by Kate Gilead
Downstairs in the kitchen, we decide on one of mom’s budget “fast-food” meals. Economic but nutritious, this one consists of salmon filets, baked from frozen, with couscous and steamed Brussels sprouts. The whole thing only takes about twenty-five minutes to cook.
She slides the frozen filets onto a baking pan and begins seasoning them with parsley, minced onion, lemon juice and garlic.
“So, let’s hear about it, Jen.” she says as she works. “What’s the deal?”
Opening a package of couscous, I pour the golden, dried grains into a saucepan, cover them with water and put it on the stove to boil.
“Okay,” I sigh. After taking a moment to think, I tell her everything, starting from the beginning.
She listens while we wait for the meal, making sympathetic noises and asking a few questions.
We’re sitting down to eat as I get more or less finished explaining events. “So, now, after what happened today…I dunno, Mom. I’m just overwhelmed.”
“Well, no wonder. On top of everything, your boss wants to have an illicit affair with you.” She gives me a look. “You didn’t mention how old he is. ”
“He’s thirty-eight.” Her eyes widen. I don’t react, I just put a generous pat of butter on my steaming, fluffy couscous and mix it all in with my Brussels sprouts. “And it’s not an illicit affair, Mom. We’re attracted to each other. It’s not just him.”
“Thirty-eight? He’s too old for you and you could lose your job.”
Yeah. She’s not angry, but not exactly thrilled either. I guess I don’t blame her, but I want her on my side.
Instead of getting mad and arguing with her, I cover her hand with mine, saying, “Yes, I know. I’ve thought about that, too.”
“Really? Have you thought about being left a widow like I am?”
“Yes.” Er…no. Actually, I haven’t, but now that she mentions it, I probably should have.
She puts butter on her own food, frowning. “Well you should be thinking hard about this whole thing. I’m concerned that he’s taking advantage of your youth and inexperience, not to mention, his position over you.”
“Mom…I understand why you’d say that, but….”
She holds up a finger. “But…from what you’ve said, it does sound like he cares for you.”
“You think so?” I sit up straighter.
“Well, yes…but just a second. I don’t like that he’s ready to go back to California, even though he says he has family and roots here. This temporary-trailer living arrangement is not good. If he has a woman in California and he’s not over her, then I’m sorry dear but you might be just a distraction. Or a convenience.”
“God, I hope not.” The thought makes me feel like crying. “But his contract does explain why he’s living in a trailer. I mean, at least it’s not because he’s a crackhead or a degenerate or bad with finances or something. He’s a legitimate guy.” I splash some lemon juice on my fish. “But yeah, I don’t know if what happened between us is reason enough for him to stay here. I don’t like that uncertainty either.”
She chews a forkful of food, then swallows. “Well, a kiss isn’t exactly an engagement ring, Jen. When a man tells you that they may not stick around, or, they don’t want a relationship, or, any variation on that theme…? They mean it. You can believe them. At least, unless something changes. So you may have to decide if you want to settle for a fling.”
“No way. Not Blake. He’s different. He…he’s the kind of man I’d want to marry, not just hook up with.”
“You always were the marrying kind,” she says, smiling soft.
I shrug. “Is that so wrong?”
“No,” she says, without hesitation. “But, tell me this: Do you know him well enough to say that he’s the marrying kind?” She feeds herself another bite of tender salmon and watches me think about that.
“I guess not. But I work with him every day and I’ve seen his good and bad sides. I do trust him. He’s kind of crusty sometimes, but…he’s reliable. Isn’t that the most important thing?”
“Yes, that’s important.” She takes another bite. “Still, he might have his share of baggage, are you aware of that?”
“Umm…yeah! Everyone has baggage, Mom.”
“Older people tend to have more.” She leans forward. “You realize you’re infatuated, don’t you?”
I shrug. “I don’t care. I can’t help how I feel.”
She’s looking at me very closely. “Oh gosh, sweetie. A new love always feels wonderful but this is….” She stops, purses her lips. “I just hope he doesn’t break your heart!”
Me too! The magnitude of it hits me afresh. “Mom, what am I gonna do?” I groan, dropping my utensils on my plate. I sit back, shoulders sagging. “I…I’ve dreamt about him.”
“Oh, boy,” she says, quietly. She licks her lips, takes a sip of water and stares at me, blinking. She’s quiet for a long moment. “Well, the truth is, infatuation can lead to real love. I think that’s what infatuation is for, actually. It just… doesn’t always work out.” She gives me her ‘I know you’ look. “You care a lot less about this job than you do about Blake right now, don’t you?”
“Yep. This job is draining. Unfulfilling. It’s…a hard company to work for, too. They’re horribly disorganized, there are so many problems. The management sucks.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh. “You’re describing every job out there. You can always find another job. Maybe not as well-paying, though.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Mind? Why would I mind?” she says, quizzically.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I’m afraid you’ll be mad at me if I give up money for love. Or something.”
“Of course not. It’s your life. Anyhow. You don’t have to decide right now. You’re still on probation at Delcroft. Things could improve, if you give it a chance. And you should always find another job before you leave the one you have, no matter what.”
