Computer Programming: Epilogue

So, you must be dying to know what happened the night of our first date.

Well, that’s private.

Just kidding!

Did we have sex? Is the first inquiry that might come to your mind.

Hey! We all have our heads in the gutter every once in a while, don’t we? Nothing wrong with that.

So, to clear that up, sex didn’t happen.

However, remember that daydream I had before the date? That happened, and I must say much, much more.

I think I wasn’t ready to go all the way, because… surprise! I was still a virgin. Shocking, huh?

I wanted to have sex with Tom. I yearned for it, actually. Or so I thought. I guess I was just too nervous to go through with it. Perhaps the moment wasn’t right.

Anyway, we waited.

It took us some time to get there, I would always be so nervous and uptight. Every time we tried and couldn’t seal the deal, I got a little more uptight. It was some sort of vicious cycle. Frustrating.

When it finally happened, I admit, I had mixed feeling about the whole thing.

The foreplay?

Incredible!

Plain ol’ sex?

Let’s just say that in the beginning it wasn’t very comfortable. I would wonder how the heck people did it all the time, and how come they said that sex was sooooo gooood.

I can happily proclaim though, that it didn’t take long for me to find out the mystery behind it all. Now, after four month of dating Tom, sex is just mind blowing!

All because of him. His patience and gentleness. He asked, he listened, he learned, he tried and tried until he made me love sex almost as much as I love him.

Right now, I can close my eyes and recall the feeling of his hands and lips touching, caressing my skin. I can feel those rough but skilled fingers sliding up my inner thighs and slowly making their way to that little bundle of nerves that craves his soft stroking, as though it had a mind of its own. When he gets there, everything else ceases to exist, and it’s only him and me and my little bundle (it has a mind of its own, after all). And when I can’t hold back anymore, he pushes himself inside me and…

Let me just stop here to gather a bit of oxygen.

I should just stop thinking about this altogether, or else I’ll drop everything right now and run into that room where he’s taking a shower. Naked. And I’ll sexually assault him. And even though I’m pretty sure he’d be happy to comply, I’m kind of in a hurry right now. No time for that.

Amazing sex apart, I can say that Tom has made me a very happy woman. He’s not only fun and smart, he’s also loving and gentle. And he loves me. I know he does. Not only because he’s told me a thousand times, but because he shows it daily when he sends me a text to ask how my day has been. When he wakes up early to make coffee just so it’s ready when I wake up. When his face lights up every time I stop unannounced at his office. So many small and sweet gestures, that erase any uncertainty. He loves me, and I love him. Plain and simple. I can’t recall a moment in my life when I’ve been as happy as I am now. So, yeah, without doubt I have the most amazing man in the world. And he’s all mine!

I hear his steps as he walks out of his room towards the kitchen, where I’m making coffee (two lattes, you guessed it) and a couple sandwiches for breakfast.

“Babe, can you take out the trash before we leave? We don’t want your apartment to smell like a rat died in here when we come back,” I ask urgently, without taking my eyes off my crucial task of making sandwiches.

“Good morning to you too.” He positions himself behind me and settles his hands around my waist.

He always does that, I love it! Next, he’ll move his right hand down and will softly cup my right butt cheek. His left hand will make it all the way up to my left breast, squeezing it ever so slightly. And shortly after, I will feel those soft, warm, moist lips nibbling the sensitive skin of my neck…

Jeez! What’s up with me today?

But wait. He’s not moving his hands from my waist. On the contrary, he plants them there even more firmly and lifts me off the ground.

“What are you doing?” I ask bedazzled.

“You said to take out the trash,” he answers nonchalantly.

“Well, aren’t you hilarious?” I say sarcastically, yet laughing, as he lowers me to the floor.

Once I’m secure on the floor, hands still on my waist, Tom turns me around and pulls me in for a long good morning kiss, which makes my legs wobbly, and wipes from my memory his “witty” joke.

When he’s done with that, he lowers his face to the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. I feel tingles that spread from my neck to my arm and all the way to the end of my back.

“It already smells like a dead rat in here.”

Sexy tingling extinguished.

