That would
have been too easy.
For several weeks, we behaved like mature adults.
Which meant we lied constantly about our feelings.
He called me “to check in.”
I called him “because Jonathan asked something.”
We had coffee.
Then dinner.
Then another dinner that was definitely not a date.
Then a jazz concert that was absolutely a date but neither of us admitted it.
My children had opinions.
Claire said, “He makes you happy.”
Michael said, “He’s fifteen years younger than you.”
I said, “Thank you for demonstrating subtraction.”
Michael was not amused.
I was.
Daniel worried about the age difference more than I did.
One night, three months after my birthday, we walked beside Lake Michigan.
Snow covered the sidewalks.
He stopped beneath a streetlight.
“People stare at us.”
“They stare because you have terrible taste in scarves.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. That scarf is tragic.”