“Right, I know. I haven’t decided if I’m leaving for sure anyway.”
She sighs again. “Alright. I guess I’ve expressed my motherly concerns. And God knows we’ve talked about, y’know, the birds and the bees often enough.” She raises her eyebrows. “If you’re determined to date a much older man…a man who likes to lead, to be in control, then maybe we should have a talk of a different kind.”
Chapter Seven
Jenny
“A different kind?”
“Yes. About how to be with a man like Blake without, you know, giving up too much of your self.”
“Giving up myself?”
“Blake sounds one of those old-fashioned guys. One of those men who like having things their way. Like your dad. Traditional, conservative. What they used to call a man’s man.”
“An alpha male, you mean?”
“Alpha? Hmm. Not sure. I call ‘em, Large and In Charge.” She winks. “Or, so they like to think, anyway.”
“Yeah, I think Blake qualifies.”
“Sounds like it. This kind of guy usually prefers compliant, attractive, pleasant, agreeable women. In other words, the complete polar opposite of themselves.”
I look at her suspiciously. “Compliant? Agreeable?”
She nods. “Yes but don’t confuse that with being meek and submissive; never saying ‘no’ or in any way being a doormat. That’s not what men actually want, no matter what they might say about it.”
I grimace. “Ugh. I hope not. What kind of guy would want a doormat for a girlfriend?”
“Not too many, I hope. There’s something wrong with a man like that. Some kind of deep-seated insecurity or something.”
“No shit! I don’t remember Dad being like that at all.”
“He wasn’t, but he was picky. He liked what he liked and he liked to be respected. In charge.”
“That, I remember.”
“Respect is extremely important to any man. Extremely. Yet, men who demand it are considered old-fashioned in some ways. Cons
ervative, traditional. At the same time, they crave someone who will stand up to them when necessary. Someone with boundaries. Someone who presents a challenge.”
“Secret masochists?” I joke.
“Hah! No.” She smiles, shaking her head. “They just want someone worthy. Blake respects you, but he’s also attracted by your softness and femininity. You express it quite naturally, in a way that lets him lead; lets him be the boss.”
“He is my boss, so…I have to let him lead. What else can I do?””
“At work, not much. The boss is the boss. At home, with your boyfriend or husband, you need to have boundaries and stick by them. But, at the same time, you render unto Cesar that which is Cesar’s, if you follow me. ”
“You mean…let him be the man in the traditional sense.”
“Yes. Exactly. While being a traditional woman in the same sense. Soft on the outside, strong on the inside. Outwardly, gentle but firm; not a screechy, demanding, cursing, swaggering harridan. Inwardly strong means, not allowing yourself to think thoughts that create insecurity and neediness in yourself.”
“Lady-like and classy as opposed to a crazed, furious feminazi with an axe to grind?” I’m enjoying this conversation a lot. Who knew Mom was so opinionated about what makes men tick?
She nods exaggeratedly. “Definitely! No crazed feminazi stuff!” We chuckle. “But, be firm about your own needs. Don’t take crap. Stand up for yourself. Be ready to walk away if necessary.”
She gets up and fetches the water pitcher from the fridge.
“Men say they hate confrontation, and they do. Especially with a woman. What they really fear, deep down,” she continues, sitting back down, “is being emasculated. And no one can emasculate a man like a woman.”
She raises a finger in emphasis. “I promise, that is a deadly serious matter to them and I highly recommend that you avoid doing that to any man. Especially, if you want that man to love you.”
“Makes sense. But it’s hard to believe a guy like Blake is afraid of anything. Or a guy like Dad, for that matter.”
“Don’t be fooled by the tough exterior. Men need respect for the sake of their ego, even more than women.”
“Maybe that’s because they have bigger egos,” I observe, dryly.
“Maybe!” She laughs. “But you can present an interesting challenge without being a ball-breaker. You’ll command his respect just by standing your ground. In fact it’s easy. And some say that’s where true female power lies.”
“True female power? I thought true female power is in our independence. Having choices, having agency over our bodies and lives. Not needing a man to survive.”
“You’re talking about a woman’s power over herself. I’m talking about our power over men.” Her eyes gleam.
I stare at her, fascinated. “Women don’t have any real power over men…do they?”
She snorts. “Are you joking? Of course we do! Men need us! And we need them too. The whole narrative about how women don’t need men anymore is hogwash. We need each other.”
“Some people might disagree with that opinion.”
“Some people don’t understand reality,” she retorts. “Or, biological fact.”
I’m not going to argue biology with my mother the health professional, that’s for sure.
“But that’s a discussion for another day,” she continues. “Let’s just think in terms of attraction. Would most men like a loud, abrasive, controlling, hard-edged woman who needs nothing from them? Do they want someone like themselves? One of the boys?”
“Welllll…no. Maybe not.”
“No more than you want a soft, receptive, emotional, feminine man. Or do you?”
“No. Point taken.”
“Right. So you see what I mean.”
“Yes. And I’m glad you’re not saying women should be, like…FemBots or something. Someone who never has a bad day, who lives to please her man.”
“God, no. Think back. Did I seem like a FemBot to you when you were growing up?”
