Mask of Celibacy

Chapter 21

When I woke up on my eighteenth birthday, a little part of me expected that the Holy Spirit would awaken a hidden power inside me. That wisdom of adulthood that would make every answer crystal clear. Every last doubt of my asexuality resolved. 

Instead, my grandmother shook me awake at stupid o'clock, and I felt like I was the same girl I always was. "Happy eighteenth birthday, dear."

"Ugh...what time is it?"

"Can I leave you?" she asked. "Are you awake?"

My hand tapped the nightstand until I found my glasses. The blurry red LEDs came into focus and revealed the ungodly hour of six-fifteen. 

"I'm up. Thanks, Mom," I said with a groggy yawn.

"We'll do presents on Saturday," she said. "I've made a fun breakfast for you after your shower."

Eager to see what smelled so good, I rushed through getting ready for school. When I got to the kitchen, Tabitha wailed for a treat, lured by the scent of sizzling bacon.

I took out two of them and held them up in the air above her nose. Our little ritual. She'd get up on her hind legs and touch my hand, after which I put the treats on the floor for her.

You can train a cat, I thought with a wry smile. Most of the time they have no incentive to do what you want.

"Want me to help?" I asked.

"No, dear." Mom put the hot bacon on some paper towels to dab the grease and fried two eggs in the leftover fat. "This is your birthday. My treat."

When the timer went off a couple of minutes later, she took fresh biscuits out of the oven and put two on my plate. Everything steamed as she handed it to me with a mug of strong coffee made using her old-fashioned percolator from the fifties. 

"Happy birthday, dear."

"Thanks, Mom!" I said with a wide grin before I took my first mouth-watering bite. "It's delicious as always."

She smiled. "I'm glad you like it. The key to cooking is the timing."

Poor Mom had done everything humanly possible to carve me in her image and likeness. To train me in the ways of cookery, interior decorating, fashion, and more.

Nothing took hold. Must have frustrated her to no end.

She'd tried so hard to make a homemaker out of me. A respectable wife. An intelligent organizer. A fashionable lady. It wasn't her fault stubborn little Jess had refused to fit the mold.

Mom kept the birthday breakfast ritual as she sat down across from me with a cup of strong tea. She munched delicately on a piece of toast as I shoveled food into my mouth like an ogre.

"It's good to see you eating again, dear." She reached over the table for my hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "We were worried about you."

"I'm fine now," I said with a weak smile.

"You love Grandad a lot, don't you?"

That made me halt the feeding at the trough. "Of course. I love you both."

"You'll always be our little girl, you know that?" she said as tears welled in her eyes. "I'm so proud of the young woman you've become."

A faint blush crawled across my cheeks. "Aww, Mom."

"I mean it," she said with a bittersweet smile. "When you came to us, you were a scared little girl. No one could say the name Jessica without you jumping in fear."