had been since the moment they showed up at the airport, and the strange thing was, I’d never even seen them kiss. They held hands. He would touch the small of her back. She would run her fingers through his hair. She even blew in his coffee to cool it down, and he watched her sweetly, so obviously smitten with her. Every so often, he would tap her toes with his, which would get her attention, and then they would smile at one another adoringly. I had wondered what they were thinking about.

“This morning?” Zaina asks.

“I mean,” I stutter, “sure.”

“This morning was amazing.” She says it as if she’s trying to convince me. She can’t. It wasn’t. But I don’t want to let her know that. Maybe it’ll get better. I just don’t see how if she’s going to have strange inhibitions and rules when we’re being intimidate.

I nod and smile. It’s requisite.

“Do you think people can tell?” Her voice is a whisper. If it was anything more, I would probably be annoyed with her. Privacy is a rarity in my life–people are constantly watching me, eavesdropping, and–especially now–I would like to keep our personal life between the two of us as much as possible.

I shake my head subtly. “Zai,” I say softly, leaning into her. “I’m sure people assumed we were already sleeping together. I just don’t think they care one way or another.”

“You don’t think they care?”

“Why would they?”

“Because you’re you.”

“Like I said, I don’t think they care.”

“The fact that photographers are always following you around says otherwise,” she counters. Maybe she’s right. They care because they make money from exploiting me. They care because news about me draws hits to their sites and sells their trashy magazines. Most of the time, I try not to let it bother me. While the press has been hurtful at times, it’s also been helpful. It drives people to my site, which promotes non-profits around New York. These organizations get thousands of dollars of donations every month from the articles I’ve written about them. So, what they say is true–there’s no such thing as bad press. Sometimes it just takes digging to find the positive elements of it. If giving up my privacy on occasion ends up helping people in need, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.

I get my head back into our conversation, returning the focus to us. “We don’t need to worry ourselves with the paparazzi, though. This is our life. We care about each other. That’s it. What everyone else thinks? It doesn’t matter to us. Right?”

“I guess not.”

“Tell me it doesn’t matter to you, Zai.”

“It really doesn’t,” she finally says. “I just feel so different now. I wondered if it showed, that’s all. Do I look the same to you?”

I look into her eyes and consider my response. “No. My vision of you has changed. We have changed. I love you. I respect you. I’ve been completely vulnerable with you. I’ve never put so much trust in another person.”

“I meant physically,” she adds.

I put my lips next to her ear. “You’re sexy as hell naked. And some of the expressions you have when we’re making love?” I tap my forehead. “I’m filing them away so I can remember all the details on those nights when I feel alone at Columbia and you’re across the pond at Oxford.” When I pull away, her cheeks show a tint of pink. I touch one of them with the back of my middle finger. “And I’ve seen that blush more times in the last three days than I have in the entire two and a half years we’ve been together. That is lovely.”

She smiles and swallows. “Did you like it?” Her expression lets me know which ‘it’ she’s talking about.

“Of course. I mean, we’re not pros yet, but we’ll get there, right?”

“Right. So, I was thinking maybe… Thursday night?” she asks.

“I can’t see you until Thursday?”

“You can see me whenever. I just thought maybe that’d be a good night to… you know… do it again.”

“I mean… should I put it on the calendar or something? Are we scheduling it?” I whisper, looking around.

“I thought it would be best to plan it.”

“Sure,” I respond. “Gotta plan it. Wait, why can’t we be spontaneous?”

“That’s how accidents happen.”

I look back out the window and nod. “Okay, then. Thursday’s good.”

“Great. Your house?”

That gets my full attention. “What? No! My house is off-limits. It always will be. It’s a cardinal rule in the Holland home,” I explain. “It’s a promise I’ve made to my parents.” It’s one I’m not willing to break.

“Well, then where? We can’t do it at my place. My dad would toss you out my bedroom window.”

“What about your beach house? Is it occupied?”

“No,” she says. “We could go there.” She smiles brightly. “We could definitely go there. Good idea.”

“Then it’s a date.”

When we land in New York, I leave Zaina at the baggage carousel while I tell Callen goodbye. She hadn’t wanted to speak to him at all, but he texted me that he was checking himself into rehab for a month, and I wanted to talk to him before he left.

“You really think you have a drinking problem?” I ask him once we find a quiet corner to talk.

“I think drinking is what got me into this mess.”

“You’re not just using it as an excuse, Callen, are you? It’s not gonna work, you know.”

He stares at his watch for a few seconds. “I know,” he says. When he looks up, his eyes are watering. “T, I don’t know if I’m an alcoholic. What matters is that Max thinks I am. I’m gonna make sure I never become one–for him. That’s a non-negotiable for him and his family, I know that. I gotta get it out of my system.”

I nod and pat him on the back. “I guess that’s a good reason. But Callen, I have to be honest… I think it’s over. I don’t want to discourage you from doing what you think is right, but if you’re just doing it for him, like… maybe don’t.”

