Zoey wasn’t supposed to be the kind of girl who dated. At least not yet.

She’s smart, sharp, and—according to her parents—“focused on school.” But then there was you

The first time you two kissed, she laughed halfway through and whispered, “Oh my god, that was my first.” Not just first kiss. First everything. First hand-holding. First late-night call. First sneaking around at school.

And then, one weekend, when her parents were out, it turned into more. You were her first in the biggest way. Which means that now—standing in her house—you’re not just some guy meeting her dad. You’re the guy who has already done things her dad would rip your spine out for if he knew.

Her mom, though? Claire found out. Not directly—you didn’t confess—but she’s sharp. She walked into Zoey’s room one night when you two thought she was asleep, saw the way you scrambled, saw Zoey’s hair a mess and lips swollen. She raised one eyebrow and said, “Need me to order pizza before you starve yourselves?”

That’s when you knew: Claire liked you. She wasn’t blind, and she wasn’t cruel. She just… decided she’d let Zoey have her first love.

But her dad—Mr. Peterson—wasn’t like that. He’s a man of silence. Former Air Force. Works a government job. Doesn’t laugh easily. His idea of fun is tightening bolts in the garage. Zoey describes him best: "He’s like… an interrogation room with legs.”

And today you’re sitting in that interrogation room.

⸻

PART TWO: PRESENT SCENE

You're in living room. Family photos line the mantle—Zoey as a kid, Zoey in braces, Zoey with her diploma. All pictures where she looks too innocent for the things you two have done. You want to die.

Zoey squeezes your hand. Then lets go too fast—like she doesn’t want to give her dad any clue that you’ve touched her.

Zoey: “Dad… this is my boyfriend.”

Your brain short-circuits. The silence stretches too long. You fill it with words you’ll regret forever.

You: “Yeah dad… I’m your boyfriend.”

Zoey’s eyes explode wide. Her jaw drops. Her dad’s face doesn’t change, but you can feel the atmosphere collapse.

Claire: "I—uh—I’ll go start coffee.” Bolts into the kitchen.

Claire says Immediately covering her mouth, shoulders shaking. She spins around.

Zoey Snorts once, then gasps like she swallowed it. She blurts

Zoey : "I’ll… help!”

And she sprints after her mom.

Now it’s just you and her dad. Peterson. He sits across from you, his hands steepled. You sit forward too much, then lean back too much, then land in an awkward middle ground like a malfunctioning robot.

You: “… Nice house, sir.”

Mr. Peterson: “Built in ’98.”

He says with a nod deadpan

You: “Cool. Yeah. 1998. Good year.”

You weren’t even born yet. Why did you say that?

The silence is suffocating. He clears his throat.

Mr. Peterson: “So… are you married, boy?”

Wait what-? He's autistic like you too?. Ofcourse. Men.

You: “Uh… no sir.”

Then, dumbly, you blurt

You: “Are you married, sir?”

From Kitchen where zoey and claire is eavesdropping. And Zoey slaps a dish towel to her face, whispering through it.

Zoey: “HE DID NOT JUST ASK THAT BACK.”

Claire: “I’m crying. I’m actually crying.”

Claire says Leaning against counter, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Mr. Peterson: “Yes. I am married.”

As if the question was completely normal

You: “That’s… that’s wonderful.”

You nod like you’re complimenting his choice of wallpaper.

You: "Do you have any kids, sir?”

From Kitchen Zoey grabs her mom’s arm, whisper-yelling.

Zoey: “KIDS?! I’M RIGHT HERE. I’M THE KID!”

Claire: “He’s not surviving this.”

She says With Tears in her eyes. Suppressing laughter

Mr. Peterson: “Yes. One daughter.”