Way to kill the mood.

“You really seem to like that dead rat smell, ’cause you just can’t get enough,” I retort in mock irritation.

“I love everything about you. Even your dead rat smell,” he says grinning from ear to ear, waiting for another clever retort on my part.

“And you… you… you’re a nerd!” I can’t come up with anything better, dammit!

“C’mon Valentina, that’s the best you can do?” He smiles smugly, pleased that he won one of our many playful banters.

“Give me a break,” I say, my tone deflating, “I’m a little off today.”

His smug face instantly evaporates, and he flashes me a reassuring smile. “Hey! Everything’s gonna be fine, sweetie. You’ll see.”

“I know,” I say softly. His words somewhat manage to comfort me.

He places another kiss on the corner of my mouth. He always aims wrong. Or maybe that’s just where he likes to place those delicious lips of his. I really don’t mind where he places them, as long as it’s right here, against my skin.

“I’m gonna take out the trash so my little smelly rat doesn’t have any competition, okay? Be right back.”

I shake my head in amusement as he searches for the trash bag in its rightful place, and when he’s holding the bag tightly with one hand, he walks out of the apartment, leaving me alone with my scary thoughts.

I heavily breathe in and out several times, singing to myself Bob Marley’s catchy little tune, “Don’t worry about a thing, ’cause every little thing gonna be alright.”

After he walks in from taking out the trash, he comes to the kitchen and washes his hands at the sink and then dries them with the kitchen towel that’s usually hanging from the oven handle. Hands dry, he runs one across the kitchen counter, obviously trying to find his coffee mug. It still surprises me how close he always is.

In here, Tom doesn’t even seem blind, he knows his apartment like the back of his hand and he rarely trips or bumps into things. I say rarely, because once, he subtly let me know that it had been happening more often since I’ve been coming.

Lesson learned.  By now, I know not to move anything around here without telling him first.

Out in the “real world” it’s slightly different. He’s usually manages fine. But I can see him sometimes hesitating and struggling. I know it frustrates him when he’s unable to keep up with everyone else. I can tell it kills him sometimes when he needs to ask for help. And when we started dating, that used to leave me in a tough place. I was unsure of where to draw a line. I didn’t know if I was helping too much or too little. So, I decided it would be best to ask. He said, “I’ll let you know if I need help.”

So far, it’s worked out fairly well. I usually let him figure things out by himself and he will ask for my help when in need of it. However, as we grow more comfortable around each other, he’s more accepting of my unsolicited help, and I of his peculiar ways of doing things. In fact, I find it fascinating how he interacts with his surroundings in such a different, but graceful way. It makes me admire him even more.

As I see his hand moving away from the mug, I can’t hold back a, “A little to the right.”

He turns my way and flashes me a small smile, which I interpret as a “thank you.”

Slowly swiping his hand to the right, he quickly finds his mug with the tip of his fingers, then eagerly lifts it to his mouth and takes a big gulp of coffee. That man can’t start the day without coffee. Addicted much?

As Tom drinks his coffee, I’m scrutinizing his appearance. The only thing salvageable is his hair. Ever since he’s been using it short, it’s almost neat without effort. However, his clothes are a whole different story. He’s wearing an old t-shirt (with actual holes on it!), old shorts, and worn sneakers.

It turns out, that he was wearing all those nice clothes to work, just to comply with the company’s dressing code. I found out eventually, that he still owned his old worn clothes and that he’s overly reluctant to wear anything else during the weekends.

I actually don’t mind the shabby look. That’s sort of his signature look and I love it (except for the holes on his t-shirt, of course). The thing is though, I need him to make a good impression today, what he’s wearing isn’t going to cut it.

“Are you going to wear that?” I ask, trying not to sound too criticizing.

“What?” He shrugs in a gesture that means “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“You’re clothes. They look a little old-ish?” I say tactfully.

“Do I look like a bum? ’Cause that’s the look I’m going for.” He offers me a disarming crooked smile that makes him look sexy as hell.

“You could wear a bag and you’d look sexy, baby.” I say, which is enough to make him blush. This man has no idea how hot he is. I have to remind him all the time. “But I’m afraid my parents are not gonna agree,” I add.

