Page 79 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
My stomach clenched as I tried my hardest not to physically cringe at his words.
“It’s not witchcraft,” I replied weakly. “It’s just a game.”
“Is Satanismjust a gameto you?”
The dark undertone of his voice caused me to fall silent again.
Thankfully, that was when the waitress showed up with our appetizers, and I was able to stuff my face with fried onion strips instead of continuing with the conversation.
Once the appetizers had been reduced to crumbs, my mother steered the topic away fromCreatures & Cryptsand toward less polarizing subjects. They asked more about my job andthe townhouse, conversations I was able to navigate through between bites of a massive fried chicken sandwich. My father was mostly silent, except for scolding me for not being “ladylike” in the way that I ate my food. My response was to glare daggers at him while I shoved an entire French fry in my mouth.
It made me wish I could be atCreatures & Cryptswith Devin and not at this interrogation of a family dinner.
But the one topic I prayed they wouldn’t touch never came up: my dating life. My parents had made offhand comments over the years, ranging from my mother’s innocent prying to my father’s straightforward attempts to pair me up with church boys in my hometown. But this time, they never asked.
Maybe it’s because they’re afraid of the answer,I scoffed as I finished the last of my fries.
Another topic that never came up was my surgery, but I knew why. That conversation would have to wait for a time when I was alone with my mother. Any mention of female anatomy, especially periods, made my father “uncomfortable.”
As if I haven’t been ‘uncomfortable’ for a fucking decade.
I was relieved when the bill finally showed up. My parents insisted on treating me, which was nice, but I would’ve been happy to pay the whole damn thing if it meant escaping the restaurant sooner. I couldn’t handle any more uncomfortable conversations. My blood pressure was already spiking, like my veins were a soda can that had been shaken too hard and was about to explode.
“Well, sweetie.” My mother resumed her sugary-sweet tone, trying to defuse the tension lingering around the table. “It’s only four-thirty, and we’re in no rush to check in to the hotel. Is there anything fun and exciting you’d like to do in Orlando?”
As much as I wanted to reply with a firmnoand retreat to my townhouse without my parents, my father spoke up before I could open my mouth.
“I’d like to see that game shop.”
I swallowed, a lump forming in my throat. On the surface, his request sounded innocent, but I could feel the disgust emanating from him like a noxious cloud. I’d gladly go anywhere in Orlandootherthan Critical Games. I did not want to expose Cassidy, Devin, or anyone else to my father’s uptight scrutiny.
“Oh, uh…it’s kind of far from here.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. I peered at him out of the corner of my eye and had difficulty reading his facial expression underneath those hairy eyebrows and thick mustache. “I saw us pass a storefront that said ‘Game Shop’ a few miles back.”
A cold chill crept through my veins as I wracked my brain for my mental map of the area. Wedidpass by Critical Games. I’d been too plagued with anxiety to notice.
“I, uh, I…they close at five. It’s almost four-thirty.”
“We’ve got time,” my mother interjected, and more icy chills trickled through my limbs. “I’d love to see the place, honey. Since it’s where you spend your free time.”
My palms were hot and clammy, and I wiped them on the cloth napkin in my lap. I scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, but eventually the gears in my brain ground to a halt. I didn’t see a way out of this.
And maybe I didn’t need one. Visiting the shop would at least show them thatCreatures & Cryptswas just a roleplaying game and not the evil demon-summoning ritual my father believed it to be. I knew my chances of winning him over were slim, but my mother’s façade would be much easier tocrack.
“Uh, alright,” I stammered. “We’ll need to leave soon though.”
“No problem,” my father replied. “I’m ready to head out.”
As we walked towards the car, preparing for a less than ten-minute drive over to Critical Games, a sudden urgent thought blared through my mind like an alarm bell.
Devin.
I needed to warn him.
Devin, I know you’re busy, but this is urgent.
My fingers fumbled with the tiny digital keyboard, and I was grateful that autocorrect was able to fix most of my sloppy texting. I was in the backseat of my parents’ car, with my father driving and my mother examining her nails in the passenger seat. Outside the window, the familiar blur of gas stations and strip malls whizzed past, each one a warning that we were getting closer to the shop.
