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propped herself up on one elbow and put the other hand against my chest. Her touch was gentle, but I knew that there was no chance this would be idle, intimate chat-before-sleep. Viv was in Serious Discussion Mode.
    I tried to stop it. “We can talk about it another time. Or even not at all. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
    â€œOh, no intrusion. I guess it’s true I’ve never talked about my father with you. I’m not sure why not.” Even in the dark, I could still feel her staring as if she could see my face. “My father,” she said, and then stopped.
    I could actually feel the tightness spreading through her entire body. After a few moments, she made a noise as if she were trying to speak; and then her long hair brushed against my shoulders and chest as she moved her head from side to side. I reached with one hand to smooth her hair behind her.
    I heard her draw a deep breath.
    â€œForget that!” she exclaimed. “ You never talk about either of your parents! Never, Eli. Never!”
    There was silence between us. I was in shock. I hadn’t intended—
    â€œOkay,” I said rapidly. “Okay. I’m sorry. I get it. We have a deal, then. Forget it. You don’t talk about your father, and I don’t talk about my parents.”
    â€œNo!” Viv said. More words came rushing out of her. “I don’t have secrets from you, I’m happy to talk about my father sometime. But you . . .” She paused.
    â€œWhat?” I noticed that I had somehow drawn away from her. There were inches more between us and the only point of contact was her hand.
    â€œEli, look. I didn’t—I don’t—want to pry. And I never meant to have this discussion now. But it was coming. You have to have known it was coming.”
    Uh, no. I had not.
    â€œI’d never try to force you to talk about stuff you didn’t want to talk about. But—but this has hurt me, okay? It’s hurt me that you shut me out.”
    I didn’t understand. How did my not talking about my parents hurt her in any way? But an apology was always a good thing to offer. “I’m sorry, Viv.”
    She kept right on talking. “It hurts me that you’ve never introduced me to your parents as your girlfriend—or even as your friend. You’ve never had me come over—and we’ve been going out for over a year. I’ve wondered if you were ashamed of me somehow. I mean, I know there are prettier girls than me . . . thinner girls—” She stopped abruptly.
    I was filled with horror. “Viv.” I couldn’t think what to say. “No . . .”
    â€œNo?” she asked, and all the vulnerability in the world was in that one word.
    I managed to reach out and pull her into me, and thankfully she came, and I held her tightly, her whole body against mine, skin to skin, warm. I stuttered. I said, “You have to know . . . Viv, you couldn’t be more wrong . . .”
    She was holding me tightly, too, now. Was she crying? I - didn’t know what to do. I held her.
    Where had this come from? Could I fix it? Without—dear God, Viv couldn’t meet my parents. Or even my father. It was simply not possible; the potential complications were too—complicated. There would be no way to ensure she wouldn’t learn too much. Wouldn’t be scared. Bottom line: I didn’t want her to be part of all that. I didn’t want her in that sad, frightening, depressing part of my life. I needed her in her nice separate compartment. I needed her to be an oasis. A safe, calm place for me.
    I said to her, “I love you. There’s nobody prettier. Nobody sexier. Plus, I hate really thin girls!” I cupped her hips. I thought for a second about groping for a condom packet and waving it above her nose in an attempt to make her laugh. But maybe she’d think I wasn’t taking her seriously. “Come on. I’m telling you