Yes, that’s the whole reason why I’ve been so nervous and nit-picky today. We’re going to Dallas to visit my parents. Woohoo! (Read the sarcasm in there).

This is the first time they’re meeting Tom after we started dating, and I’m trying to keep it together. I think I’m pulling it off on the outside. But inside, this whole trip is wreaking havoc in my poor mental health.

Although my mom was happy for me when I told her about my relationship with Tom, she can be very blunt. It worries me that they might make him feel uncomfortable with some rude or inappropriate comment. I want Tom to like my family as much as I want them to like him.

I will admit that I only told my mom about Tom recently. Around two weeks ago, I called her over the phone to let her know that I wasn’t going to be able to make it that weekend. Again.

I used to be such a good daughter, visiting my family at least once a month. And now, for one reason or another, I haven’t been there in months. Well, to be honest, the reason is simple. I have some distractions, as in I have friends for a change, and a loving boyfriend. They keep my social calendar full, which is great because I’m not so lonely anymore, but I’ve been neglecting my family more and more, and I feel crappy about it.

“Hola, mi amor,” she said when she answered the phone.

“Hola mami!” I greeted back, and then got straight to business. “I know I said that I would visit this weekend but I forgot that this Saturday is Astrid’s bachelorette party. I’ll have to postpone, sorry mami.”

“That’s okay, Valentina,” she said, trying to seem unconcerned, but I know she misses me and wants me to visit more often. I miss them too. “I didn’t know Astrid was getting married. Good for her. Give her my best wishes, will you?” There was a twinge of jealousy in her tone. And I was positively sure I knew why.

“Of course!” I answer, thinking of some way to change the subject quickly, before the conversation turned against me.

And it did. I couldn’t do anything to prevent it. My stupid brain couldn’t think fast enough of a way to crawl out of the hole I had just dug. Practically whining, my mom said, “Valentina. When are you going to introduce us to a boyfriend of your own? All your friends are getting married!”

They’re not. But my mom is the queen of exaggeration. Every time the slightest hint about couples comes up, she goes into annoying-mother-that-thinks-her-daughter-is-becoming-an-old-maid mode and starts with the quiz. I can’t blame her. I have never, ever taken a boyfriend to meet my parents. She must think I’m asexual or something. I’ve had boyfriends before, but those relationships didn’t last (hence, my virginal status when I started dating Tom). I’ve always been very reserved and preferred to keep my relationships to myself until I was sure they were going somewhere.

At that moment, I analyzed my relationship with Tom. I was positively sure that it was going somewhere. I was so sure. I was sure that I was absolutely in love with this man. Then, why should I keep from my family the most wonderful relationship I’ve ever been a part of?

“Actually, mom, I’m dating someone.”

“Really?” She seemed more surprised of me admitting it, than the fact that I was dating someone. As if she had known all along.

“Mm-hm,” I answered cautiously, bracing myself for the subsequent litany of questions.

“What a relief, Valentina. If you had kept this pace, I was never going to have grandchildren.”

See? Exaggerations!

“Mom! I’m too young to be thinking about children,” I answered annoyed.

Besides, if I don’t give her grandchildren, my sister will. And as slutty as my sister is, it might happen sooner than later. She’s always been the flirt and I’ve always been the prude in our family. “Sister Val” they call me. Well, tables have turned, Tom and I have been practicing the art of making babies often lately. And often means. Every. Single. Day. Who’s the prude now, huh?

Okay, now that I got that off my chest, let me get back to the conversation I had with my mom…

“You’ve never seemed interested in boys, so I assumed you would stay single forever,” mom said, adding quickly with a hint of excitement in her voice, “When are we going to meet him?”

“Actually, you’ve met him before.”

My parents met Tom years ago when we were still friends in college, and despite not getting a chance to interact with him at the time, I was pretty sure my mom knew who he was. Apparently, I used to talk about him a lot.

I sucked in a deep breath.

Here we go.

“Remember Tom? We used to be friends when I was a freshman in college.”

