Page 81 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
Cassidy giggled as she and Aaron walked out the door. I could tell she wanted to say, “you too,” but she could sense that I was trying to keep my relationship status a secret from my parents. Or she saw the way my father scowled at Devin earlier.
“We should get going too,” I said in a hurried tone. My mother was already at the door with me, but my father was on the far side of the shop, glowering at a set ofWargavelminiatures on a wall-mounted shelf.
“C’mon, Dad.” My voice was tense as I ushered him along.
He didn’t respond at first.
“Dad, they’re closing.”
My fatherfinally pulled his gaze away from the miniatures, walking at a snail’s pace toward the door. His eyes still flicked in every direction, as if he were trying to mentally photograph everything in the shop before we left. Meanwhile, Devin stood behind the counter, typing away at his computer.
He was the last thing my father’s judgmental eyes fell upon, and Devin offered a sickeningly friendly smile and wave in response.
Good, I huffed.Don’t let him get to you.
The car was silent for the first few moments as my father pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. My mother broke the tension, prattling on about how interesting the place was in a cheery but awkward tone.
“It’s demonic is what it is, Maria,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I think we need to have a conversation with our daughter about her relationship with Christ.”
“My relationship with Him is none of your business,” I fired back. “I’m an adult. And like I said before, it’s just a game. I’m not worshipping Satan.”
“Maybe we should back off, dear,” my mother replied in a hesitant tone. “After all, I’m glad she’s found such good friends there. That girl—Cassidy, was it? She was lovely.”
My father paused, rolling his tongue over his clenched front teeth. “What about the one behind the counter?”
I could feel the blood draining from my face. “What about him?”
“He hadpiercings in his face,” my father’s voice darkened. “And I saw those arms full of tattoos before he tried to hide them. Followers of the Lord do not mutilate their bodies for their own enjoyment.”
A deep exhale rolled over me as I tried to steady my mounting anger. I knew that Devin covered himself in tattoos because he liked them, but I also couldn’t forget thenight he showed the scars that lurked beneath. The tattoos helped hide them. They helped him feel less ashamed.
They helped him recover and move on.
I didn’t understand why God would be against that.
But I knew there was no point in arguing with my father. I’d been doing that my entire adult life, and all I got in return was anger and resentment. Since he’d been rooted in his antiquated ways for almost fifty years of life, I had little hope of ever changing his mind.
And dwelling on it always made me feel like a disappointment. So this time, I didn’t stoop to his level and stayed silent.
“Sweetie, can you come back to the hotel with us for a bit?” my mother asked. I knew why; she wanted the two of us to discuss my surgery in private. But I also knew she was desperate to steer the conversation away from Devin.
I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell my mother that I needed space, tell my father to fuck off, and hole myself up in my bedroom where I didn’t have to listen to either one of them. But I needed to let my anxiety out, and my mother was still my mother. Even with our mismatched understanding of the world, the night before surgery was a time when I really needed her comfort.
Plus, my father wouldn’t be around. We could kick him out and have him go for a nice, long walk.
Off a cliff, I scowled, before reminding myself not to stoop to his level.
“Okay,” I replied. “But just for a little while.”
“Excellent.” My mother clapped her hands together, her lavender nails glinting in the fading sunlight. “The hotel’s just a few miles up the street. It’s very nice; I bet you’ll love it!”
Chapter 20
Despite the awkwardness of dinner and the game shop, I genuinely enjoyed the hotel.
It was an upscale chain hotel on the outskirts of downtown Orlando, not far from my multiple failed dates at Orange Blossom Coffee. The lobby was sleek and elegant, with glossy cream-colored tiles and a rounded, cavernous ceiling that stretched up several stories. The hallways were decorated with soft yellow wall sconces, and the hotel room doors were impressively tall with huge, brassy handles.
“Your father had a bunch of hotel points saved up from his work trips,” my mother explained as she unlocked the door with her key card. “It’s up to you if you’d rather recover at home or here.”
