His name was Luke.
He texted me that evening.
Our first date lasted nearly four hours.
By the third, I was still waiting for him to admit there had been some misunderstanding.
A few weeks later, I was dating the hottest man I had ever met.
And that insecurity never really left me.
It stayed even when he told me he loved me, introduced me to his friends, and made it clear he was serious about us.
His parents were another story.
His mother, Diane, made her opinion obvious during one of our first dinners together.
She looked me up and down when Luke introduced us.
I tried to ignore it.
Dinner was polite enough, but while I was helping Luke’s father carry plates into the kitchen, I heard Diane speaking to Luke in the hallway.
“Are you sure about this relationship?”
There was a pause.
“Sure about what?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Mom. I don’t know what you mean.”
I walked into the kitchen before I could hear more.
I was humiliated.
On the drive home, I stared out the window until Luke finally asked what was wrong.
“Maybe they’re right,” I said.
“Who?”
“Your parents.”
