by Kelly Myers
And maybe she would be right. The logical part of my brain tells me that there’s no future with Nate. That me and him don’t make sense. We’re in totally different phases of life.
I’m just not ready to listen to the logical part.
However, Becca is staring at me as we walk across campus, and I know I have to give her something. Becca can be sensitive, and I don’t want her to think I’m mad at her or freezing her out.
I look up at the bright blue sky. It’s the warmest day we’ve had in a while, a reminder that spring is eventually going to fade into summer. After that, I’ll be long-gone. I’ll move forward with my life, and Nate Ramsay will still be here, in his house.
I turn back to Becca.
“I met this guy,” I say.
Becca’s eyes go wide and she lets out a squeal. She’s genuinely surprised, which means she didn’t suspect my daze had anything to do with romance.
“Tell me everything,” Becca says.
Her fair hair sparkles under the sun as she tosses her head and beams at me.
“There’s not much to tell,” I say. “I met him online.”
Becca’s lips press together in a frown. I scramble to come up with a story that’s believable but not too weird.
“I just wanted to try a dating website, just to see what’s out there,” I say. “Clearly, I haven’t met anyone here on campus, so I wanted to try other options.”
Becca nods, but I can tell she thinks it’s a little odd and out of character. She has told me for years that college is the best dating app a girl could ask for, but she also knows that I’m not into the college social scene.
“I just didn’t know you were that interested in dating,” Becca says. “Can I see a photo?”
I frown. This lie is getting away from me fast. “I’m not ready to share, it’s so new. Nothing has happened, we’re just chatting a bit. He lives in the city, so it’s not like we can go out anytime soon.”
“I guess that’s kinda romantic.” Becca cocks her head and smiles. “It’s almost old-fashioned, getting to know each other at a distance.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I say. “We’ll see where it goes.”
“And then you’ll meet up in New York and bang,” Becca declares triumphantly.
I shrug and give her a smile. “We’ll see.”
“Ok, you have to give me some details,” Becca says. “I’m dying with curiosity here.”
“Well, he works in software.” I decide to get back to something resembling the truth. “And he’s really nice and smart.”
“And hot?” Becca asks.
I don’t even need to answer. The blush that stains my cheeks tells Becca everything she needs to know. She lets out another squeal of excitement, but I feel a twinge of unease in my stomach. I thought it would be a good idea to give Becca something to get her off my back, but I’ve never told such a bald-faced lie to my friend before.
I didn’t just leave out a few details, like the loss of my virginity. I also fabricated an entire scenario in which I created an online dating profile for myself. Which is seriously something I would never do, and Becca should know that. Maybe she’ll question it more later, but at least for now, she’s excited enough at the faint prospect of romance for me to push it aside.
As we approach the coffee shop, I give Becca a nudge with my shoulder.
“Could we not talk about this in front of Tommy?” I ask. “I just don’t want to make it a big deal.”
Becca nods and pats my arm. “You’re right, Tommy won’t like this.”
“What do you mean?” I furrow my brow.
“Come on, Cyn,” Becca says. “Don’t play dumb, Tommy has been crushing on you all year, it’s obvious.”
I look down at the ground. Becca can accuse me of playing coy all she wants, I’m still not sure about that. Tommy is my friend and has been for ages. Yes, over the last year I’ve noticed his behavior towards me has changed, but it’s been nothing obvious, as Becca makes it sound.
Tommy is quiet and passive. He would never make a move, not without me encouraging it. And I have never encouraged it.
“Ok, well, just forget about this whole thing,” I say. “Please?”
“My lips are sealed,” Becca says with a wink.
We stroll into the coffee shop, and Tommy waves at us from a table in a corner.
Becca and I set our stuff down, and then go order our drinks. It’s a familiar routine. Every semester, the three of us meet up here in between classes to chat and study.
Today, it feels stale. For so long, I’ve stuck to my routine. Last night, I broke from it. I behaved in a totally new and spontaneous way. Now, it’s strange and dissatisfying to go back to the routine as if nothing happened.
“You ok?” Tommy asks. “You’ve been staring at the same page in your book for the last ten minutes.”
I glance over at him. Tommy is tall and lean, and his shoulders are hunched over his own books as he examines me across the table.
From her own seat, Becca just raises one eyebrow and buries her face deeper in her studying. I know it’s taking all her willpower to not make some comment alluding to my new dating profile.
“I’m good,” I say. “Just a little tired I guess.”
“Have you been having trouble sleeping?” Tommy asks. “Or allergies?”
I give him a reassuring smile. Last spring, I had awful allergies, but this season I’ve been ok. It’s sweet that he remembers. I resist making eye contact with Becca. Maybe Tommy’s feelings for me are a little more obvious than I’m willing to admit.
“No, I’ve been good,” I say. “Just had a weird night and couldn’t fall asleep.”
I turn back to my book and try to look focused. If I can’t actually keep my mind on the reading, then I can at least pretend to do so.
As I flip through the pages, I mull over Tommy. He makes perfect sense as a potential boyfriend. We already have a friendship, we are the same age, and we’re both pre-med students. Everything lines up.
