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Stede's phone pinged.
Again.
Alma silently studied her father from her perch at the breakfast bar. He looked at the text, frowned, and muttered something under his breath before turning his attention back to his laptop.
It absolutely wasn't bothering her.
It was just that it had been happening all weekend, and the dinging and muttering was super fucking distracting when she was trying to study for her Macro Econ midterm. What the fuck was the difference between Austrian and Keynesian economics again, and why was she supposed to care?
Alma tried to ignore her father shifting in his seat as she focused on her notes. She gave up on Econ - but really, fuck capitalism - after Stede cleared his throat for the third time.
"Do you need some tea with honey and lemon for that frog in your throat, father dearest?" she asked dryly.
"Hmm?" Her father feigned ignorance.
"You've been clearing your throat for like 10 minutes," Alma replied, very familiar with this particular conversational tactic.
"I have? Oh, I'm so sorry, peanut, I had no idea. I'll let you get back to your... accounting?" he finished uncertainly.
"Oh my god, Dad. You're fooling zero of the people in this room." She gestured between the two of them. "So, just spit it out, whatever 'it' is."
"Ah, you've seen through my clever ruse." He smiled fondly at her. "I was just wondering - and I'd ask Lucius, but he's on a 'digital detox' at some spa with Pete and Fang this weekend."
Alma's eyebrows shot up.
"I know! Lucius without his phone! Imagine! Anyway," he continued, "I was just wondering. Are eggplants suddenly popular among the youths these days?"
Alma froze.
Okay, she needed to stay calm. She'd known this would probably happen at some point after her father's "big gay announcement."
Oh, shit. She'd been quiet too long, and now her dad was doing that nervous sputtering thing where he tried to backtrack and save face.
"Well," she said carefully, "it depends."
"On what?"
"Context, mostly. Like, are you in a gardening group chat? Or are you in 'definitely not a gardening' chat?"
"Well, I'm in a variety of group chats. Did I tell you Lucius set me up on this thing called Discord. Have you heard of it?"
"Oh my god, Dad. I'm trying to figure out how much I need to explain." Alma pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Alma Genevieve, I am 47 years old," her father protested. "You do not need to protect me from youth slang. I assure you, I can handle it."
"Ooookay," she sing-songed.
"Wait. Is it bad?" Stede suddenly paled. "Alma, is it bad?"
Alma held up a hand. "Dad, this is as awkward for me as it's about to be for you, so please just let me say it."
Stede mimed zipping his mouth shut.
"So, the eggplant emoji, which is what I assume you're asking about." She looked to her father for his nod of confirmation. "When used in pretty much every context that isn't clearly vegetable-related, is a euphemism for a certain part of the male anatomy." Alma prayed to whatever deity might be listening that she wouldn't need to explain any further.
"...certain part of the male anatomy," her father muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Alma clocked when he figured it out.
His eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped in surprise as he stared at her incredulously. "Are you really telling me," he said quietly, "that if someone sends me an eggplant emoji that's code for something," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "sexual?!"
Alma started to giggle. She couldn't help it. Her father just looked so flabbergasted.
"Alma, are you serious?!"
The giggles turned into full-blown laughter as she nodded.
"I've been getting them all weekend!" her father exclaimed as his face reddened.
She choked on her own saliva. "What?!" she screeched. "From who?!"
"I'm not telling you that!" her father yelled, his face fully tomato red.
"Oh my god, from who?!" Alma asked again.
Her father jumped up from the breakfast bar, waving his hands wildly. "No! We are not even going there!" He started laughing hysterically, which set her off again.
When Stede stuck his head in the freezer and screamed a string of profanity, she laughed so hard she thought she was going to vomit. Eventually, her father flopped back into his seat with a goofy grin as they caught their breath and Alma wiped the tears from her face.
Then she had a thought. "Dad, what did you text back?"
He shrugged. "A peach."
"DAD, NOOOOOO!"
"Is that bad?" Her father looked genuinely confused.
"Dad! Context!" she exclaimed, mortified. "Think about it!"
Once again, she saw when it clicked.
"Oh," her father said softly. "Oh!" he repeated with more emphasis. "Huh. Okay." He nodded thoughtfully.
"You good now?" She really needed this conversation to be over. Lucius owed her big time for this. Life coaches for middle-aged baby gays were supposed to be available 24/7, not unreachable at the spa all weekend.
"Yes," her father replied. "Thank you for being patient with your old man."
"No problem."
Her father paused for a long moment before finally blurting out, "Whataboutawholestringofemojis?" He sucked in a deep breath and looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know what, I'll just show you."
"NOOOOOOOO!"