Page 17 of Sincerely, Butterfly

But my mom just keeps talking like this is an acceptable dinner conversation topic on a Sunday night. Mom, Dad, and I are seated around the kitchen table, eating roast, which is one of my favorite meals. If it wasn’t for the elephant in the room, it would have been a perfect dinner.

The thing is, I haven’t seen my mom since she walked into my room, literally catching me with my hands down my pants.

While we’re a pretty open family, there is no teenage girl on the face of this earth that wants to talk about their sexual activities with their parents. We’re close, but not that close.

“If you have any questions, you know you can always come to me, right?” she asks, reaching out to place her hand over mine, giving it a little squeeze.

I can feel my cheeks heating up as I cast a quick glance at my father. He’s acting as if he’s not paying attention, his eyes glued to his book:The Shiningby Stephen King. It’s his favorite book to reread, but I know damn well that he’s listening.

Where do you think I get my eavesdropping skills from? He’s just as nosy as I am.

“Thanks, Mom. I’m okay, but I promise everything is good. So, can weplease—I beg of you— just. Let. This. Go. Okay?” I’d really like to talk about anything but this.

Grabbing my cup of water, I take a sip.

“Okay, sweetie.” She gives my hand a pat, then hesitates for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the doctor? Maybe it’s time you get on some type of birth control. Do you have condoms, just in case?”

Of course, she says this just as I’m swallowing. The water goes down wrong, and I choke over the words that are coming out of this woman's mouth.

“Okay. What the hell is going on?” My father chooses now to dip into the conversation. “Birth control? Condoms?” he growls and shoots me an angry scowl. “Do you have a boyfriend that we don’t know about? Does he go to your school?”

“What?” I croak, my voice raspy from coughing. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend. And you know that there's no way in hell I’d ever date someone from school.” I shudder. “I’d rather cut off my left tit than date one of those pretentious, self-absorbed assholes.” The thought of any of them touching me sends a shiver of revulsion down my spine.

“Language,” my mom says in a soft scolding tone.

“Sorry, Mom,” I mutter.

“Then if you’re not dating anyone, why would you need birth control? Or condoms?” He grumbles the last part, not able to look me in the eyes.Same, my dude, same.

“I don’t,” I insist.

“Why even mention it then?” he asks my mother.

With my eyes, I plead to her not to tell him, to brush it off, but the poor woman is oblivious.

“Well, the other evening I happened to walk in on Nola in the middle of… alone time.” She gives me a soft smile.

Dear god, take pity on me now and let the world swallow me whole.“If she’s sexually active, I want her to be safe. That's all.”

“Oh,” he replies with understanding. My father is a big man, a scary man to anyone who doesn’t know him. And even though I do know him, I’ve never seen this man blush with embarrassment in my entire life. I’d find it adorable and kind of funny if it wasn’t at the expense of my dignity.

“Just because someone has… alone time,” I start, dying a little more inside. “Doesn’t mean they’re sexually active. Which, I’m not.” I need to make sure and drive that point home.

“If you can’t say the word, should you be doing it?” Mom asks. “It’s called masturbation. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I do it, your father does it. It’s normal.”

“Okay, I’m done here.” I shoot up from my chair, mortified, as my dad starts to sputter. “Thanks for the amazing dinner as always.” I walk around the table and kiss my mom on the top of the head, avoiding eye contact with my dad as if my life depends on it. “I’m heading to bed now. School tomorrow. Love you both. Bye.”

Grabbing my plate, I head into the kitchen, scrape what little food is left on it into the trash, and put it in the sink before rushing upstairs.

For the next few hours, I get lost in a book, refusing to think about the awkward as hell dinner situation.

But I finish it sooner than I expected, leaving me with nothing to do.

I could go to sleep, but honestly, I don’t feel an ounce of tiredness. I’m too wound up from everything that's happened in the past few days.

Biting my lower lip, I look at my bedside table and wonder if I should take the edge off. Maybe it would help me relax and get some sleep.

But knowing that my parents are downstairs, and after the horrifying conversation at dinner, I don’t think that's the best idea. I need at least a few weeks to get over it and put the whole situation behind me.