“Well, I need to take care of a small assignment, but then I can join you?” she asks.
“Great.”
I leave her on the couch, pulling out her computer, and I head to the kitchen. I feel happier just knowing that she’s in the house, even if she’s out of sight. I didn’t realize how lonely my home could feel until I had someone like Cynthia warming it up with her presence.
The chicken is stewing in its sauce when Cynthia enters the kitchen. She’s removed her jacket, and she gazes around in bemusement at the set table. I decided to go the whole hog and light some candles.
I hand her a glass of chardonnay as well.
But Cynthia doesn’t sit down and start chatting as I expect. Instead she clutches the glass as her eyes dart around the spacious kitchen and dining room.
“This is nice,” she says.
I start to feel a seed of discomfort. This dinner was maybe too much too soon. She’s confused, I can tell. And I know I’m throwing a lot at her. The other day I said we were just having fun, exploring our feelings and enjoying ourselves. And now I’ve set out candles. I can’t help it though. I’m too old to play games or act like I don’t care when I do. Despite our age difference, I sense that Cynthia and I are alike in that. She doesn’t want to play games either, but she also is still figuring out what she wants from me.
I keep my voice calm and steady as I respond. “I don’t want to just have sex, Cynthia. I want other things with you as well.”
“But we agreed.” Cynthia’s brow furrows and she shakes her head. “This wasn’t supposed to be serious, we were just going to live in the moment and see what happened.”
“Are you upset?” I ask with a small grin. “If so, I’m happy to throw the chicken out.”
“No, I’m not upset,” Cynthia says. “I’m just processing. And maybe freaking out a little.”
“Talk to me.” I know the only way she’s going to figure this out is if she’s able to express herself, even if she’s not certain what she needs to express.”
“It’s just that you and I are getting serious, it doesn’t make sense,” Cynthia says. “I leave for med school so soon, and we’re just at such different points in our life.”
“I know I’m older,” I say.
“It’s not even about your age,” Cynthia protests. “It’s about where you are in life. You’re settled. You have a career and a house, and I’m just starting out. I’m moving for med school. Who knows where I’ll end up for residency and beyond?”
She sets the wine down on the counter and starts to pace back and forth. “I thougth this was just sex. The only way it makes sense for us to be together is if it’s just sex.”
I can’t bear to watch her torture herself any longer. I move towards her and grip her shoulders in my hands.
“Cynthia, listen, I don’t think I want this to be just sex,” I say. “I’m not saying we have to get serious right now, or you have to make any decisions. I just want you to know that there’s a chance I want it to be serious. And I want us to explore that.”
I brush a kiss against her lips, and Cynthia instantly responds. Her head hasn’t caught up with her body. In her mind, she thinks we shouldn’t get serious, but clearly her body feels a different way.
Her eyes soften as she looks up at me. “How are you always so calm? It’s like nothing fazes you.”
“Years of practice.” I release her shoulders and head back to check on the chicken.
Cynthia picks up her wine, and as I put together the plates, she sits down at the table. She’s more at ease, but I can tell she’s not ready to commit to anything.
As I sit down, I meet her steady gaze.
“Let’s just try this,” I say. “We’ll still enjoy our present, but we’ll try being a little serious as well.”
Cynthia stares at me with raw hunger in her eyes.
“Ok,” she says at last. “We’ll try.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cynthia
I push my thick hair off my neck and then fan myself. I’m crossing campus to get my bike, and I’m breaking a sweat.
It’s been a few weeks since Nate and I first had sex, and the weather is at last warming up. All of a sudden, all my classes are wrapping up, and I’m getting countless emails about the graduation ceremony in a few weeks, and even a few emails from med school about registering for classes and orientation.
Every time I’m with Nate, I get lost in the moment. I get sucked into the way he sees the world. He says we don’t have to overthink our futures or make any big decisions right now. He says we should just see what happens.
It’s easy to think like him when he’s kissing me senseless or telling a funny story or we’re cooking a meal together. As soon as we’re apart, I start to panic again.
This isn’t going anywhere. Nate and I don’t have to worry about the future, because we don’t have a future.
And yet he’s convinced me to get serious with him. We spend every night together. We’ve gone on dates to the movies and to restaurants. I’ve told him about my mom’s battle with cancer and my dad walking out. He’s told me about his bitter divorce. That’s not casual. That’s extremely serious.
The worst part is, I like being serious with him. Our bond grows deeper every day, and it makes our sexual connection that much better.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down. It’s a text from Becca asking me to meet her in the quad. She’s sunning herself.
I veer left and head towards her. I was going to just bike back to be with Nate, but this whole week I’ve been feeling guilty about my friends. They still don’t know
