Grin and Beard It(101)

“Hmm . . .” I could tell she was smiling, but she refrained from voicing her thoughts, instead putting the conversation back on track. “You were saying about your third date.”

“Oh, yes. I mentioned to him that I missed going to the movies as a spectator. You know I haven’t seen a movie, just gone to the theater to enjoy a film, not a big splashy premiere for work, in years. So it turns out Jethro knows the owner of an old theater in Knoxville and he arranged for a midnight showing of Duck Soup.”

“Ah, that’s one of your favorites.”

“Yes. I don’t know how he knew that, he wouldn’t reveal his sources, but he knew.”

“I like this guy.”

“I like him, too.”

My mother waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, she prompted me. “But?”

Closing my eyes, I released a long exhale. “But, after the movie he drove me home, carried me upstairs—because I was asleep—kissed me goodnight, and left.”

“Okay . . .?”

“We kiss. A lot. But we’ve done nothing else for ten days.”

Again she was quiet, but I could tell she was thinking, not waiting for me. Then she asked, “What did you do tonight? Was it dinner with his family again?”

“No. Tonight was a date. He made a picnic, and we had dinner on the prairie. And we danced.”

“You danced?”

“Yes. He made a playlist and we danced. Then he brought me home, kissed me goodnight as usual, and now here I am.”

“What kind of music?”

I frowned, not understanding her question. “What do you mean?”

“What kind of music did he play? The playlist?”

“Um, slow music. Ballads, some Frank Sinatra, that kind of thing.”

“He held you close? The whole time?”

I thought about her question and realized she was right. “Yes. He held me close the whole time.”

“So you are doing more than just kissing. You think it’s a mistake all those songs were slow? No. He wanted to touch you. He is sneaky and clever. I like him even more.”

Her conclusion made me feel better. Much better. And yet, I was still alone, tangled in want and frustration, wishing he were here.

“He is a gentleman. He sounds very complex. He has layers, like an onion.”

“Exactly. He lives his life simply, but he’s not simple.”

“Well put. He’s a man, mija. Men live simply, but are not simple. Boys are simple, but do not live simply. They don’t understand what is important. Jethro isn’t one of your boys. Your father and I, when we met, we were still very young. We became adults together, we grew together and challenged each other. Jethro is already a man; he will expect you to behave like a woman. He will challenge you. Are you ready to be so serious with someone?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “I am. But I don’t know what to do about the kissing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wants to wait, to have sex, until he is married. I’m not sure how to initiate something other than a kiss.”

Again, my mother was quiet for a time, obviously thinking about this new information.

“Is he a virgin?” Thankfully, the question sounded coldly clinical. Speaking to my mother about sex was always easier when she wore her doctor’s hat. We’d always talked freely, but she was still my mother.

“No. Like I said, he didn’t make good decisions when he was younger.” I went on to rehash how he had been trying to redeem himself through his actions and had felt enforced celibacy for the last five years was necessary to avoid hurting anyone. I further explained that we’d been intimate in some ways, just the once, but he’d drawn a line in the sand regarding that one thing.

“I see.” Again, she paused and deliberated.

Before she could launch into a new set of questions, I added, “I respect his decision, and I’m not pushing for him to cross that line. But it would be nice to do something other than kiss and dance. We spend very little time alone other than the time in the truck, driving to work. I feel so much for him, and I love the time we spend together, and yet—when he leaves me at the end of the day—I have all this pent-up affection and no outlet.”

I heard her teeth click and her tone change from clinical to momma bear. “Well, you need to tell him that. You need to say exactly that. We are not living in Victorian times. I applaud you for supporting him and his boundaries, but you are feeling neglected. He doesn’t have to break his vow in order to satisfy his woman. You need to tell him and give him a chance to make things right.”

I nodded, her words bolstering my confidence. “Yes. You’re right.”