Page 9 of Sexploration

Dread settles on my chest like a tired elephant taking a rest as I park in front of my parents’ house. I’ve put off the inevitable for as long as possible. If they were to find out what happened from someone else, they’d be so hurt that I didn’t tell them. It’s a miracle they haven’t figured it out already. I know it’s time to face the music, but living in the land of avoidance has been nice.

The rest of the week passed in an uneventful blur, and I managed to settle into some semblance of a routine. Every evening, August and I have dinner together. We laugh and chat about the day. Not much different from the first night we dined together. Except for one major difference. He’s been very careful to keep his distance. There’s been no repeat of the kiss that shook me to my core. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or saddened by that fact. We’re both ignoring the whole thing as if it never happened, covering the growing tension between us with awkward conversation.

Truthfully, it’s for the best. I’m more than happy pretending nothing has changed between us. As long as he continues to do the same. Most days, our flirty banter is my only reason to smile. I don’t want to lose that or mess everything up by taking things too far.

As for the kiss, it was nothing more than a pity kiss. In the moment, I thought maybe I’d been wrong, that he was genuinely attracted to me after all. But it’s clear now that he was merely being nice, trying to give me hope for a future without Tommy. To him, it was just a kiss. No big deal. It’s not like he knew I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the way his lips felt pressed against mine—all pillowy and warm.

I’ve lain in bed every night brushing my fingers across my lips, my eyes closed as I imagine his mouth on mine. And every single morning, I’ve had to face him knowing what I did while those images were running through my mind. I find myself watching him in a way I didn’t before, my body hyperaware of every move he makes.

I shove all thoughts of August into theshit I can’t think about right nowfolder and file it away, then climb out of the car. Mom calls from the back yard before I reach the front door, and I veer toward the gate. I’m not surprised to find her in the garden on her knees, wrist-deep in a bag of potting soil. She spends every dry day of spring out here.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Jos. Grab that pot for me, will you?” she asks, tilting her head in the direction of the clay pots.

I lean forward, reaching for one. “This one?”

Her eyes squint as she looks up, a warm smile on her face. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

I deposit the pot on the ground next to her and run my shoe over the mulch scattered on the concrete, trying to decide how I want to start this conversation. Saying this stuff out loud isn’t easy, but telling my parents bad news is exceptionally hard.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask, deciding it’s better to do this once. Rip off the Band-Aid in one swift pull.

“He’s in the shed, tinkering,” she answers before hollering across the yard for him, “Paul, your daughter is here.”

My heaved sigh doesn’t go unnoticed, her gaze darting to me as she stands. She dusts her hands on her jeans and moves closer, worry etching across her brow. My mother has always been able to read me like a book, despite my best efforts. I never could keep any secrets from her. Though there’s no point in even trying to hide my feelings from her today. The dark circles under my eyes are pretty telling. No amount of concealer could get rid of them.

“My Rosie Josie,” Dad calls as he strides over to us, his lips stretching. “What brings you here today?”

My throat swells with emotion as he pulls me into his arms, words failing me. This is going to be even harder than I thought. When I don’t answer, he leans back to meet my stare. My watery eyes surely give me away.

“I–I, uh...”

“Lord, it’s getting a little warm out here,” Momma interrupts, saving me before I completely break down. “You two go sit on the patio while I pour us some lemonade. That way, we can talk without the sun beating down on us.”

She scurries off to the kitchen while Dad and I sit down in the rocking chairs. Moments later, she returns and places a glass of chilled lemonade in my hand. I run my fingers through the condensation, trying to muster the courage to say what needs to be said.

“Out with it, Bug,” Dad presses, offering me a smile of encouragement.

I take a drink to wet my dry tongue and clear my throat. “Tommy and I are getting a divorce.”

They gasp in unison, exchanging a look before they focus back on me. My confession was quick and to the point, maybe a little blunt. But there’s no point in dancing around this. It’s done. There’s no fixing it or going back.

“I don’t understand,” Momma says with a shake of her head. “When did this come about? Why didn’t you tell us the two of you were having problems?”

“I didn’t know we were.” I sigh. “It was kind of a shock to me too.”

That’s not a total lie. I can’t remember a time in our marriage when we weren’t having some type of issue, but Tommy’s revelation definitely came as a surprise. Though, looking back, I probably should’ve seen it coming.

“Do I need to get my shovel?” Dad says at the same time Mom asks, “What happened?”

I take a deep breath and set my glass down on the side table. “Tommy cheated on me.” Daddy’s face turns red with anger, but Momma’s pales with sorrow. My eyes fall, my hands rubbing up and down my thighs as I continue. “He sat me down last Sunday night and told me he met someone. Said they’ve been... seeing each other for a while now. Apparently, he fell out of love with me and in love with her.”

My eyes are surprisingly dry once I finish. More proof that my marriage has been over for a while. I was just too stubborn to see it. His mistress wasn’t the cause. She was merely the result.

My confession is met with silence, nothing to fill it but the quiet hum of the fan above us and the birds chirping in the distance. I’m sure they’re feeling even more blindsided by this news than I was. Tommy and I were good at playing the role of the perfect couple in front of them. I never complained to either of them about my marriage or Tommy, not wanting them to dislike or resent him.

“Welp... do they still sell lye at the hardware store?”

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