Chapter 20
CARMEN
Jamie is a virgin … this is perfect.
When he told me, I was surprised. Obviously. I mean, come on. Jamie, a virgin?
Okay, sure, he’s awkward and has zero game. But when a guy is a certain level of hot, he doesn’t need game. Women will quite literally throw themselves at him. And Jamie leaps over that line and then some.
But once the initial surprise wore off, I realized it was an opportunity. It was like finding a jagged, unexpected puzzle piece that slides in perfectly, completing the picture.
We can both do something to help each other out.
He’s anxious about his lack of experience, which is understandable. And I’m still running against a brick wall with my book thanks to my sexual-frustration-fueled writer’s block.
The idea of using Jamie to help with that doesn’t seem as crazy anymore. Because he can use me, too.
The most perfect rationale for a mutually beneficial arrangement is staring me right in the face.
It could be more than a one-and-done hookup. I could take my time finding out what I’m into, while Jamie takes his time gaining bedroom experience.
It’s perfect. As I present the argument to myself in my mind, it’s almost too perfect, which has a cynical voice whispering in the back of my head.
It’s telling me that I’m just twisting logic into pretzels to give in to a craving that’s been growing stronger as I spend more time with Jamie.
But even if that’s true, you know what? Fuck it.
The idea of trying to work past my writer’s block by sleeping with Jamie hasn’t left my mind since I thought of it.
And it’s the only idea I have. If I don’t pull the trigger on it already, who knows if I’ll be able to work through this block and finish my book. The book I’ve set aside a year of my life and upended my entire trajectory to write.
I’m doing it. I’m going to proposition Jamie.
Another plus is that, now that it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement with a rational objective in mind, hopefully that’ll create some emotional distance that keeps him from getting too attached in the process.
That cynical voice in my head really wants to make a comment about that, but I hush it up.
My attention is pulled to the front of the café as Cindy rushes in, clearly in a hurry. There’s something frantic about her demeanor that makes me alert.
“Hey, Cindy,” I say as she shimmies behind the counter. “I thought you weren’t coming in until evening shift.”
“I’m not, it’s just …” she flashes me a guilty look that has me frowning. What’s the deal? “I came to warn you.”
Now I’m frowning more. “Warn me?”
“Forgive me, my favorite niece,” Cindy says in a high whisper, her shoulders pinching. “I thought about lying and saying that you’d moved already, got a job in the oilfields in North Dakota, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
What is she talking about—wait. No.
Bells jingle on the front door. In my peripheral vision, I sense two people stepping through it. A man and a woman.
“Gotta go now, have a date with Kazu,” Cindy whispers. “Bye!”
Then she scurries off in the direction of the back door. I could mention that it’s suspiciously early for a “date,” but my attention is too preoccupied by the two people walking toward me, whom I still haven’t turned to face head-on yet.
When I do so, I find a well-dressed man and woman standing on the other side of the counter. They’re immaculately put-together, but the fancy clothes they wear as armor can’t impede the awkwardness that radiates from their body language.
“Carmen … hello,” the woman says, a hint of softness in her tone.
“Mom. Dad.” I can feel the deer-in-headlights look on my face. It’s not something I’m used to. “What are you guys doing here?”
I almost expect one of them to lighten the mood by saying, Oh, we were just in the mood for some coffee. Cindy would do something like that if she were on the other end of this counter, in their shoes. But neither of my parents is the joking type. And to be fair, neither am I.
“I was invited to speak at a Bio-Med conference at the University of Vermont,” my mom says. “And, well …”
My dad picks up her thought and finishes it, “We took it as a sign that we should stop by and see you.”
A sign? That’s not the way my parents usually talk. Maybe they have changed, a little bit. Maybe I can relax some of the defenses that are shooting up around me.
“We have to get to the conference soon,” my mom says, “but we thought that afterward, we could come back and have dinner.”
“And talk,” my dad says.
My eyes tick between theirs, and I sense something in their looks. Something that tells me maybe they haven’t changed as much as that brief flash of hope allowed me to entertain.
Something scheming—like they’ve discussed exactly where they’d steer the conversation at this dinner they’re proposing, like they’ve strategized the outcome they want from it.
This isn’t going to be just a friendly dinner to start the process of thawing out our relationship. It’s going to be an interrogation session.
My stomach feels tight as I imagine sitting across from them as they slowly ratchet up the pressure.
Asking me about my progress on my book and furrowing their brows in disapproval when I tell them about my writer’s block.
Asking if I’ve put any thought into what I’m going to do next year if my writing doesn’t result in totally improbable success. Which I have, but to no avail.
I feel my self-confidence wilting. I don’t know if I have the strength to go through that right now. I feel too tired. Tired from struggling with my book, tired from struggling with my developing feelings for Jamie.
I’ve grown used to no longer having to justify myself to anyone, and I’m not in the mood to find myself back in that role. I’m really not in the mood to have another fight with my parents.
But at the same time, they came here, they reached out. I don’t have it in me to reject my parents when they’re making a gesture to start repairing our relationship, even if I do suspect there are ulterior motives.
“Yeah, okay,” I answer, my words feeling unsteady on my tongue. “My shift is over at two, and I don’t have anything planned after that.”
I had thought that maybe I’d text with Jamie and work my way to presenting my proposition to him, but I can easily kick that back to another day. I definitely don’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with that task and dinner with my parents on the same day.
Jamie ...
The strangest idea suddenly sprouts in my mind. Instead of picturing myself alone across from my parents, I picture Jamie by my side.
In this fantasy, with him by my side, I don’t feel intimidated or demoralized as I face down my parents’ interrogation.
I feel supported. I feel like I can do anything.
I feel like I have confidence in the path I’ve chosen.
Confidence to defend my decision to my parents, if this dinner turns into another battle of wills.
It feels ridiculous to say, it feels like it’s way too strong a statement for the friendship that Jamie and I have right now … but it feels like, with Jamie by my side, I could do just about anything.
The thought has a shiver of uncertainty scurrying down my back. It’s like just thinking that thought is biting off more than I can chew. But it’s exactly what I feel when I imagine him beside me as I face down a stressful situation.
After all, Jamie’s only ever made me feel supported and accepted when I’ve spent time with him. His implicit belief and faith in me have been a kind of encouragement that I’ve never experienced before.
The bells above the door ring again. I look past my parents to see the customer who just entered.
My heart bounces.
It’s Jamie.
His smile is so bright and warm as our eyes lock. I feel a rush of confidence just from having him a couple yards in front of me, on the other side of this counter. The dinner with my parents doesn’t feel daunting anymore. Nothing feels daunting anymore. Not when he’s near.
If I ask him to come to dinner with my parents, he will. There’s not a doubt in my mind.
But how would I make that make sense to my parents?
Hey, Mom and Dad, I’m going to invite Jamie to dinner with us.
He’s a friendly acquaintance I’ve hung out with a couple times over the last few weeks.
Oh, and I’m about to offer to take his virginity because I think it might help my writer’s block.
Forget about them disapproving of me trying to be a writer. They’d get to work on having me committed. With my mom’s connections in the medical industry and my dad’s ability to navigate the legal system, they’d probably pull it off.
But there’s one case where it would make all the sense in the world to invite Jamie.
My common sense and better judgment must be on strike right now. Maybe I need to let them unionize and offer them better healthcare or something, because they’re nowhere to be seen when I need them.
In their absence, I let the ridiculous idea fly out of my mouth.
“Mom, Dad, this is Jamie.”
They turn to take in the bewildered hockey player standing a couple paces behind them.
“My boyfriend.”
His jaw drops.