“It’s not over,” he argues. “It can’t be over, Trey.”

“But you did the unthinkable. He stood by you through everything. When you weren’t sure you wanted to be with him. When you ran away from home, and from him. When you were afraid to be seen in public as his boyfriend. He patiently waited for you through all of it.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. He’s why I’m still here. I know it’s not over.”

“Just don’t put all your hope into that, okay?”

He nods, and a tear falls down his cheek. He swipes at it quickly with the back of his hand. “Will you keep me in the loop on things… with him?”

“I won’t betray his trust, but… yeah.”

“Please make sure he’s okay.”

“I will.”

“And make sure he goes to college. You know how much it took to twist his arm.”

“I think he’s still going.”

He thinks for a few seconds. “Still in California?”

“As far as I know, his plans haven’t changed.”

Callen smiles, but begins to cry. I pull him into a hug. “Good,” he says. “That’s good. I hate that I’ve fucked this up so badly, T.”

“I, uh… I hate it, too, Cal.” I feel a little emotional about it all, as well. “I wish I’d done something to stop all the drinking earlier in the week. In my sober moments, I knew we were being assholes. But we were having fun. After all the stress of our senior year and baseball playoffs, I felt like we deserved some time to unwind… and I felt like Max and Zaina couldn’t relate to what all we’d been through. But we should have included them.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s not your fault, though. You never would have cheated on Zai.”

“No,” I say. “I never would.”

“I want to be better,” he says through his tears.

“Callen, I know you’re a good guy. You messed up big time. Do what you can to make amends. I know that Max loves you, but I know how badly he was hurt by you. I don’t know if he can get past it. I wish I could predict the future, but that’s not my thing.”

“That’s Will’s thing, right? Astrology?” he teases. Max’s brother is one of the world’s leading astrophysicists, but this is a running joke in our family.

“Ha! Exactly. You should ask him.”

“I did. I called him first thing. I know he’ll be there for me. He sort-of took me in two years ago. He can’t get rid of me now. He said so himself. I know Max will come first to him, but I’ll always have a friend in him, too.”

“Well, that’s an ‘in.’ If you really want this, Callen–for real–show us how much you love Max every day. Leave Friday behind. Don’t let shit like that happen again. You’re a part of this family, and I don’t want to lose you, either.”

“Thanks… uh, Zaina’s found you,” he says, nodding behind me. “She just sneered at me.”

“She, on the other hand, couldn’t give two shits about you right now, unfortunately.”

“Don’t let her get in your head,” he says quietly, embracing me one last time.

“Never gonna happen. Take care of yourself. Call me in 30 days.”

“We’ll go play some ball when I’m out.”

I shake his hand, telling him goodbye, and hear Zaina walking up as he turns away, making his way toward the exit. “Where are our things?” I ask her.

“Daddy hired a driver to pick us up. He’s got everything together.”

“Let’s go.”

“How could you be nice to him? Max is your best friend.”

“Zai, we’re never going to agree on how we feel about Callen, so unless you want to fight about it, I think we should eliminate him as a potential topic of conversation.” I take her hand in mine, spotting a driver with five photographers flanking his sides. He must be ours.

“I plan to badmouth him every chance I get. And Max will, too. “

“Max is welcome to. Max is who he hurt. I’m not kidding about you and me, though.” Releasing her hand quickly, I find my baseball cap and sunglasses in my backpack and put them both on, obscuring my face as best as I can. When I look at Zaina, she’s reapplying lipstick.

As soon as the driver makes eye contact with me, all the photographers turn around and descend upon both of us, shouting questions.

“Did you have a fun time in St. Thomas?”

“Did you stay together?”

“What did you do while you were there?”

“Weren’t Callen McNare and Max Scott with you?”

“We saw Max came back early with an injured hand. What happened?”

“He busted out a window because Cal–”

“He fell,” I say over Zaina, wondering why this is the question she decided to answer. I know for a fact Max wasn’t talking to anyone. “Max fell into a window. Tripped over his flip flops.” My cheeks heat up. I’ve never been able to lie undetected, but I’m hoping my partial disguise hides it from everyone.

“Zaina! Zaina!” they shout, following us out, knowing now where they’re most likely to get answers. “What did you two do while you were in St. Thomas?”

“We had a very romantic time,” she responds with a wide smile, and blinking that makes me think she has something in both of her eyes. I help our driver load all of our luggage, hoping to hurry things along before she gives them all the details they want.

“How so?” one man asks.

“Well…”

“Zai,” I say, putting my arm around her. “Why don’t we just invite them next time?” I ask sarcastically, signaling for her to get into the back of the limo.

“Tria!” she squeals, settling into the back seat.

“They don’t belong there, right?” I ask when we’re shut into the car, alone.

“Of course not!”

“They don’t belong in the conversation, either. Please stop giving stuff away. It’s our private life. Nobody else’s.”

“Are you mad?”