We were genuinely just friends for the first two years of college. Tommy was dating another girl, and he wasn’t close with me and Becca, but in a fully platonic way. We were study buddies, nothing more.
Then he broke up with his girlfriend. After that, the dynamic shifted. He spent more time with us, and more time with me while Becca was off with her various dates.
And yet nothing has ever happened. People, including Becca, have made guesses that we would get together, and we’ve been fast friends for years, but nothing ever came of it. At first, I thought the both of us were just uninterested, but over the last year, Tommy has indicated that he might be interested in dating me. There’s been nothing big or assertive; that’s not Tommy’s style. Just little things. He remembers details about my past. He is always willing to hang out just the two of us. I catch him staring at me sometimes. Stuff like that.
I’ve never wanted to act on that though, because for me, there’s no spark. It sounds silly, but I believe that sometimes two people have a physical chemistry that pulls them together. I’ve seen it in other couples.
And now I’ve felt it for myself with Nate. Tommy can stare at me all he wants, his gaze will never make my stomach roll in somersaults the way Nate’s eyes can. And I can’t even imagine calling Tommy “daddy” or surrendering myself completely to him in a sexual matter.
That’s the thing about Tommy. He’s dropped hints and looked at me in a longing way, but he’s never made a move. He’s never gone all Alpha male and just told me that he wants me. Nate did. Nate looked me right in the eye and told me exactly what he wanted from me. And it was so sexy. It was more than a spark, it was a burning crackle of flames.
I shake myself out of that line of thought before I start to fantasize about Nate right under the fluorescent lights of the coffeeshop.
I check the time. I haven’t even been sitting down an hour, but already I’m antsy. I want to go back to my apartment. And I don’t want to go back to rest or watch TV
or cook a meal. I want to go back so I can walk casually by Nate’s house and see if anything happens.
It’s pathetic. I have sex with one guy, and all of a sudden, I’m pining after him endlessly.
This isn’t me. I’m usually practical and focused and on top of my emotions. I don’t like that Nate has taken something away from me.
Sure, he gave me plenty, but I don’t want to lose myself in the process. I’ve seen too many women and girls throw away crucial parts of themselves when they get with a guy.
I don’t want to be that girl.
I don’t think Nate is some villain trying to compromise me and my future, but even so, I need to use some common sense about this whole thing. I have to stop daydreaming and figure out the best way to move forward.
I manage to stay at the coffee shop for another hour. I don’t get any work done, but I do put on a convincing act. Or at least, Tommy and Becca stop asking me if I’m ok.
Afterwards, Tommy and Becca both have to get to a class, so I meander around campus, trying to put off going back to my place.
I desperately long to return to my apartment and see if i can catch a glimpse of Nate, but I know it’s best to keep my distance. I need to sort out my head.
He hasn’t even texted or called me. If he had, maybe things would be different. Maybe I would have more clarity on what he wanted or how he thinks we should proceed.
The fact that he isn’t reaching out speaks volumes. I’m not a priority. He’s an older guy who doesn’t feel the need to communicate with the girl he just slept with.
That’s alright. He made me no promises. We’re not in a relationship. Not even close.
When I’m tired of walking in circles, I get on my bike and ride home.
I don’t see any sign of Nate in the driveway. I tell myself it’s ok, but I can’t fully suppress the throb of sadness in my chest.
Chapter Twelve
Nate
I pick up my phone to text Cynthia at least twenty times throughout the morning.
She’s had an evening and a night to mull over what happened between us. Now I want to reach out and let her know where I stand.
But somehow a text feels inadequate. It almost seems cold-hearted and callous to text her. She deserves a phone call or an in-person conversation.
I don’t think young people even do phone calls anymore though. And I’m not going to loiter outside her apartment all day in the hopes of running into her. Nor am I going to post up by the window and watch for her bike so I can run out and demand she talk to me. It’s tempting, but I’m not going to do it.
Instead, I sequester myself in my home office and try to work. I have a big project due for my company. I’ll need to head down to the city in a few weeks to present it.
I’ve always been good at separating my emotions from my work. In the software world, it’s all about results. You can’t charm your way into creating a good algorithm. So I’ve learned to put the work in and come up with effective conclusions.
I never liked the networking scene anyway. Before I started at my current company, I worked at a start-up. The actual product was a bust, but the company thought they could turn a profit by looking the part. They threw parties every week and rented out glossy offices.
I hated it. Every morning, I was grumpy as I headed into work. I felt like a cliche, sitting miserably on the subway as I joined the rat race with everyone else, working away at an unsatisfying 9 to 5.
Lianne was the one who wanted me to get that start-up job. She thought it was the perfect opportunity, and she wanted a husband who dressed up in a suit and went to an office. It didn’t matter if the actual product was a total bust. It didn’t matter if I was a cog in a defunct machine.
During and immediately after the divorce, I kept the job. I needed a consistent paycheck as I moved out of the apartment I had shared with my wife and into a grimy studio in Brooklyn. The borough wasn’t as trendy as it is now. No one fashionable really lived in Brooklyn back then.
