“I was born the first of three children, but I joke that I’m like that first pancake.” A smattering of laughter ripples across the assembled crowd and I smile. “You know what I mean? A little messy, slightly undercooked, but still tastes good?”
The laughter intensifies, but mixed in now are a few bawdy catcalls, and I burst out laughing in realization. “See, and that wasn’t even meant to sound saucy! Look at me trying to be professional, and I’m still a mess.” I glance over my shoulder and grin at Dr. Leila Nguyen, the provost of UC San Diego’s Revelle College and my former creative writing professor. “I guess that’s what you get for inviting a romance author to give the commencement address.”
Beside Dr. Nguyen sits another person struggling to smother a smile. Dr. River Peña—close friend, hot genius, and unconfirmed vampire—is also a special guest today; I guess he’s receiving yet another honorary degree for being some type of sexy prodigy. He looks like he belongs up here: stiff collar, perfectly pressed suit pants visible below the hem of his full doctoral regalia, shiny dress shoes, and an air of austerity I’ve never been able to master. Right now, I can see the knowing amusement light up his smug, thickly lashed eyes.
When I first received the invitation to speak at this ceremony, River immediately slapped a twenty-dollar bill down onto the table between us and declared, “This is going to go completely sideways, Fizzy. Convince me otherwise.”
I’m sure he and my best friend, Jess—his wife—expected that I would get up onstage and deliver The Vagina Monologues to the academic masses, or pull out a banana and remind everyone while I rolled a condom onto it that safe sex is still important in this here year of our Lord Harry Styles—but I swear I can play the part of a buttoned-down literary type when the situation calls for it.
At the very least, I thought I’d make it further than one line into my speech before dropping a double entendre—and that one wasn’t even intentional.
I turn back to the sea of black, blue, and yellow-clad grads that stretches far across RIMAC Field and experience a wave of vicarious, breathless anticipation for all these youngsters taking flight. So many opportunities ahead. So much student loan stress. But also so much great sex.
“My younger sister is a neurosurgeon,” I tell them. “My little brother? Yeah, he’s the youngest partner in his firm’s history. One of my best friends, sitting right behind me, is a world-famous geneticist.” There’s genuine applause for biotech’s It boy, and once it dies back down, I go in for the kill: “But you know what? Despite all their accomplishments, none of them wrote a book called Cloaked Lust, so I think we all know who the real success story is here.”
Smiling at a fresh wave of cheers, I continue. “So listen. Giving this kind of speech is a big deal. Most people invited to send off a group of young superstars like yourselves will list concrete ways to find your place in an ever-changing culture, or encourage you to amplify your impact by reducing your carbon footprint. They would tell you to go out and change the world, and of course yes—do that. I support those ambitions. Global citizen: good. Ecoterrorist: bad. But Dr. Nguyen didn’t invite an inspiring climate scientist or charismatic and acceptably neutral politician. She invited me, Felicity Chen, author of books full of love and accountability and sex-positivity, and frankly the only professional advice I’m qualified to give about being eco-conscious is to support your local library.” Another muted wave of laughter. “In fact, the only thing I care about—the one thing that matters most in the world to me—is that when every single one of you gets to the end of this crazy ride, you look back and can truly say you were happy.”