And in fact, for the next four years it was just that—the same friendship they had always had, though tinged with a certain inescapable knowledge of the future. In fact, that knowledge had deepened their friendship, to the point where they told each other things they told no one else. She repeated to him her rare, bitter fights with her mother; he confided in her his desire to go to Inrhio State University. She described her ineradicable fear of the horrors of childbirth. He confessed, at the age of eighteen, that he was still a virgin.

“Oh, I hoped so,” was her reply, although he knew (for she had told him) that she was not. “I always wanted you to be all mine, but of course I know that a lot of men—well, Mother says it’s to be expected, especially with all those low-caste girls working out at the processing facilities. And I wasn’t going to be angry with you if you—but I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Well, I just—I wanted you to know because I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” he said in a rush. Disappointing a bride was a murky concept to Nolan, but one he had heard spoken of with great disapproval by his father and some of his older friends, and he did not want to be guilty of such a sin.

She had given him one of those sweet, soul-deep smiles and put her hand to his cheek. “I don’t think you’d ever disappoint me, Nolan,” she said in a low voice. “But we can see that you get a little practice.”