I try not to cringe at Dad’s pet name for me. It feels weird being called kiddo at the best of times, but even more so now that I’m sleeping with someone his age. His best friend, if we’re getting technical.
I force a smile at my laptop screen and shrug. “Oh, you know, same old same old.”
Mom and Dad nod their understanding. “Well, that’s a sign nothing’s going wrong, at least.” Mom adds, grinning my own smile back at me.
I have Dad’s coloring, but I look just like Mom. Growing up, I hated my more effeminate features, but now I feel like I’ve grown into them, and I like that I’m a clear blend of both my parents.
“What about you?” I ask them. “Valentine’s is coming up. Have you made your usual plans to be sickeningly sweet with each other?”
Being high school sweethearts who dealt with a teen pregnancy, my parents have beaten the odds and stayed together all these years. Mom accredits this to how well they communicate and work through issues before they can become big problems. Dad says it’s because he never lets Mom forget how much he loves and appreciates her. I think it’s a healthy mixture of both their theories, and their natural connection which hasn’t faded, even after twenty-seven years.
But, no matter what it is, they’ve kept up a routine of celebrating all holidays and important dates. Valentine’s Day is no exception.
“Mike’s not telling me what they are this year.” Mom sighs as though this irritates her, but her pleased smile tells me she loves that Dad is being mysterious and playful. She cocks her head and I know what’s coming even before she opens her mouth. “What about you, sweetie? Do you have a date this year?”
My answer isalwaysno. Always. It doesn’t matter the occasion or the event, Ineverdate. They never really seemed bothered by this until maybe midway through my college years. Then Mom started very casually suggesting that I didn’t need to hide my boyfriends from them, and that they wouldn’t be thekind of parents who did the whole interrogation thing. I didn’t know if they were more concerned when I insisted that I wasn’t hiding anything from them and I was just a loser who didn’t date, or if they were relieved that our relationship was still close enough that they knew I wouldn’t keep things from them.
Nowadays, it’s definitely leaning toward the former option, if the glance she and Dad share on my screen is anything to go by.
“Actually…” I start, watching them both sit up straighter, their eyes visibly widening, “I, uh, might have a date.”
I haven’t updated Ken yet, and I don’t like to think too hard on why I’ve kept it from him. He encouraged me to say yes, so it’s not like he’ll be upset that I did. I’m the one making an issue out of this, when he’s stuck with the friends-with-benefits deal the whole time.
“He’s…uh…the new guy at work. Brad. I think I mentioned him over Christmas?”
Mom claps her hands together and practically cheers, while Dad nods a bit more stoically.
“That’s great, kiddo,” Dad says, and I can’t miss the relief in his voice. “I was beginning to think…well, that doesn’t matter, does it?” He shakes his head, and I kind of want to press him for what the hell that was supposed to mean, but I let it go.
They might be young parents, at the age where a lot of people are only at the early stages of their parenting journey (if on one at all), but they stillactlike octogenarians sometimes. I think it’s a consequence of having to mature way too quickly or something. Ken’s their age, and he acts more like he’s still in his twenties than in his forties.
“So…tell me more about Brad,” Mom prompts me excitedly. “He’s handsome, right?”
“It’s just a date, Mom, don’t go planning our wedding or anything.”
“You can’t blame me for being excited. You’venevertold us about your dates before.” Her eyebrows draw together into a frown. “This…isn’t your first date ever, right?”
“Mom!” Now I’m scowling. “Would it matter if it was?”
“Well…no, but…you’re almost thirty, sweetie. Surely you’ve been sowing your wild oats—”
I clamp my hands over my ears and wince. “Ew. You did not just…”
“Oh, come on, we’re all adults here,” she dismisses my embarrassment and discomfort. “And if you can’t talk about sex, you shouldn’t be having it.”
“That’s great advice coming from the woman who got knocked up while she was still in high school.”
“Don’t speak to your mother that way.” Dad is stern as he cuts in, and I do immediately feel guilty.
“Sorry. I was just—”
“Being defensive,” he cuts me off in his measured, rational tone. “I know. But you were still out of line.” He leans forward toward the camera on their end of the video call. “Is everything all right, kiddo?”
“It’s fine. I just…thisiskind of new for me. It’s not the first time I’ve gone out with anyone, but it is the first time that it feels…” Sweeter? Less Grindr-y? “More serious.”
My thoughts drift back to Ken again, and I fight to remind myself that our entire FWB arrangement was his idea. His whole rationale was to give me the confidence to try to date again. Hell, hetold meto go on the date.
So why do I feel sowrongabout agreeing to go out with Brad on Valentine’s Day?
