My emotions were boiling over. First the plant, then the letters, then the call, and now this? I didn't have the mental strength to keep my discipline intact anymore.

"Actually, there is something I want to say," I said in a proud voice. "I'm an adult, and who I choose to date is my concern."

"Jess, I can't believe what I'm hearing," Mom said. "Did that...Helen...put you up to this?"

"Why do you get the impression that I'm some dumb pushover?" I asked in a way that would put a snapping turtle to shame. "No, she didn't put me up to this. No one did. It was my own stupid idea to date someone new."

For God's sake!

"I suppose this has nothing to do with your sudden interest in Holy Cross or your new look," Grandad said with a curled lip.

Mom poked him in the ribs with her elbow.

"This puts me in a precarious position." I crossed my arms. "I can tell the truth, and you can think I'm a bad person. Or I can lie, and I can be a bad person."

"You're not a bad person," Mom said.

"No, I'm not. But you keep asking me questions to get the answers you want to hear."

"I, for one, want to hear the truth young lady," Grandad growled. "No more lies. Do you have a boyfriend? And does he or does he not attend Holy Cross?"

"Yes. And yes."

"I see. Thank you," he said with a huff.

"But I did get a makeover from Helen," I said, "because my clothes look like a burlap sack."

Mom gasped. "You never questioned my shopping before."

"Because I don't give a crap about clothes," I replied. "But apparently other people do."

"Do you...like...your new attire?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. To the extent that I care at all, I think I look kinda pretty."

Grandad gave Mom a stern look with the gravitas of a thousand lectures. "Well, okay then," she said with a haughty look. "I don't see why you shouldn't."

"This boyfriend, on the other hand," Grandad said, narrowing his eyes, "why are you keeping him from us?"

"Because I knew you'd make a fuss and forbid it when he's innocent."

"No man is innocent, Jess. They all want--"

"He's different," I insisted. "I know everyone says that about their boyfriends, but he is. He holds the door open for me. He asks me before even giving me a hug. Not even you guys do that."

Mom cocked her head. "We're your family, dear."

"Still...the point is: He's a gentleman. He's intelligent. He's kind. He's a talented musician."

"What does he play?" Mom asked.

"Piano and organ, like you," I replied. "He's so good that he has permission to practice on the chapel organ and the Steinway in Brooks Hall."

She hummed in thought. "You don't have to meet him in secret, you know. Perhaps you could invite him here."

Oh, hell no! That's the last thing I need.

"He better not have touched you," Grandad said, his eyes a dark storm. "Or I'll have a little...chat with him."

"He hasn't."

"Good."

I rolled my eyes. "Speaking of which, there's something else you should know."

"And that is?"

Closing my eyes, I exhaled a long, steady breath to calm my nerves.

With a determined look, I said in a clear voice, "I'm asexual."

He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

My body was jittery with adrenaline. It was now or never.

You got this, Jess. Be strong.

"I'm--I'm asexual," I said, my voice steady. "So is Eric. We're both asexual. So please stop worrying that I'm going to be some man's trash can."

Mom gave me the look. "Jessica, dear!"

"It was a direct quote," I retorted. "From Grandad. On Saturday morning."

I rubbed my face with my trembling hands, waiting for the onslaught. Still, a heavy weight had lifted from my soul as soon as I'd told the truth. For better or for worse, I'd ripped away my mask.

Whew, you did it. You did it!

"Asexual?" she asked Grandad in an obvious aside. "What does she mean?"

"Kids and their fancy slang words," Grandad muttered with a shrug.

"Asexual means that neither Eric nor I want..." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "...Sex. So stop worrying. I'll never be a trash can. And he'll never be the..." I furrowed my brow with a grimace. "Garbage?"

Such a weird analogy.

Grandad scoffed. "He says that now."

"No, you don't understand," I said. "Girls have broken up with him because he doesn't want to be physically intimate. At all. Like with me and Bryan. Finally, I've found a man like me."

"Hmpf."