I swallow hard and bite the inside of my cheek in thought. Truthfully, if we’d had a romantic time, I might not have minded her saying anything to them, but to me, it’s a lie. I tried like hell to make it romantic. There were moments when she let romance happen, but for the most part, it was regimented and overly hygienic. Nothing felt natural or impulsive, and in turn, it all seemed almost disingenuous.

I’m annoyed that she’s making our relationship out to be something it’s not, but then again, I don’t want the public to know that our sex life sucks, either. I certainly don’t want her to know I think that. It would hurt her… and in truth, this is all new to both of us. Maybe she’ll loosen up; lighten up.

I have to hope that she will, because I know this isn’t what I was hoping for.

“Sir?” I say to the driver. “Would you mind putting up the privacy glass?”

“Of course,” he says.

“I’m not mad,” I tell her. “This is new terrain, right? We just need to figure out how to navigate it.”

“I don’t want to have to put on a show for these people–”

“Said the girl putting on lipstick for the cameras.”

“Is it wrong that I want to look good in pictures?” she asks.

“I just want you to be yourself. That’s who I love. I want you to be comfortable being yourself, and I don’t feel like you’ve been comfortable being… naturally… you. Since, you know, Friday night.”

“Absolutely, I have!” she argues.

I look at her; scrutinize her expression, wondering if she really believes that. Wondering if this is really her, and this is just a facet of her that I have yet to get to know.

I nod, trying to understand that and replaying moments of our weekend together. If this is Zaina, the romantic partner, I am doomed.

And I’m being overly dramatic. “Okay,” I say, smiling. “We’ll get in sync, I’m sure.” I’m not sure.

“We have the rest of the summer,” she says, optimistic.

“Beginning Thursday, and then on other pre-scheduled dates.” Did she pick up on my frustration at all?

“Exactly!”

Nope.

After the driver drops me off at my house, I go immediately to my room. A note from my parents tells me that they’re with my sister and her family, having dinner, and that I’m welcome to join them. Instead, I just want some time alone to think.

I start my laundry and go upstairs to make some grilled chicken and brown rice. I eye my dad’s liquor cabinet, but go for a glass of ice water instead.

As I eat my dinner, I try to figure out what I’m most upset about. I realize it’s not really Zaina’s behavior so much as it is my own. I’d accused her of not being comfortable being herself. When I look back on each of the three times we were together, I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t allowed to be. I am an utter romantic at heart. I come from parents that are so in love it’s disgusting sometimes–but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t know any other way, and I don’t want to settle for anything less.

What I’ve experienced over the past three days has been less. Less than what I would expect from a loving relationship that’s meant to last a lifetime.

Zaina and I have been great friends for years. She’s been the best girlfriend a guy could ask for. She’s been faithful and loyal. She’s cheered for me on the sidelines at all of my sporting events. She encouraged me to apply to the best colleges and helped me perfect my essays, ensuring that I was accepted into every school I went for. I did the same for her. We’ve always been supportive of one another’s goals and pursuits.

While we’ve had a mild physical relationship, it’s been fulfilling over the years when we knew it had hard lines. Hard lines that I had drawn years ago. Maybe I set the tone for all of this, I don’t know, but when I had envisioned our eventual sex life, it was always interesting, experimental, and completely uninhibited. The way Zaina had talked all these years, she’d hinted that was what she wanted. But I feel like she was all talk.

We’d discussed oral sex many times, but now? It’s off the table.

We’d joked about getting carried away in moments–in my car, at Callen’s mansion, on the beach–but now we have to plan?

And I can accept that she wants to be safe about things… but I didn’t see her fourth method of birth control coming.

In hindsight, I’m okay with it.

Before this weekend, I really thought we were meant to be together. I thought she was the one.

After this weekend, I’m beginning to have doubts. They’re doubts I don’t want to creep in. Doubts I don’t want to even admit because I feel like a total ass for even having them, but I feel like she promised me things that she was never willing to deliver on. I would never do that to someone.

But…

I love her, and I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Willing to accept that she’s just afraid of what’s new and that she’ll eventually warm up to trying new things or to letting down her guard. I also accept that these have to be decisions she makes and not my own acts of persuasion.

I’m a good guy. I’m the good guy. It would be a big letdown to myself if I let something like sex change that. Our relationship has been everything I’ve wanted for two and a half years. So, we now have new plans and hard lines. I’ve never been afraid of change. I’ve got to give us a chance in this new arena. I’ll make some sacrifices to make her happy.

I’m confident it’ll all work out–as long as we can both be ourselves and respect one another in doing that. And college will let us do that in ways we never have before. These will be the years that will determine how strong we are as a couple. We’ll be separated by an entire ocean. Apart and alone, but still together. I bet days like this will seem trivial in hindsight, when I’m having doubts over such superficial things.

The distance will force us to have a different perspective on our relationship, for sure.

My mind races, excited with the future that lies ahead of me. I can’t wait for the fall.

Yeah…

Zaina, away at Oxford.

Me, in a dorm at Columbia.

I smile at the prospects.

College will be telling.