Credence

It takes her a minute to remember where we were, but then she glares at me again. “First of all,” she says, “my family’s personal shopper buys my clothes—or bought my clothes—and second of all…they look good.”

“You don’t need to look good,” my father interjects. “Looking good around here ends you up married and pregnant at eighteen.”

“Your sons definitely know what a condom is and so do I.”

I snort.

“Besides,” she adds, “I haven’t had a single boyfriend. When I’ve had three then you can worry about me ending up pregnant and married.”

“Three?” I mumble over my food.

She hesitates, looking like she’d rather not explain herself. “My mother said no woman should get married until they’ve had at least three…”

She waves her hand as if I know how to finish that sentence.

“Three…?” my father prompts her.

“Lovers,” she blurts out. “Boyfriends, whatever.”

I pinch my eyebrows together. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She lets out a sigh, straightening her spine and looking visibly uncomfortable. Finally, she takes the ketchup, Heinz sauce, and A.1. bottle, moving them one next to the other.

“Lust, learn, and love,” she says, placing the condiments and touching her finger to the ketchup. “My mother said the first boy—or man—is a crush. You think you love them, but what you really love is how they make you feel. It’s not love. It’s lust. Lust for attention. Lust for danger. Lust to feel special.” She looks between us. “You’re needy with number one. Needy for someone to love you.”

My father forgets the food he’s chewing as he gapes at her.

“The second is to learn about yourself.” She touches the Heinz. “Your first crush has been crushed. You’re sad, but most of all, you’re angry. Angry enough to not let it happen again,” she explains. “To not give yourself over so much this time. To not give up your power to be his booty call at midnight and there waiting whenever he decides to show up.”

She’s describing us, I take it.

“Number two is where you finally learn what you’re capable of,” she continues, tucking a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear. “You start getting demanding. You grow bold, not afraid to start calling some shots. You’re also not afraid to be greedier in the bedroom, because it’s about what you want and not what he wants. Number two is to be used. In a way.”

My dad clears his throat, and I laugh to myself as I drop my fork and give her my full attention. She said bedroom.

“What the fuck did she teach you?” he mumbles.

But I want her to keep going. “And number three?” I ask, picking up the A.1.

“Love.” She snatches the bottle away. “When the lessons of your weakness with number one and your selfishness with number two sink in, and you find a medium. When you know who you are and you’re ready to welcome everything he is, and you’re not afraid anymore.” She puts the bottle back in its place. “You still might not have a happy ending, but you’ll engage in a healthy relationship and handle yourself in a way you’re proud of.”

“And you think your mother is the one to listen to?” Dad replies.

“She was a failure as a mother,” Tiernan points out. “But nothing else. It’s the only advice she ever gave me, actually, so I kind of hang on to it.”

It actually isn’t terrible advice. I’m so glad I didn’t marry my first. Or my fifth. People learn about themselves through sex. It’s true. And sometimes it may take a lot of living to become the person you want to be. I’m happy my future wife won’t have to experience the complete prick I was at seventeen. I was much worse. Like a lot worse.

“Well, sounds like you already know what you need to know,” my dad tells her. “Why go through three men to get it?”

“Some lessons can’t be taught,” she says, taking a bite of the steak Kaleb gave her. “Just learned. Don’t you think?”

I watch in amusement as he can’t fucking respond, because she’s right. Sometimes people have to make their own mistakes and feel the pain.

She takes her empty beer and stands up. “Anyway, nothing to worry about,” she assures him. “I have zero interest in relationship drama, and even if I did, we’ll be deep in snow for months very soon. The perfect chastity belt.”

She walks over to the garbage, tossing her empty bottle and reaching into the fridge to grab another.

Our eyes follow her, barely breathing as we watch her lean over in her three-hundred-dollar jeans to find a new bottle.