"I don't think you understand what this means." I took a deep breath. "Like you said, most guys want a lot more than I'm willing to give. French kissing. Intimate touching. Sex."

"Jessica!" Mom exclaimed.

I ignored her indignant look. "Eric doesn't want any of that."

"Well, that's something at least," she said. "A nice, chaste man keeping himself pure until marriage. That's so rare nowadays."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, it is."

"Is he a man of faith? Is he Catholic?"

Oh, boy...

Just speak their language for now. All in good time.

"We haven't talked about that," I said. "But he is...chaste."

"He's not...well, you know...?" Grandad floundered. "Whatever the young people call it these days...?"

"He likes women," I said with a pointed look. "He just...well, like Mom said, he's...saving himself until marriage. Like you guys did."

"Well, I very much want to meet this young man," Mom said. "And make sure he's as great as you say he is."

"I'm not bringing him here so that you can interrogate him about his values and his faith!" I said, crossing my arms. "We've only been together a few weeks. Don't scare him off."

"We wouldn't scare him off. We'd invite him for a nice meal, play some music together, chat, and play cards or a family game. Does he play Bridge? Cribbage? Or 45s? Or Scrabble?"

Grandad cut me off before I could answer. "Never mind that. Where did you meet?"

Don't tell him the truth. They won't understand, and they'll freak out for no reason.

"He went to my school," I answered. "He graduated last year, but we only got close over the last few weeks."

"How?" Mom asked. "You're always studying."

"We've been chatting, Mom."

"You don't use the phone that much. And you've only talked to Bryan, Nicky, and Carolyn."

Thanks for admitting that you listen in on my calls.

I sighed. "Online, Mom. Everyone my age does it."

"That explains the hours on the computer," Grandad said.

"I just don't understand it." Mom shrugged. "How can you know someone by typing?"

"People used to send letters to each other," I retorted. "It's no different. Just faster."

"After they knew each other."

"Look," I said in a pointed tone. "I like Eric. A lot. For once, I'm with a guy doesn't want more than I can give. So if you could just...you know...with all due respect...chill...that'd be great."

Grandad raised a quizzical brow, and Mom gaped at me.

"Because he's the kind of guy you probably dream for me to date," I added. "Trust me."

"I did," he growled. "Until you did all this sneaking around."

"With all due respect, if you'd just let me live, I wouldn't have to sneak around."

Grandad and Mom exchanged a look that could only mean, I told you so.

"I'll tell the truth from now on if you promise to just...relax," I said, tapping my acceptance letter. "Because I have far more important things to worry about right now."

"Just one more question," Mom said. "What does he look like?"

That was Mom's diplomatic way of asking if he was in the same ethnic group as us. And I wasn't going to buy into that nineteenth-century crap.

My cheeks flushed crimson. "He's kind of nerd-chic, I guess. Handsome."

So there.

"Go on, Jess," Grandad said. "Hit the books, and we'll talk later."

When I turned on the computer, I logged on to AIM. Helen and Eric both had away messages--she was out and about with friends, and he was still practicing in Brooks Hall.

But Carolyn was online, so I decided to text her instead.

All of my pent-up excitement came tumbling from my heart, down my arms, and into my fingertips as I typed like a gerbil hyped up on caffeine. The wonderful moments Eric and I shared. The tingles and electricity between us. The gentle touches. My talk with Helen. My confrontation with Bryan and my family. All of it.

I could feel her pain. When I read her words, my stomach leaped into my throat. If I applied to Holy Cross and they accepted me, I would probably face the same dilemma. Graduate in debt with more opportunities, or stay at Fitchburg State with a full scholarship.

Crap, Carolyn was probably right. But that moment had passed long ago. Now it'd just be awkward.

Stupid, stupid Jess. Why didn't you get his number? Or give him yours?

Or maybe he should have asked you, and he didn't? Maybe he wasn't as into it as I thought he was?

No, that can't be. What I felt was real. And it came from him too.

Damn it. Should I ask him for his number when we message each other later?

Or should I wait for him to make the first move?