“No.”
“Men aren’t stupid, they know that no one can be happy all the time. Life is sad and painful sometimes, that’s just the way it goes. They can deal with a woman who responds normally to life’s ups and downs.”
“If they can’t then they’re not much of a man, are they?”
“Nope. But naturally, they prefer a mate with a happy personality over a sourpuss. The same goes for women, we don’t want to deal with a grumpy guy all the time either. It’s simple common sense.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, eating and thinking our own thoughts.
“Now, about this damsel-in-distress thing,” she says. “You remember how, especially in old stories and legends, it used to be that nothing melted a man’s heart so much. The whole trope of the woman in danger and the hero who comes to her rescue. You know what I mean?”
“Sure. The lady tied to the railroad tracks in the old silent films. The White Knight who rescues the fair maiden in legends and fairy tales.”
She nods, smiling. “Yes. It’s a trope, but was it all merely a fantasy or stereotype? Just a plot device to show off the hero’s…um, heroic-ness? Maybe. But, as corny as it sounds, that whole White Knight thing is based on an instinctive male response. A man needs to be needed. He wants a mate who needs and appreciates his skills, his….strength. His… courage.”
She pauses again. “And in the romance department…nothing else, y’know…so inflames his loins.” She snorts at her own description, wrinkling her nose. “It sounds weird but the truth is, being strong and courageous and skilled…? Working hard, being challenged…being masculine…? All that actually helps men produce testosterone, did you know that?”
“No. But you’re a nurse, so…”
“True, but, you still don’t have to take my word for it. You can Google anything these days.” She takes a drink, crunching an ice cube thoughtfully. “Just remember, need and neediness are two different things. Genuine distress isn’t being pissed because you got the wrong color car for your birthday.”
“Well, I was in distress today,” I say. “It was genuine, definitely.”
“I know. Poor sweetie.” She takes a napkin from the holder and waves it as she speaks. “I bet that was very compelling for Blake, especially since he already likes you. Some men really need to play the hero.”
“And you’re saying it’s not just for the sake of their ego? For biological reasons, as well?”
“For both those reasons, and one more. A man is far more likely to actually fall in love with a woman who needs him. Really fall in love, not just use her as a servant or a mother-substitute. Or keep her around as an option or…what do you call it? A booty-girl?”
“A booty-call.”
“Yes.”
“So, as for whether Blake likes, or is interested in you…or could even fall in love with you…? He told you not to come to the site because it was chaotic and dangerous. That sure sounds like he tried to protect you. And once you got there and he saw you were sick, and vulnerable, he stepped up.”
“I know, right? He really did!”
“He carried you into the trailer, too! You think he thought you really needed to be carried? I bet it was just an impulse because he wants to protect and be close to you. He likes you and it may already be beyond simple sexual attraction.”
“Oh my gosh, Mom! You really think so?”
“When you cried, he tried to comfort you. Tears make men horribly uncomfortable. If it was a purely sexual thing for him, I think he’d have left you to cry alone. But he wanted to comfort you.”
The thought makes me so happy, I feel like the sun’s shining in my heart. “You know what, though? I still can’t believe he kissed me! I look horrible when I cry!”
“You do not. Besides, men never think we look as bad as we think we do.”
“I don’t know about that. When I think of how bad I look sometimes…yikes!”
“No, Jenny. They simply don’t se
e it the same way we do. And never point out to a man the ways in which you think you’re ugly…you don’t want him to start agreeing with you.” She laughs, then takes another bite of food and grins close-mouthed at me, chewing and swallowing.
“Well, I’ll tell you, up ’til today, it’s been impossible to tell how he feels. Men are so…different than us!’
“You got that right. Heh. They can’t necessarily talk about their feelings like we do, but they feel them, just as keenly.”
“Are you sure? Because it doesn’t seem like it sometimes.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Look, men are actually very simple critters. Like your grandmother always said: To make a man happy, you just gotta keep their stomachs full and their balls empty!’
“Mom!” But I’m laughing, and so is she.
“What? I think most men would agree with that,” she says. “Anyhow. Be real, be yourself, stand your ground and be reasonable. He’ll respect and listen to you, and care for you, do everything he can to make you happy in return.”
“Like Daddy did with you?”
“Yes.”
We smile sadly at each other.
She loved my dad and so did I but he’s been gone a long time. It’s easier said than done, but we’re both trying to let go of him.
“I wish I hadn’t shown Blake my butt, though,” I say.
“Well, me too, dear. But obviously, that bothered you a lot more than it bothered him.” She chuckles, looking at me kindly. “He knew it was an accident. It’s not like you were being lewd or anything.”
“I know. Still. It was embarrassing!”
She pats my hand and we eat in silence for a while.
I sneak a glance at her and gather up my courage. “Okay, so…what about…um…doing it. Do you think I should sleep with him?”
“Of course,” she says, regarding me steadily.
“What? Really? You don’t think I should wait?”
“For what? Marriage?”
“I dunno, maybe? Or, the third date or something?”
“No. You should do it as soon as you both feel ready. Men aren’t judging women for having a normal sex drive anymore. Thank God.”
