The Hookup Experiment Read Online Crystal Kaswell

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"We all do it."

He nods. "She had refined tastes in literature. Even the graphic novels—she only read the acclaimed books. But her taste in music?" He shakes his head. "She loved the worst shit."

"Aren't you all classic rock, all the time?"

"Sure, I don't have taste, but at least I don't have bad taste."

"Isn't that worse?" I ask.

"Hey." He nudges me.

"What did she like?"

"The cheesiest sensitive dude songs."

"Softboys?" I ask.

"Yeah, that's it." He laughs. "Molly was always tossing 'softboy' memes in our group chat."

"The three of you had a group chat?"

"It was mostly the two of them, but I jumped in sometimes. Deidre was funny. She gave as good as she got. It's not like Molly had better taste. She loved the same stuff Chase does."

"Chase?"

"Our shop manager. Even though he's a dad now, he still listens to the music he liked in high school. All these toxic dudes whining about their ex-girlfriends. And Molly loves that too. They'd fight about who was a bigger traitor to feminism. Molly would insist she was laughing at the misogyny, depriving it of its power. Deidre would say her favorite bands seemed like they were doing concept albums, to try to prove Margaret Atwood right."

"Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them."

"Yeah," he says. "I learned a lot through them."

"Bossy older sisters are the best."

"You'd say that." He smiles. "They had these epic fights about it, but it was in good spirit. Molly thought it was better to face anger and know. She thought it was honest. At least the guys she listened to were upfront about being assholes. And, well, she never really admitted it, but I think she felt that anger too. With her girlfriends. She hated that she identified with all these possessive assholes. Fuck, that was a long time ago."

"Did you have a take?"

"I couldn't really talk. It's not like classic rock is filled with feminist manifestos. And I didn't pay attention to the lyrics anyway."

"You cared about that stuff?"

"It's not that I cared or didn't," he says. "It was normal to me, to talk about it, consider it. That was something older sisters did. And I internalized their lectures. Their voices popped into my head all the time."

"I know what you mean."

He smiles and raises his voice an octave. "'Patrick, are you really listening to My Sharona? Isn't it about a super young woman! What a creep. Listen to something else. Maybe try a female artist.' Then they'd start arguing that neither of them listened to enough female artists."

"And everyone sat around listening to Fiona Apple."

"The happiest ending, yeah." He laughs. "Sometimes. But never Fiona Apple."

"Terrible," I say.

"Very." He laughs. "They'd have a sorta badass girl artist off. See who could find someone better. Then they'd go back to their usual stuff."

"Fiona Apple didn't stick?"

"No, but Deidre added more female singer-songwriters to her rotation. And Molly added riot grrl stuff."

"And still, despite all these options, you kept listening to AC/DC?"

"I didn't think about music much."

I actually gasp.

"Sorry," he says. "I know it's sacrilege to people who love music, but I just… I didn't get it."

"Do you now?"

"I'm starting to," he says. "But I'm a work in progress."

"Maybe we should play something now."

"Let me guess? Fiona Apple."

I laugh. "I like other artists."

"Uh-huh."

"I liked the woman Luna found. She was good," I say. "It was sweet, you were listening to stuff I'd like."

"We can play something if you want."

"Later," I say. "Tell me more about her."

He rests his head on my shoulder.

My entire body buzzes. It feels so good, having him close, sharing this way.

"She would have liked you," Patrick says.

"How do you figure?"

"She hated that I was always dating 'ditzes.'"

"Were you?"

"No, but I wasn't dating intellectual women. I was trying to avoid heavy shit. And smart girls want something real. Even when it comes to casual sex. I couldn't handle real. I think that was why she hated it, because she saw that, because she knew I could do better."

"She expected a lot for you?"

"It felt like it. But now… I think she wanted me to be the best version of myself."

"She sounds like a good sister."

"She was, yeah."

"I'm sorry you lost her," I say.

"Me too." He pulls me closer. "But it feels good to do this, to just talk about her, the person she was."

"Then keep talking."

He does.

We stay up late, until we're both too tired to talk, to move.

We climb under the covers, tangled together, listening to each other's breath.

And, slowly, I fall asleep in his arms.

I wake up in his bed.

I rise, I brush my teeth and wash my face, I fix a chai.

Patrick meets me in the kitchen. "You have to go? Class?"

I nod.

"What time?"

"I have two hours."

"Should we make them count?" he asks.

"How are we going to do that?"


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