Once a Nerd Ch. 12 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 12

... That weightless, effervescent feeling like my insides are carbonated. I wasn't looking forward to making that pie, nor do I consider myself an exceptional baker, but Dean turns my chores into delights.

He begged me to save him some of it, and because it's imbued with a new memory, it'll probably taste the best of any dessert I've attempted.

It's Thursday afternoon, and I'm a little guilty for how antsy I am to get through this 'Friendsgiving'—they're notmy friends, though I do know most of them. When described as colleagues, they're exactly the crowd you'd expect. Ranging from thirty to seventy in age, it's a handful of: bespectacled, atopic, tone-deaf intellectuals in blazers, plaid, and saggy suit jackets. Dean says I have a good fashion sense, so I'd like to think I stand apart in a positive way. Shockingly, outside of a lab or lecture hall, a majority of them are somehow more socially inept than I am.

Most of the dishes either start with 'vegan' or end in '—free', so my pumpkin pie isn't a hot ticket item. Professor Whitney of the Education Department, a middle-aged woman who's graying bun is much too severe for a government holiday, asked if I had used coconut palm sugar orghee in place of butter. When breaking the unfortunate news, I wish I'd gone with a bottle of wine like Dean suggested. More pie for the two of us, I guess.

My mother nabbed this house through an auction. From the road, it looks like an L-shaped one-story. Cottage-style with a narrow, ...

... cobblestone path to the stoop and big, flowering bushes. The second story is built into the natural slope of the landscape. Upon obtaining it, the interior was a monument to the modern, lazy flip: cheap laminate flooring, sterile white walls, and black fixtures. The only saving grace was the many large windows flooding the home with natural light.

Mom spent the entire year renovating in her downtime, and now it's a pastel wonderland with one too many plants per room. The first floor boasts a bright, mahogany sunroom and a large deck overlooking the city through a cluster of pines. On the lower level, her backyard puts the front to shame. From the amount of string-lights, you'd think she intends to rent it out as a reception venue. Despite November's bite, the deck isn't a safe place to escape. She's invested in a few of those tall, outdoor heating lamps.

Which is where I'm standing, plying myself with riesling, suffering interrogation about my romantic prospects:

"You know, Sam, my son is a Senior Software Engineer for Cisco Meraki. He's only a few years older than you, but you'rejust his type. I'm sure you'd love him, he's such a handsome boy. He's currently single. If you'd like, I can—"

"Sammy, how has a down-to-Earth, handsome kid like you not been snatched up yet? I heard Professor Milton made some inquiries—"

"There's been some debate around the validity of asexuality, you know—" Theonly upside to any of this is the unequivocal, thoughtless acceptance of my ...