Credence

by Penelope Douglas

“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 fi...