It's four in the afternoon and I still haven't heard from both Jared and Irina. I assume they're busy and wouldn't be able to even make it tonight. Understandable.

In case any of you are wondering, I've uninstalled Grindr after that fateful night. I can't stand seeing the orange mask on my phone.

Without any update from my friends nor the company of anyone, I am alone. And dead bored.

That's when my phone rings.

“Hello? Kian speaking,” I say, taking out a box of Jaffa cakes from the cabinet.

“Sweetheart!” my mom says.

“Hey, Mom. Didn't expect you to call at this hour.”

“Your dad's on the line, too.”

“Hi, chico,” Dad says.

Mr. and Mrs. Montereal is a duo of engineer and architect. To people who are only familiar with them, they're the picture-perfect married couple. But, let's be honest, every time someone describes a couple as perfect, chances are their relationship is far from perfect. I've seen countless of crime documentaries about husbands or wives killing their spouses while being described as perfect.

“How're you holding up, baby?” Mom asks. “Still jobless and single?”

“No and yes. No, I just got accepted to be an editorial assistant in this new company. And yes, I am still single.” I shrug. “Probably will be for the next couple of years.”

“How about flings? Hookups? Friends with benefits?” Dad asks.

“Dad!” I say in my whiny prepubescent voice.

“Robert, you know that our son never settles for hookups. He wants a nice, long-term relationship that we have.”

“Kian, don't listen to your mom. If I were you, don't dream of being in a relationship. I can't stand your mom yelling at me.”

“Excuse me? At least I know how to cook and do chores while you sit and sip your precious tea and read newspapers like a caveman. Don't you know that you're the only person on earth who reads newspapers?”

“You get what I'm saying, son?”

I roll my eyes. Their bickering adds a few years to my lifespan. I know that arguing is just all fun and games for them at this point.

“Okay, fine, fine, I might have tried hooking up,” I say.

“Tried? Why? What happened?” Dad asks, sounding genuinely confused.

“Well, it's a long story. To keep it short, I talked to this guy on Grindr and he sent me the wrong room number so I went there, not knowing he sent me the wrong room number, met this guy who I thought was my hookup and we kinda dated, then his real date arrived and that was when I learned that my actual hookup made a typo. So I quickly escaped the situation.”

“Awwwww,” both of them say.

“Son, I'm still happy that you tried.” I can imagine Dad tapping his shoulder because that's what he does when he's comforting me. When I came out, they were both upset. For, like, five seconds, before Dad asked for my phone and installed Grindr and told me that I was free to explore whatever I wanted to explore, then gave me lube and condom. Apparently, they had prepared themselves for the big reveal and I was kept in the dark about it.

I have cool parents, but sometimes they take the coolness level up several notches.

“Do you like the not-hookup hookup?” Mom asks.

“Does he have a name?” Dad follows.

“All I know is his name is Lory Sanders. And he's very handsome. Quite muscular, too. He doesn't give fuckboy vibes. He knows how to cook and knows how to talk without mentioning stuff that's reserved for the bedroom.”

“Where is he now?” Dad asks.

“Moved out. I don't know where he's living now. My landlady doesn't know, too. I guess that's the last and only time I'll meet him. Kinda sucks, to be honest.”

“Look, Kian. Life is full of surprises. Who knows, maybe he'll be at your doorstep tonight wearing a leather harness and blindfold,” Mom suggests. “I'm sure you and that Lory guy will meet again.”

The chances of me meeting Lory is slim to none. He's probably out there dating the guy from the other night. They're probably planning the theme for their wedding and discussing baby names.

“Kian, we just want to remind you, we're not getting any younger,” Mom says.

Hoo boy, here we go.

“No pressure, son, but I really want to see you with a husband and a child—maybe several children if that's your thing—before I die.”

“Mom, Dad, you're only in your fifties. You're both miles away from Death's door.”

“We can never tell, Kian. Your dad and I are just really excited to finally have grandchildren!”

“Well, you can have grandchildren if, one, I have a boyfriend who also sees the future with me. And, two, if I have ovaries.”

Dad clears his throat. “You don't need ovaries to have kids, right? There's adoption and also surrogacy?”

“Okay, Dad. But I have no boyfriend yet.”

“Do you want me to set you up on a date?” Mom offers and I swear I can see her eyes sparkle at the idea.

“No.”

“But—”

“Mom, I can and will find a boyfriend by myself.” I contemplate what I just said. “I will not proactively look for a boyfriend because I know someone out there is meant for me.”

Mom sniffs. “Our son has grown into a fine man, Robert.”

“I know. It's because I'm his father.”

“Don't take all the credit, Robert. He came out of my vagina! You weren't the one carrying fetus Kian for nine months, you mongrel!”

“Mom, Dad, can we all calm down.” When they quiet down, I say, “I love you both.”

“We love you, too,” they say in unison.

I hang up afterward, telling them that I need to do something. And that something being sleep because I really need one.