Page 50 of The Fed Sex Man

Jo

My father waggedthe tip of his fork toward my plate. “It’s not going to eat itself, Jo. Get busy.”

“Leave her be,” my mother said without looking up. “She might not be hungry.”

“She’s hungry enough to eat the rice casserole,” he replied. “She’s done nothing but poke the meat.”

“Medley,” my mother said. “It’s called a rice medley.”

The meat was gray on the outermost edge and bright red in the center. Regardless of what they’d labeled it, it was fish.

“It’s fish,” I said. “It’s not ‘meat’.”

“It’s a steak,” my father argued. “Said so right on the package.”

I pushed it across my plate with the backside of my fork. “A tuna steak.”

He gave me the death stare. “You know the rule.”

I glanced across the table. My brother was elbows-deep in his piece of fish, devouring it one over-sized chunk at a time.

I shifted my eyes to my father. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to it,” I assured him. “It’ll be last.”

“Don’t make yourself sick,” my mother said.

My father’s brows knitted together. He pointed the tines of his fork at her. “Rules are rules,” he growled. “She’s taking two bites of the steak. End. Of. Story.”

He never wavered from enforcing the rules. The two-bite rule was my least favorite of them all. We were required to take two big bites of everything we were served. If we didn’t like it after two bites, we weren’t forced to continue. My father believed two man-sized bites would allow anyone to truly determine if they liked something or detested it.

I didn’t have to take a bite of the tuna to know it would be repulsive.

“I met someone,” I said.

The statement was more of a diversionary tactic than anything. It was one of the few ways I could draw my brother’s attention away from eating. His comments would undoubtedly capture my father’s attention. While my father was immersed in my brother’s snide remarks, I could cut two bites from my fish and slip them into my purse.

In response to the declaration, my mother and my brother looked up at the same time.

“That’s terrific,” my mother said. “Tell us about him.”

Midway through shoveling a forkful of rice medley into his mouth, my brother paused. “All she knows is what she read about him on his Tinder profile. Let me guess. He’s educated, financially secure, drives an Audi, and he enjoys reading books on the couch with his cat after he gets off work. You probably haven’t even met him yet, have you?”

“That’s enough, Jarod,” my mother hissed.

“What the hell’s a Tinder profile,” my father asked.

“It’s a dating app,” Jarod explained. “From the comfort of your home, you can pick a guy that meets your interests and criteria, just like Jerry Jones selecting a draft pick for the Cowboys. All your prospective dates are right there on your phone with their information on display. It’s perfect for Jo, she doesn’t even have to go out in public and meet anyone. The men all lie, though. Everyone claims to be rich, educated, and single. In reality, they’re poor, uneducated, and married. It’s a place for guys to get laid.”

My father shifted his eyes from Jarod to me. “Is that true?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “Sounds like Jarod’s pretty knowledgeable about it. Maybe he’s been using it.”

My father sipped his tea. “Stop trying to piss your sister off.”

I cut a one-inch square off the corner of the tuna and raised it within smelling distance of my mouth.

While I struggled not to vomit, Jarod let out a laugh. “The day she meets a normal guy,” he said. “Is the day I’ll kiss Smokey’s hairy ass.”

My father gave him a look. “Smokey doesn’t want your lips on his pooper.”