She stayed silent for a moment, perhaps trying to place him in her memories. Or maybe, she was putting together an argument to talk me out of dating him.

My cheeks were getting hot. I was ready to fight.

“Before you say anything, mom. I just want to say that I’m very happy. He makes me happy,” I declared in a soft but firm voice.

“I know,” she said in that sweet caring tone only moms have, “I’ve noticed how happy you’ve been. Not to mention, you’ve been coming a lot less lately. My guess was that you were in love. I thought you would finally tell me when you felt comfortable enough.”

Did I ever mention that my mom knows everything? She’s like a freaking clairvoyant. An annoying and manipulative clairvoyant.

What she said next though, caught me off guard. “Valentina, I trust your judgment. If you say that he is a good boy, then he’s a good boy. All that matters to me is that you’re happy and that he treats you with respect,” she said in a tone that suggested she was genuinely happy for me, yet not convinced of my choice of boyfriend. But that was okay, I already had her blessing and that was all that mattered.

“Mom I…” words failed me. I really didn’t expect this reaction from her. I honestly thought that she would reject Tom. She had done it before, after all.

Regaining my voice, I said in a barely audible tone. “It means the world to me what you and dad think. Thank you.”

“Well, when are we going to meet him? Again? You should bring him along on your next visit.”

And that brings us back to today…

Tom agrees to change his clothes while I set the table for breakfast. He knows how important this is to me so he doesn’t complain about having to wear “uncomfortable clothes” during the weekend. Please! You know nothing Tom Snow. When it comes to uncomfortable clothes, women have PhDs. And don’t get me started on shoes, the rant might never end.

Ten minutes later, after I’ve set the table with half drank coffees and cold sandwiches, Tom walks back into the dining room after changing into a nice pair of jeans, a green polo shirt (that I gave to him) and his black high-tops. Now he looks more meeting-parents appropriate, but hot as usual.

I walk towards him and say, “Thank you,” before placing a peck on his lips. Then I compliment him on how good he looks. Especially in that shirt. He blushes again.

I learned later on, that Alexandra was the one helping him with his clothes shopping. The fact that that darn woman has such good taste makes me even more jealous. I know nothing happened between them, but I can’t help it. The first opportunity I had, I ran to the mall and bought him the polo shirt he’s wearing now.  He seems to love it since he wears it all the time. Or he does so, just to please me. Either way, I don’t care. He looks gorgeous.

After Tom and I quickly eat breakfast, he washes the dishes while I pick up and clean the table. Then he hurries to the room and I hear him yell, “Done with packing?”

“Yes. My bag is on my side of the bed,” I yell back.

I have a side on his bed. Yay!

He comes out with his backpack slung over his back and holding in his hand my small travel bag.

“Ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” I answer breathily, my voice a little shaky. “Remind me of why we’re doing this? Oh yeah, my mom’s insanely insistent.”

In an obvious attempt to calm my nervousness, he puts down my bag and walks towards me with his arms wide open. I walk the remaining distance and let myself sink into his body, then he quickly wraps his long strong arms around me in a tight embrace.

“I’m a little nervous too. They are your family.” He emphasizes the last part as if the people he’s about to meet are extremely important.

His confession surprises me. He seems so calm. I wouldn’t have guessed he was nervous too.

“But don’t worry, I’ve been practicing my charming boyfriend act. It’ll work. They’ll like me,” he adds mildly amused, but I know that he means it.

“There’s no need to put on an act. You’re the most charming man they’ll ever meet. I know they’ll love you. I’m worried that you might not like them. They can be weird sometimes.”

“How could I not like the people that raised you?” He chuckles as he gives me a last squeeze and sweetly kisses my forehead.

Isn’t he wonderful?  

“If you put it like that, then I’m a tiny bit less nervous.”

“Besides, if they’re as weird as you, I think I can handle it.”

I push him away and slap him on his arm.

Way to kill the moment!

He smiles slyly and then turns around to grab my bag. “Let’s go then, an awkward O’Reilly family weekend awaits.”

I laugh as I walk to the door to grab his apartment keys, my car keys and his cane, which are hanging right next to each other on the hanger beside the door.