Genevieve
THE THIRD DEGREE STARTS NOW.
After spending the night with Ford—cuddling again—I returned home, given I needed a clean change of clothes and a decadent shower. My parents are habitually early risers—so is Ford, apparently, notwithstanding the anomaly a few days ago with the late hot chocolate—so they were already milling about the house when I slipped through the front door, eager to avoid an interrogation.
Sadly, as they say, when you make plans, God laughs.
My mom virtually leaps to my side when I shut the front door behind me, even though she's dressed ready to go to work as her shift starts just after lunch. Considering the smile that's plastered across her face, she's not pissed, though she doesn't have a valid reason to be as I stated yesterday I probably wouldn't be returning until today. Instead, she appears intrigued.
After the ordeal with Ford hanging up on me straight after phone sex and then impulsively taking me out for lunch, when I arrived back at home, my mom was keen to garner all the details regarding our status. She knew he's one of Harris' friends as the last time they officially met was when she caught us at close proximity near the front door when she entered, though last time she shrugged it off as I was dating Harris at the time.
"A little birdy told us that Ford won," Mom all but gushes.
Ford's our town's star boxer. Of course everyone's going to be alerted of his victories. "He did," I confirm, nodding as I gaze longingly at the stairs where a shower's waiting for me.
"And you stayed with him last night?"
"Uh, yep."
Suddenly Dad's striding out of the lounge and approaching us. He grins at me and places a hand against Mom's shoulder.
She leans back into him and replies, "Are you two... serious?"
"Mom," I breathe, flushing at the strangled gasp that cascades involuntarily from me, "we're not really... we haven't spoken about being serious. It's new."
"Should you invite him for dinner with us?" Dad interjects, hopeful.
"I think it's a little soon for that."
The domestic image that conjures up in my mind of Ford sitting beside me and opposite my parents as we tuck into a homemade dinner is, honestly, laughable. Ford is not the type of guy that gets invited back to a girlfriend's house to meet the parents. No matter how affectionate and intimate Ford is being with me as the moments are increasing in frequency between us, I can never envision him in a domesticated scenery while endeavouring to win over my parents.
Besides, it appears as though Ford's unknowingly already won over my parents.
"I'm going to go for a shower," I announce, pointing lamely upstairs with my hand that I'm holding a bottle of water with as I brush past them.
My dad must whisper something in my mom's ear as I begin to ascend the stairs because suddenly her laughter's ricocheting around the house. When I shut my bedroom door behind me, it drowns the sound out entirely and I breathe a sigh of relief, leaning back against the cool wood, closing my eyes momentarily.
My parents have always actively desired to meet my boyfriends—official ones, whereby Angus is excluded as we were only mindless hooking up and they are thankfully unaware of that sordid detail. The fact that they're taking an interest in wanting to meet Ford and get to know him better isn't staggering by any means, but I can't foresee it occurring any time soon.
It's fortunate that they never found out about the video that circulated of me and some guy at one of the final house parties of senior year when we fucked in the bathroom. We were both still fully clothed and you can't define anything, but it's a sure presumption that it's me that's bent over. Maybe then they wouldn't be so willing to meet my boyfriends.
