Sometimes I do look around my office, perfectly designed to fit my large desk, my three computers, and everything else I need and sigh. Now that there’s nothing left to do on the house, I sometimes feel like I’ve entered a very early retirement. Yes, I still work and exercise and travel, but I have no driving purpose in life.
I glance out the window. That’s the reason I find myself spying on Cynthia so often. I have no other distractions, so of course my eye wanders over to the adorable college student renting out my apartment.
I’ve been renting to college students for about ten years, ever since I purchased the property. The size, price and location is perfect for students who prefer to live off-campus. When I need a renter, I just post it on the campus bulletin, give a few tours, and then go with the person who seems the most responsible. If something is broken, I head over and fix it, but that’s the extent of my interaction with the tenants.
Cynthia was different from the start. Almost two years ago, she showed up for her tour with a backpack so big, I thought she was going to keel over. She explained right off the bat that she was pre-med, and the massive bag made sense. She was wearing loose-fitting jeans, but when she bent over to inspect the cabinets in the bathroom, the fabric hugged her curves. I looked away, mortified that I was caught staring at a girl who had to be about twenty years my junior.
The compelling thing about Cynthia, I decided after that apartment tour, was that she didn’t demand to be looked at. She wasn’t decked out in the usual glitz that girls her age used to attract attention. She didn’t wear bright clothes or expressive makeup. Her large blue eyes were hidden behind glasses. It wasn’t that she was insecure. It was that she seemed to only want to be taken seriously as a student.
Of course she got back to me with her application in record time, so I gave her the apartment. I figured I would lose interest. I was just having an off day. Maybe my wandering eye was just a hint that I needed to jump back into the meager dating pool for the single over-thirties in town.
I didn’t lose interest. If anything, my interest only grew as Cynthia settled in next door. About a month after she moved in, the dishwasher was having issues, so I went over there to check it out. I admired the way she had organized her space. She had a big desk pushed up against the window, and the kitchen was as neat as a pin. It wasn’t totally devoid of personality though. She had postcards of paintings taped up on the walls. Mementos from museums she had visited, she explained.
She had been wearing leggings and an oversized turtleneck sweater that day, and I had never seen anything so enticing. As I worked on the dishwasher, she observed me with a keen eye, her eyes sparkling from behind her glasses. She asked me what I was doing as I pulled out my toolbox, and she said she wanted to be able to learn to fix it herself the next time it acted up.
I secretly prayed she wouldn’t learn a thing. I wanted more excuses to chat with her. Lucky for me, as smart as Cynthia was, she wasn’t exactly handy around the house. I didn’t go over often, but every now and then, a doorknob would come loose, or the window would be jammed. Every time I swung by to fix a minor problem, I noticed something else enticing about Cynthia. The way the ends of her dark hair curled, just a bit. The way she always smelled faintly of lilacs. The way she talked fast when I asked her about a topic she was passionate about.
Often, it had occurred to me just how pathetic it was for me to be lusting after a twenty-year-old.
I can’t help it though. Cynthia’s not just a pretty face and a gorgeous body. She’s got a brain, and she’s charming and engaging. It’s easier to talk to her than it is to talk with any of the divorcee’s I usually date. Plus, she’s not jaded or cynical. My last serious relationship was five years ago, and it was with a woman my age who had also gone through a nasty divorce like myself. The two of us were so skeptical about long term relationships and monogamy, we didn’t even try that hard. You couldn’t even really call us an actual relationship.
After that, I took it easy from anything serious for a while. And now, I don’t even look at other women. Not when I have Cynthia right next door.
She’s graduating soon though, and I think about that fact way more than I should. She told me she got into medical school in New York City. I was happy for her, especially given the way her face lit up when she casually shared the news. But the city might as well be the other side of the world. I’ve gotten used to seeing her right here, outside my window. What will I look forward to when I can no longer catch glimpses of her?
Just a few short months and Cynthia Lannon will be gone from my life. It’s probably for the best. Nothing is ever going to happen between us.
Although, there have been moments when I thought there was something. I’ll catch her looking at me in a certain way, or we’ll get caught up in a conversation, and it will just feel so natural and easy.
And I hate myself for knowing this, but she’s never had a boyfriend. I’ve noticed there has never been a guy visitor to her place. It’s not like I have a 24-hour watch on her window, but I’m