I sunk into a deep depression. I hated my job, and I hated that my marriage had turned out to be a complete failure.
It took awhile, but I sorted everything out. I found my current company, and I was instantly attracted to how it was less about marketing and branding and looking the part, and more about creating an actual high-quality product.
Plus, once I proved my worth and moved up in the company, I could work from anywhere. That was a game-changer. I moved out of the city as soon as I could.
In retrospect, I wonder if it was the city that I hated so much, or just the life I had there. I now associate New York City with Lianne, the divorce and that miserable job. Yet during recent visits, I have to admit I enjoy the city. I like the restaurants and the culture, and as the bad memories fade, I have fonder associations with the city.
Cynthia will be there next year. I think she’ll like it. Of course, she will be excited to be in medical school, chasing her dreams, but she also will like the vibrancy of city life. She’s young and deserves to enjoy that.
There will be more men too. I frown at the thought. Cythia didn’t date much in college, but it’s not like she had a wide range of options. Her school is small, and she clearly had other priorities. In med school, she’ll have way more opportunities to date. Or so I imagine.
The thought doesn’t rest easy with me.
I manage to get a few hours of work in, but by noon, I’m back to thinking about Cynthia. My fingers are itching to grab my phone and call her.
I’m not sure it’s a good idea though. She might need some more alone time to process. I don’t want to alarm her by badgering her with calls and texts. I’ll wait for her to reach out to me.
My only fear is that we don’t have much time. I want to enjoy Cynthia while she’s here. I want to show her so many things and do so many things to her, I need as much time as I can get. If I wait for her to reach out to me, I might be waiting for a long while.
I’m not a patient man. When I want something, I go and get it. Years ago, I wanted out of a soul-crushing job. So I found a way. I wanted to leave the city and start somewhere new, so I found a town I liked and purchased property.
Now I want Cynthia. I want her body, and I want her over and over. So I need to find a way to get her.
It’s tricky though. I have to be careful. She’s not some experienced divorcee. I can’t send her flirtatious texts or just show up at her house with a bottle of wine.
I don’t want to do that either. I want us to be open and equals. I want her to know her worth.
As I fix myself a sandwich for lunch, I keep glancing at my phone. Without my work to distract me, it’s getting tempting to reach out to her. The urge to call her is nearly overwhelming.
It’s a little embarrassing to be honest. I thought my days of chasing after girls were long gone. I did plenty of chasing when I first met Lianne. I was wild about her, and I didn’t hesitate to pursue her.
After her, I learned to dial it back. I valued my independence, and I saw no need to chase after girls. Any woman who made a man chase her probably wasn’t worth my time, in any case. I learned to be happy on my own and set my daily schedule the way I wanted it.
Cynthia is different. It feels like a whole other type of game. Or rather, it doesn’t even feel like a game. I want something fun and casual from her, but for some reason, the stakes feel high. I don’t want to hurt her. That has to be the reason. She’s so young, and she trusted me, and I take that seriously. I feel responsible for her.
In a flash, I recall the way she kissed me, her lips hesitant at first, but then overtaken with her eagerness. She moved against my chest, and I wanted to hold her tight against me. When I laid her back upon the bed, and she gazed up at me, I knew she was trusting me with everything. And I wanted to live up to that trust. I was responsible for her, and in the act of sex, I know I didn’t let her down. I don’t want to let her down in the aftermath as well.
That’s why I have to be careful about how and
when I reach out. If I do anything to make her uncomfortable or pressure her into sleeping with me again, I’ll never forgive myself.
I have the strangest urge to talk to other people who are in relationships with age gaps. It’s not that Cynthia and I will ever have a real relationship, but I want to know how others deal with the strangeness. I feel so protective of her, but I also feel like she is on the other side of some wall. Her age separates her from me, and I don’t know how to get around that.
I know there are forums online. I could probably very easily find some sort of thread, but the idea makes me a bit queasy. I don’t want to hear washed-up guys with wrinkles and flabby stomachs talking about how they bagged younger women. Because the age gap is rarely the other way around. There are so few older women dating younger men.
Because of this, there’s an air of creepiness to older men seeking out younger girls. It’s as if they’re looking for someone to manipulate. Or as if they’re insecure in their own masculinity, and they need some pretty young thing to make them feel like real men.
I don’t even want to compare me and Cynthia to that. It’s too dark a road to go down.
I refuse to manipulate her. I refuse to be some old guy who bullies her or buys her love. Not that Cynthia would even participate in that. If I tried to control her, I know she wouldn’t put up with it. That’s one of the reasons I like her so much.
I finish my sandwich and sigh. I won’t reach out today. I’ll give her a bit more time.
If I see her in the driveway, I won’t go out. Of course, if I just so happen to be grabbing my mail or something, I will speak to her and let her know I would like to talk. I won’t try and orchestrate anything. I don’t want Cynthia to feel cornered.
If I haven’t heard from her by noon tomorrow, then I’ll give her a call.
