Everyone quiets as they become aware that I’m not shying away from the cameras. Also my Dad isn’t speaking up — it’s always him doing the talking.

His charming smile that I inherited but never give them, grows on my face and lights my eyes as I smoothly call out a dignified, “What are your questions?”

For a second they blink at me. Then a cacophony of desperation explodes. Holding up my hand I say over their surge of voices, “One at a time or I’m going upstairs. You first.”

She’s a journalist I recognize, her hair perfect, suit expensive. “Ms. Cocker, did you know Tobias Kyrkos was married?”

“Had I known, you think I would have grabbed his cock? Um, no.”

My dad takes in a sharp breath.

Sofia snorts.

I can almost hear Grams pulling back her oxygen mask to shout, “Language!”

Shocked, the reporters go silent for a second, glancing to each other.

I smile, pointing to a man who probably hasn’t been laid in two decades. “You.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Aren’t you ashamed?”

Throwing him a look like he’s crazy, I ask, “Of what? Have you ever touched someone you were attracted to before?”

One of the women mutters a snotty, “Not in public!”

I hone in on her and smile, “Not in the dark, under the stars, when you thought you were alone? Never? Not once?”

Her face falls as if to admit that she has, in fact, done that. It may have been her husband, or her first love when she was still able to blush, but she’s done it.

One of the men shouts, “People are calling you a slut!”

My spine straightens and I lock onto each camera, “Listen up. Every woman in America and around the world, listen to me. Because you like sex, you are not a slut. You are human, and designed perfectly. You are supposed to want your man. What’s your name?” I ask him, pausing.

Everyone looks over. He glances around and stutters, “Greg Mathers.”

“Greg,” I smile, as if he’s a friend. “You like sex, right?”

He blinks. I’ve put him in a predicament. He’s male so society gives him no ability to admit aloud that he doesn’t like sex. And I’m sure he loves it very much and doesn’t get enough. His male ego would never allow for the shame of saying, ‘Nope, don’t like fucking. Not fun,’ especially on camera.

In his pause I take over again. “See? It’s strange to admit aloud that you like it, but really, who doesn’t? And if we go even deeper, for lack of a better term, but if we think about it, how did we all get here? From kissing?”

Several chuckles drift through the crowd, and it’s not just the media now. Hotel guests have come to watch and see what’s going on, as well as hotel employees.

“When we celebrate the baby photos of our friends do we forget how that child was conceived?”

More stifled laughter.

I continue, “Greg, answer me this, you want your partner to want you, right? You want to be desired. You want her to show it. And if you were alone together under the stars wouldn’t it make you the happiest man on earth to have her touch you?” He swallows. Everyone is quiet and uneasy. “I know you’re wondering what to do with this much honesty. Which is crazy because what are we all afraid of? I’m not talking about rape, I’m talking about sex with someone you want. There’s nothing unhealthy about that, but we act like it’s wrong. Why? I mean, really…WHY?” Turning to the original journalist I targeted I smile, “What is your name?”

Hypnotized, she says, “Greta Marcus.”

“Greta. Can you imagine if you had to hide how you felt about your husband? Gorgeous ring by the way.”

She holds up her diamond and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Wouldn’t that be terrible if you had to disguise how much you longed for his touch? Don’t you long for it?”

She nods a little. “Yes.”

“And you should! You should ache for him! We all want that. And we’re all searching for it. Every single one of you would rather be in the arms of someone you can’t get enough of rather than being here asking me about a private moment I shared with a man who never told me he was married.” My voice and body become extremely still. “That’s right. I didn’t know he was taken. And if his wife is watching, and I’m sure she is…” I lock onto the biggest camera to say, “Please know that wherever you are, Mrs. Kyrkos, I had no idea. And I’m so very sorry for hurting you. So are these lovely people. They only wanted a story because they need money to feed their children. They had no idea how badly this would scar your soul.”

Heavy cameras sag a little more, and mouths shut in silence.

I glance to my father. He pushes the elevator button and it whooshes open. The four of us step inside, facing the Press as more questions flare up. They’re as insistent as bees after you’ve kicked their hive, but I’ve said all I came to say. Whoever can hear me, will.

As soon as we’re alone, Sofia whistles under her breath.

Emma mutters, “Wow.”

My father slips a comforting arm around me and kisses the side of my head. He releases me and exhales. “Your brothers are never going to let you live it down that you said ‘cock.’”

Emma, Sofia and I start giggling. It grows to loud laughter where we’re falling over ourselves as Sofia cries out, “You want your husband, don’t you, New York Times?”

“Hey Greg!” Emma cracks up. “Don’t call us sluts if you want a little action, buddy! You’re turning off half the nation!”

Grinning in disbelief, Dad shakes his head. “You can all laugh, but my father is going to hate this.”

The doors open to an empty hallway.

Emma covers her mouth as we all pour out, “Oh no! Grandpa’s going to be out of his mind!”

Sofia is laughing so hard she’s holding onto the wall to help make it to our room.

I lock eyes with my father, realizing how this will affect him. “Grams and Grandma Nance, too, Dad.”

He pulls out his vibrating phone. “Here comes the shit storm.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Are you kidding?” We stop walking, just he and I. My cousins are still in the giggles all the way down the hall. “This is the first time I’m going to enjoy our grapevine on crack. It’s going to be hilarious.” He chuckles, excusing himself to have some fun. “Jason! Yes, that was my sweet little girl saying cock on NBC. I blame you! What? No, it’s not my fault! You’re the bad influence! I’m a total saint!”

In the hotel room my cousins are replaying their favorite moments to each other, laughing and reenacting the faces of people in the crowd. “Oh my, no! What is she saying!? I don’t like sex!” “Really? Because I just banged you in the sauna!” They crack up.

Sitting down on one of our beds, I let my moment of courage sink in.

Some people are terrified of snakes or spiders. For me it was always the Press. Probably because my first memory of them was laced with grief and uncertainty. I had connected the two in my mind. But not anymore.

“I’m not afraid,” I whisper.

Soph and Emma look over at me.