And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 77: Dressed Like Mundanity, But Not

"You did not."

I blushed, sipping at my coffee, not denying his statement. He removed his Buddy Holly glasses and rubbed his eyes exaggeratedly. "The youngsters nowadays!"

"Martin. Don't turn into your grandfather too early now."

"You did not," he repeated, and this time I answered with an eye roll and a swat to his shoulder. "Yes. Right before the show too. Bloody prick also threatened to tell the whole Cavern exactly what I did too, but he said it was my birthday in a couple of days instead." At this, Martin collapsed into laughter, putting down his pastry and slapping the table, his laughing, open mouth folding into a wry smile. "That Lennon."

I was quiet for a minute. "Martin?"

He raised his head. "Mm?"

"Have you...uh..." my mouth had gone dry, my hands fidgeting with one of my loose strands of hair coming from my scarf, wondering how to ask if he had ever... maybe it was too much of a personal affront, especially if the answer was yes. "That's quite personal," I remember him telling me awkwardly when I asked why he disliked John, and my questioning was definitely more on the line of personal.

"What?"

"Mm. Never mind." I turned my head and took another sip of caffeine. "Seriously, it's not important."

"Okay." He stretched his arms behind his head, grinning in contentment at the sunny day outside. He was sitting with his back against the cafe, so he was right in the middle of the sun's glare which radiated both his pale features and his smile. I noticed a small mole on his arm as the sleeve of his red-and-white striped linen shirt dipped over his elbow. I thought it funny that he didn't push my question, but that was Martin, not pushing the envelope in ordinary circumstance, but in unexpected situations. John would have gone crazy wanting to know what I was going to ask him.

"Cora. Cora." Martin leaned over and prodded my arm. "You wanker. I use realized you didn't tell me it was going to be your birthday soon."

"What's there to tell? I'm just turning a year older is all," I explained.

"Ah, denying the truth I see. Don't want to get old."

"What does that even mean?"

"None of us wants to get old. And so we cram in everything we want out of life into the years we—America, really—calls being a "teenager" before we have to go out and live real lives. That's why you do things like give your boyfriend a handjob before a show."

"Now that's just cynical," I managed to tell him through my laugh. "You'll see."

"You've had more than the hands-y fun stuff, though, haven't you?" Martin lowered his voice and gave me an uncharacteristic smirk, giving his thin face a sudden asymmetry.

"You change moods faster than George eats his breakfast," I told him. "And the answer is the opposite of the answer I gave about did I really."

He pondered this. "Hmm. Do you plan to?"

I rolled my eyes, and then frowned. "I... I know I do. That night with John I really, really wanted to, like I wanted to pin him against the wall and, uh, whatever..." my cheeks had gone bright red, I could feel the color rising to my face. "I've thought about this a lot. And honestly, I think I'm ready for it. It's bloody ridiculous, honestly. But isn't that what it is?" Martin had leaned forward to look at me, his eyebrows knitting in interest, his head slightly cocked to the side. "You don't need logic to think about why or how, which is how I've done it most of my life. You just feel. You feel and you know that it's right."