I asked my father if I could borrow his car. It happened at the dinner table.
“What for?” My dad gets protective of his car. “Charlie’s got a girlfriend,” my sister said.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said. “Who is this girl?” my father asked.
“What’s going on?” my mother asked from the kitchen. “Charlie wants to borrow the car,” my dad replied.
“What for?” my mother asked. “That’s what I’m trying to find out!” my father said with a raised voice.
“No need to get snippy,” my mother said. “Sorry,” my father said without meaning it.
Then, he turned back to me. “So, tell me about this girl.”
So, I told him a little about Mary Elizabeth, leaving out the part about the tattoo and belly button ring.
He kind of smiled for a little while, trying to see if I was already guilty of something.
Then, he said yes. I could borrow his car. When my mother came in with coffee, my father told her the whole story while I ate dessert.
That night, as I was finishing my book, my father came in and sat on the edge of my bed.
He lit a cigarette and started telling me about sex. He gave me this talk a few years before, but it was more biological then.
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