They ate dinner and walked to Byrdcliffe, taking turns pushing Willow's bike. Amber was at Art's; they had the house to themselves. They listened to Dylan and finished a bottle of wine. Patrick undressed for bed with a surprising lack of embarrassment. It seemed natural. They clung to each other and stayed awake late, talking and watching the new moon rise. Willow told him about her parents and her brother and her dissatisfaction with school.
"If you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?" he asked her.
"I think I'd travel and read a lot. Decide what to do and then do it—somewhere. But, do it right, you know?"
"Yeah," Patrick said. "It's the only way."
"Babies, too, some day. Speaking of which—if we're going to keep this up, you better get some of those thingies." Patrick grunted.
"That will be a trip," he said. "Trojans, right? E-Z big tips?"
"They don't care at the drug store," Willow said. "Very big tips."
"Only for you," Patrick said.
"Exactly."
They had to hurry in the morning to get to the Deli in time. Patrick took his sandwich to the News Shop, ate breakfast, and rode to the Wittenberg job with Wilson. When he thought of Willow during the day, he felt easy and excited at the same time. He could actually talk to her. She understood immediately his point that science and art were modeling processes. Better yet, she saw that modeling itself was fundamental—an attempt to understand what was out there and express it with whatever tools you could use. Sleeping with her was so great. Sex. Just the comfort of being next to her. It was such a new experience that he would forget for an hour and then remember with a rush of pleasure.