7

The rest of the week dragged by and I avoided my dad as much as I could. I knew my reaction to my sisters' new clothes was irrational, but I couldn't help it. And I didn't want my mood to show to the rest of the family. I lied to my sisters and told them that I was working on some schoolwork to get ready for the new semester after the summer was over. Nobody invited me up to dinner, so I ate "leftovers" by myself after they were all done. It just seemed easier that way. It was a lonely week, but not unexpected.

By Friday night, I felt pretty confident that my resentment had cooled enough that I could hide it from everyone. For the first time since I had come home, I ate dinner with the family. And it was actually not as bad as I thought it would be, until the girls started asking me uncomfortable questions.

"Do you like your school?" Monica asked at one point. I told her it was alright but felt a lot like high school to me. Except for the fact that there were breaks in between classes.

Ally chimed in at that point with the first discomforting question of the night. "Do you have a boyfriend, Gracie?" she asked, her face a mask of innocence.

I couldn't help but clear my throat, twisting my fork on my plate and watching as the spaghetti noodles wound around it. I probably should have answered right away, but my thoughts had already started churning the second her question reached my ears. "No," I said finally. My dad coughed and when I glanced up at him, his eyes flitted away. Had he been staring at me?

"Did you date any boys, though?" Monica threw another awkward question my way. I mean, it shouldn't be awkward really. But it was.

Glancing at her, I couldn't help but try to see my dad's expression out of the corner of my eye. Was he paying attention to their questions? I felt like he was. Like he was listening intently and judging me. My head started tossing memories around, and thoughts. One of the main thoughts that tumbled around in my brain was the fact that I had lost my virginity this past year. Dad would probably be pissed if he knew I had sex. Why that should matter at all was beyond me, yet it did. And thinking about that started to make me angry. I was over eighteen and in charge of my own body. I was half tempted just to let it "slip" to see his reaction when I admitted to my sisters that I was no longer a virgin.

But then another thought started to rear its ugly head. I tried but couldn't push it away. I started to feel... ashamed. About having sex. I hadn't even been into that boy at all. I remember when I was younger how I used to fantasize about losing my virginity at the perfect moment, with the perfect boy. All the movies made it out that way. The first time was supposed to be special. And, in a way, my first time had been special. But it had been special for the wrong reason. Because I had thought of my father. I knew that wasn't the kind of "special" that was supposed to happen. No matter what I did, there was on way to take that back. I couldn't regain my virginity. It was lost and that was that. And I felt ashamed about it. Why the fuck did I feel ashamed about it?

"Time to get ready for bed, girls," my dad announced suddenly, sounding upset.

What? It wasn't even seven o'clock yet. They both started protesting immediately but my dad told them it had been a long week and he wanted some quiet in the house. What had been so "long" about it? I decided he was stressed out because I was home. Or maybe he was mad at the thought that I may have had a boyfriend, even though I had never answered Monica's question. For some reason, I felt like my dad could see right through me. That he knew the truth. That he knew his little girl was no longer a virgin. I felt embarrassed suddenly.

My sisters begged until they came to a compromise. Ally agreed to take a bath and Monica said she would take a shower. Then they could watch a movie as long as they promised to go right to sleep afterwards.

As for me, I just quietly started doing the dishes while everyone left the kitchen. My dad never said a word to me. I honestly wasn't sure if I was included in the "bedtime" announcement, but I figured it didn't much matter either way. I would head to my room as soon as possible, if for no other reason than to escape my dad's judgmental looks.

An hour later, I was lying in my bed downstairs, feeling sorry for myself. The girls had finished getting ready for bed and it was quiet upstairs, so I figured they must be sitting in the living room watching a movie. I couldn't tell if my dad was still up or not, so I stayed in my room. I didn't want to confront him again tonight.

Finally, bored out of my mind and completely restless, I decided to do some yoga. My yoga pants were wrinkled from being stuffed in my suitcase, but once I pulled them on, the wrinkles disappeared. I put on a cropped t-shirt with no bra and proceeded to do a simple routine. It was mostly stretches, but then I slowly worked my way into more complex positions. After nearly an hour, I was sweating quiet liberally. I heard water running upstairs and then a door close. Finishing up my routine, I figured it had been long enough that everyone was probably in bed already. I hoped they were, at least.

As quietly as I could, I made my way upstairs. Down the hall I crept, glancing toward the living room on my way to the bathroom. The tv was dark and nobody was on the couch. Good. When I reached my dad's room, I slowed, stepping as lightly as I could to avoid making the floor squeak. Glancing at his door, I noticed that it wasn't closed all the way. There was a half-inch gap between the jam and the door. Shaking my head, I continued on until I was safely in the bathroom. For some reason, I felt out of breath from my stealthy walk.