“So,” he continues as I stare past him, through him, to the kitchen where there is food and no one is talking about sex. “If you ever need anything, to be safe—for both of you to be safe—I want you to come to me, okay?” I was wrong. Lucy was right. There is a God, and he hates me. There is a Hell, and I am currently in it.
There are worse things than your dad wanting you to practice safe sex
