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But that’s crazy, right?
We’ve known each other like five minutes...
Yeah, it’s definitely crazy.
I think maybe I’m drunk on lust and not really thinking clearly.
“Your father doesn’t mind them.” She lifts her eyebrows up and down with a wide smile.
“Eww, Mom, fuck.”
“Language,” she scolds. “And don’t say eww. Sex is a very natural and beautiful thing.”
“Mom.” I’m tempted to stick my fingers in my ears so that I don’t have to hear another word.
“Stop acting like your father and I making love is the most repulsive thing in the world. It’s the very reason you’re sitting here now.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to hear about it.” I push the sandwich to the middle of the table, trying like hell to erase the last sixty seconds from my mind.
“Stop it.” She laughs, loud and full, like she finds way too much amusement in my discomfort.
Both of our gazes dart to the door when my father, who could be my twin if you erased a few decades, steps inside the room, hesitating at the end of the breakfast bar as he takes in the situation. Me grimacing. My mom laughing.
“Do I even want to know?” he asks my mom, but I’m the one who answers.
“No, Dad.” I stand. “I really don’t think you do.” I grab my jacket off the stool next to mine and slip it over my shoulders.
“Where are you going?” My mother objects. “You haven’t even eaten your sandwich.”
“My appetite checked out the moment the word sex left your lips,” I tell her pointedly, turning toward my father. “You need to get this woman a hobby that isn’t reading. I’m honestly worried that it’s warping her mind.”
“Not a chance.” My father grins. “I rather like the things she learns in those books.” He winks at my mother, causing her to giggle like a fucking teenager.
“Not you too.” I scrub a hand down my face, feeling like I’ve entered an episode ofThe Twilight Zone. Growing up, my parents were always very private when it came to their... Well, you get the idea. But the older they get... Let’s just say I wish they’d adopt the same policy as when we were kids so I could go on pretending like I was delivered by a stork.
“We’re retired, son. When we’re not watching the grandkids, what do you think we do to keep ourselves busy?” He, too, has a good laugh at my discomfort.
“On that note. I’m leaving.” I zip my coat.
“Will we see you at Sunday dinner this weekend?” my mother asks, standing.
“As long as you promise to never speak of this again. Otherwise, I’m going to forget that I have parents.”
“You always were melodramatic.” My father continues to laugh, finding my reaction even more amusing than my mother does. “Good to see some things never change.”
“I can think of a few things I wish hadn’t changed,” I fire back, spinning on my heel as I head out of the kitchen.
I don’t turn around to know that my mother follows me out. She always walks me to the door.
“Don’t forget what we talked about,” she says as I turn to give her a brief hug.
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to forget.” I snort out a laugh as I release her.
“You know what I’m talking about.” Her expression falls serious. “You deserve to have someone in your life who puts you first.” She pats my cheek like she used to do when I was little and she was trying to reassure me of something.
“I already do.” I grin. “You.”
“Someone besides me.” She shakes her head.
