Even MeMaw, as much as I adored her, could be an interrupter. It’s in our DNA, I guess.
“And, so maybe that will help explain why I’ve never…you know, gone all the way. I don’t believe my parents are correct. I don’t believe it’s a sin, and I don’t believe masturbating is a sin. I don’t think I even believe half of anything I was taught in their house and in that church and in that school.
“But I do know that it still affects me today. It affects my mind, and staying by myself with the dogs and having so much time alone, to think, is a kind of therapy.”
He nods. And then he reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. His big, sinewy hand. It’s warm and calloused and it sends sparks through me. And something else his tou
ch makes me feel: accepted.
“Maybe the dogs are therapeutic. But maybe being alone isn’t the best thing for you. Maybe you’ve isolated yourself so you don’t have to…you know…work on undoing all that damage.”
Whoa.
The sinking sensation in my stomach tells me he’s on to something.
But this is getting too deep for a first date. I clear my throat and pick up my fork, noticing that I’m still hungry.
“So,” I say brightly. “Tell me about yourself, Daniel. How’d you end up in my neck of the woods?”
Smartly, he sees that I don’t want to be pushed on the subject, so he launches into his own personal tale, which is a lot less weird than mine.
He grew up in Oklahoma. I learn that his parents are deceased. That his dad was an oil man, his mom was a homemaker. He went to college, and became a civil engineer right away. And then his parents both became ill and he spent all his time taking care of them when he wasn’t working.
“After they died, I decided I didn’t like the public sector. So I went into planning subdivisions for a development company. Made a lot of money pretty quickly. Which suits me, because I’m ready to start a family.”
I tamp down the surge of emotion this statement causes to erupt in my body.
It doesn’t work. I have to force myself to listen to the rest of the story while part of my brain is picking apart what he just said.
Starting a family with who? Is he talking about someone specific? Who is she? Why am I feeling jealous of this hypothetical female?
I snap out of my reptile brain and pay attention. Daniel goes on to tell me how he recently decided to forge his own path by starting his own company, fixing up old houses and reinventing older neighborhoods.
I learn that he’s 27, never been married before, never been engaged. He’s had a couple of casual dates over the years but nothing serious.
I smirk. “But you’ve had actual sex before, unlike me.”
“Nope,” he says quickly. “I’m also a virgin, technically.”
“Wait a minute. How is that possible?”
He replies, “I don’t know, I guess I never found the one who really did it for me. Nobody ever made that spark. Or maybe I’m a lazy bastard who never makes an effort with women.”
I have to laugh. “I’d call you many things, but lazy is not one of them.”
He shrugs. “So, why is it surprising that a 27-year-old man is a virgin but not surprising for a woman—hypothetically?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Honestly, that’s a good point. It’s a double standard worth exploring.”
He raises an eyebrow and says, “I have some ice cream at home along with that cobbler you made. Suppose we explore the double standard further at my place over dessert.”
Yes. Dessert. Dessert is very necessary about now.
Chapter Twelve
Daniel
The other night, when we were in Molly’s kitchen and I felt something unsettlingly cozy and familiar while we puttered around, still haunts me. But tonight in my kitchen, that cozy feeling has taken a turn.