Page 77 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
And of course, I did all this naked while simultaneously texting Devin, which meant he had some amorous opinions on my current state of undress. I brushed him off, teasing him about how he’d have to wait until after my surgery. But his suggestive comments made me wonder what was beneath his own clothes and brought the same tingling curiosity to my own body.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the past Thursday. About what I would give to go back to that moment; him exploring me both over and under my dress, ready to pull my bra away before Cassidy opened the door and interrupted us. I loved my best friend, but that part made me scowl.
You really had to have your package at that exact moment? It had been sitting on the front porch all day!
I shook my head. As much as I enjoyed the passionate memories, it was better for both of us if clothes finally came off in one of our beds and not in the front seat of a car.
Cassidy popped in to say hello around noon, shortly before she left forCreatures & Cryptsday at Critical Games. My heart ached to go with her – I wanted to see Devin one last time before my surgery. I’d gone to TCG Night on Friday, but since the event was packed with players, he barely had time to say hello to us. He did slip me a quick kiss before I left that evening, and it had lingered on my lips all weekend.
But there was no point in going toC&C. I could only stay for an hour at most, and I hated the idea of having to leave in the middle of a session. Plus, Cassidy and I would have to take separate cars. So I stayed home and took my frustrations out on scrubbing the apartment from top the bottom.
I enjoyed cleaning; it kept my hands busy and my anxiety at bay. I coughed as I scrubbed the tile shower in my bathroom with bleach – the sour, burning chemical stinging my nostrils as I worked. If my parents were going to drive down from the panhandle and finally see where I’d been living all these years, I at least wanted it to be spotless.
But as I vacuumed, mopped, and wiped down countertops, memories of my childhood came trickling back into my mind. Part of me longed to see my mother, who despite her devout, old-fashioned beliefs, had always been a warm and comforting figure in my life. It was the man she was married to that made nausea swirl in my stomach.
I could count on two hands the number of times I’d seen my father smile, and it was usually when he had his church buddies over for a family dinner. I knew where he got it from: early memories of my grandfather revolved around him snapping his fingers at waitresses in restaurants and lounging in his recliner while my grandmother worked her fingers to the bone around thehouse.
I knew my father had some kindness and charm in there somewhere; my mom married him for a reason. But most of the time he wore a stoic, hard mask, one that barked orders at us from across the house to keep it down so he could hear his football game on TV. This was all made worse by the fact that for the first eight years of my life, I was their only child – a girl.
I still remembered the two miscarriages my mother had between me and my younger brothers’ births. The first time was a simple explanation: the baby was no longer in my mother’s belly and had gone up to Heaven. But the second time, I’d caught my mom hunched over the toilet, howling the most horrific sobs my ten-year-old self had ever heard. My father was still at work, and my mother didn’t bother to call him until after the whole ordeal was over.
As a child, I didn’t understand—why would God do this to her? My mother, through her agonizing tears, patted me on the back and reassured me that He worked in mysterious ways. Looking back, it made me realize how incredibly strong she was. And it made my mind snap with the sudden realization that maybe I wasn’t the only one with endometriosis.
I’d read online that one of the main side effects of the disease was infertility, and that miscarriages were common. I wondered if the disease was hereditary, and thinking about all the decades my mother had spent struggling through an undiagnosed illness made my chest hurt even more. I made a mental note to bring it up with her when she arrived. Alone, out of my father’s earshot.
I finished wiping down the kitchen countertops and stowed my spray bottles and rags underneath the sink. The whole townhouse now had a sharp, lemony, sterile smell—a sure sign of a clean home.
I checked the time on my phone. It was almost 3 p.m., just enough time for me to get changed and make myself presentable before they arrived.
I slipped back into my room, stepped out of my gym shorts and faded Daytona Beach t-shirt, and tossed them in my laundry hamper. I decided on a cotton sunflower-print dress, one that came down just below my knees. My eyes flicked back to my hamper. Growing up, I was never allowed to wear shorts, and part of me wanted to put on the tightest ones I owned just to make a point. But I took a deep breath, reminding myself to get through this surgery and recover with as little drama as possible.
The sooner they go back up to the panhandle, the better.
I settled at my gaming PC, trying to stave off my nerves with someStardew Valley. It helped, but I was barely through a single in-game day before the doorbell rang and made my whole body jolt.
My mother, Maria, squealed with joy the second I opened the door. She’d cut her long, curly black hair up to her collarbones, and her olive skin looked tanner than usual.
“Avery, sweetheart!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug even as the weight of her enormous purse weighed her arm down. A reluctant smile warmed my face as I embraced my mother. She smelled like rose and lavender, and it brought me back to my childhood.
But as soon as she broke the hug, I was left locking eyes with my father, James. He was a pale, square-jawed man with greying chestnut hair and a thick mustache that made it look like he was perpetually frowning. Which he usually was.
“Avery.” His tone was blunt as he pulled me into a stiff one-armed hug. I peered into his eyes, which were the same chocolate-brown color as mine. I’d inherited those, his skin tone, and not much else. Otherwise, I was a carbon copyof my mother; one with freckles and hair that was dark brown instead of black.
I had no idea how my father always managed to look so dull. He had the emotional capacity of a robot, and he certainly hugged like one.
I led them both inside, silently observing as my mother oohed and aahed over the tiny townhouse, her enthusiasm almost making up for my father’s sullen behavior. The only sign of activity from him was when he swiped a finger across the top of a shelving unit that I’d forgotten to wipe down.
My nostrils flared, but I refused to pay him much attention.
“And your bedroom is so cute!” My mother exclaimed as I opened the door. She admired my black Ikea shelving units and navy flower-print pillows, but I noticed her face scrunch up in confusion when she saw my geeky posters.
“Oh, what are these from, sweetie?”
“Video games,” I replied flatly, not daring to look behind me to see my father’s reaction.
“Ah. Well, they’re very pretty.” She admired one of Amaterasu, the wolf goddess fromOkami, standing proudly in front of a blazing sunrise.
A figure stepped out from behind me and appeared at my right shoulder, and I realized it was my dad studying my gaming PC. He rubbed his chin with his thick hairy hands as he stood there with a dumbfounded expression on his face, like he’d never seen a computer before.
