Time to Meet the Parents

“Yes, I figured your parents were Jewish because of your last name,” Eden said.  She was comfortably seated in his Mercedes S Class and wondering why he didn’t understand that she needed two bags of varying sizes for a weekend stay.  “One bag is for body care and make up, the other is for clothes,” she explained what should have been obvious.

“The biggest bag is the heaviest,” he said pointedly.

“Let’s forget my skin care regimen for the moment and talk about your parents.  Give me a few pertinent details.  You know I don’t like offending people.”

“Leaving that aside, tonight we’ll probably eat in, as they like to have a Sabbath meal.  Not that they’re Orthodox or anything.  It’s just a tradition.”

“Steve—you’re talking to a girl who grew up in Scarsdale, the Jewish Mecca.”

“Shouldn’t that be the Jewish Jerusalem?”

“Whatever, face east and pray.  I cried when I found out I wasn’t having a bat mitzvah like all my friends.  My sweet sixteen sucked in comparison.”

“You must have been confirmed or something.”

“Are you kidding?  The only time I went to religious services was when I was in summer camp because we had them with the boys’ camp across the lake.  I’ve never felt the need for a mystical experience.”  Except in bed, she didn’t add.

She didn’t think Steve was into mysticism either, at least judging from his apartment.  It was situated in a Georgetown brick building with three other condos and looked so charming on the outside.  Inside, it was like the deck on a starship.  Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration but everything was computerized.  He even programmed the blinds so they adjusted to the sun.  “Learned that in Zurich,” he said proudly, as she jumped when they moved, thinking it was a peeping tom.

He had nothing on his walls, no art work or anything.  He said the blankness helped him think.  But she told him she couldn’t go into a bedroom as sparse as his and really enjoy herself. The next time she came, she was laden with prints of her favorite paintings and he grudgingly helped her tact them to the bedroom walls.  “So much more conducive,” she assured him.

“I was enjoying myself before.”

“Of course.  You were,” she said grimly.

Oh, the choices she had to make with Steve.  Like the first time they had sex.  Blushing, he suggested that they have a nice dinner and then maybe, if she would like, they could go back to his place.  “If going back to your place means you want to have sex, then I must warn you I don’t have sex on a full stomach.  It would have to be before dinner.”

“Eden, you’re— “  Obviously he was stunned for words.  Until, “So—does that mean you’re willing?”

“To see where you live?  Of course.  You saw where I live.  Your place couldn’t be worse than that.”

And of course it wasn’t.  Later, she had checked the price on Zillow and had to wonder why she wasn’t born a whiz at computers.

Because of his blushing, Eden had to wonder if maybe Steve was a virgin.  Despite heavy petting in high school, Eden had waited for her sophomore year in college before she had sex.  It was—not romantic, not anything swoon-worthy.  Once with that guy was more than enough.  But junior year she hooked up with an archaeology major who was not only interesting but experienced and that carried her right through to his graduation.

D.C. had been a sexual desert, not that there weren’t plenty of opportunities—for the men.  As she had learned to her cost with one of them, such a prick and not in a good sense.  And now Steve?

Okay, she soon learned that, despite the blushing, he wasn’t a virgin—unless he had read a technical manual on how to please a woman.  She actually came with him the first time and the second.  They ended up starved and had to settle for breakfast the next day.  After that was digested—wow, what a weekend that was!

Unfortunately, that Monday he had to fly off to Bahrain.  She wondered if it was safe for him, but he told her he had several passports, not to worry.  But she did worry, and not because she wouldn’t get any more lavish meals if anything happened to him.  She liked Steve.  He was very—different.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asked, as the car crossed into Pennsylvania.

“Sex.”

Laughing, he said, “Should I pull over?”

“Not in this car.”

“Well, you know my parents will put us into separate rooms.”

“I can abstain for a weekend, Steve.”

“But maybe I can’t.”  Then more soberly, “I’m flying to Kenya next week.”

“For how long?” she asked grumpily.

“Until the job’s done.”

“Steveeee—“

“Edennnnn—“

“Sometimes I miss you.”

“Only sometimes?  Like when you’re hungry?”

She placed her hand on his thigh.  “Don’t,” he warned.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said, shocked.  “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“My kind of girl,” he replied.

Yeah.  Steve was sweet.  She could only hope his parents liked her.  Although, why wouldn’t they?