“It’s horses and bazookas, but no.” Theo takes the Durex condoms from Wade and pats his back. “Thanks, man.”
We enter the line. I’m not laughing anymore. I really wish they had self-checkout here because buying condoms may be the most awkward legal transaction ever. It’s weird to be looked at as someone sexually, I don’t know why. It even felt a little weird for Theo to see me that way, and he’s not some random cashier. It’s rare I see the same cashiers here, so I really shouldn’t care; I might as well be buying these condoms on the other side of the world in a country I never plan on visiting again. But it still feels like this purchase comes with a spotlight. I grab some impulse-buy candy in the hopes of dimming the glare.
“Just be cool,” Theo says. “You’re not buying drugs.”
He’s right. I’m going to be cool. I’m not buying drugs. I’m not even buying alcohol, where I have to be twenty-one. Buying condoms is totally normal. It’s something enough guys are doing because there are options, which means it’s a thriving business, which means there are multiple companies trying to convince us theirs is the best, which means we have everyone—including myself, in this moment, sort of—to thank for not only helping to keep the world a safe place, but for making sure it doesn’t become too overpopulated.
“Griffin. Hey.”
No way.
I freeze at the sound of my dad’s voice. He’s right behind us. I honestly think I’d rather be caught masturbating.
Wade laughs a little to himself, probably because this is going to be painfully humiliating. He slow-claps. “Bet you’re regretting bringing me here.”
There’s no being cool about this. The only thing that could make this worse is if I turn and see that my dad is also buying condoms. I know my parents still have sex, because I’m not an idiot, I know they’re not just watching Netflix or going to sleep early when they wish me good night around 8 p.m. I turn and he’s holding shaving razors and boxes of cereal. The cereal reminds me of being a kid and eating breakfast in front of the TV during Saturday-morning cartoons. I’ll never be that innocent again.
“Hey, Dad.”
He nods at Theo and Wade. “How was the High Line, guys?” He spots the condoms in my hands, which are poorly hidden behind the gummy worms. “Oh.” He’s trying to say something. His arms are sort of all over the place, like a robot being turned on for the first time.
I desperately want a superpower right now. Maybe mind control so I could wipe my dad’s memory clean and then force him to turn around and get the hell out of here. I’d settle for invisibility, though.
“Protection is good,” Dad says. “You can’t get pregnant, but there are other dangers.”
At this point I’d even take the power to set myself aflame, anything.
I put down the condoms in a bowl for dollar chocolates. “Nope, not doing this,” I mumble. “Let’s forget this ever happened, Dad. Come on, guys.” We try leaving the aisle, but my dad cuts ahead of us.
“Wait. We should be able to talk about this. This doesn’t have to be embarrassing,” Dad says.
“This doesn’t have to happen in a Duane Reade line either . . .”
Knowing we have no choice but to follow him, the four of us end up hiding out in the aisle with all the shower products. Theo and I are standing side by side. We turn to Wade, who’s grinning and won’t take a hint and leave. Of course not. He finally has the upper hand.
“Your mom and I were thinking about sitting down with you soon to talk about this stuff—to talk about sex. Let’s call it what it is. Sex. We figured you two might be thinking about this at some point . . .” Dad stops himself. “Wait. Have you both already . . . ?”
My face is on fire; maybe my superpower wish to burst into flames is coming true. “We have,” I say.
Dad sucks in his upper lip, which he normally does whenever he’s nervous he might say the wrong thing if he speaks too quickly. He looks directly at me. “Was that your first time?”
“Yup.”
“Good choice,” Dad says, turning red. “That came out wrong. Sorry, Theo. I’m trying to say sex means more when it’s with someone you care about.”
I know my dad had sex a couple of times before meeting my mom—I forget why it came up a couple of years ago, but it did—and it’s good to hear he feels this way. It just sucks that I have to be reminded of it right now, when all I wanted to do was buy condoms with my boyfriend and our best friend.
This silence is painful and awkward. Endless, too.
Theo points at a bottle behind my dad. “Hey, a shampoo that doubles as a conditioner.”