He’s also not repulsive. Quite the opposite. Loads of girls would be happy to date Tommy. He’s funny and nice and handsome.
But would he train me like an experienced Daddy?
My stomach flips and I turn bright red at the thought. I have the absurd fear that Tommy can hear my dirty thoughts, and I keep my eyes fixed on the dark street outside the car.
No. I wouldn’t even want to call him that because I wouldn’t want to be in a sexual situation with him. He’s just a friend, that’s all.
Then again, I’m no expert on love and sex. Maybe amazing love stories can grow out of friendship. I’ve heard of that before. Everyone has. Who is to say that my gut instinct on Tommy is correct? Maybe if I gave him a try, I would be proven wrong.
It would be nice, I realize, to be with someone my own age. I wouldn’t have to worry that he was bored of me or that he was a commitment-phobe. We could grow together. I wouldn’t have to feel like some young girl that Nate is just having some fun with on a temporary basis. I know Nate doesn’t want me to feel like that, but in my worst moments, when I fully admit the fact that Nate and I probably don’t have a future, that’s still what I imagine. He’s the suave bachelor and I’m the ditzy twenty-year-old of the month.
I blink as Tommy turns into the driveway. His car wheels on the gravel remind me that Nate is right there. So close.
I automatically turn my head towards Nate’s house, and I don’t see any lights on, but I turn back to Tommy before I can get a good look. I don’t want Tommy to catch me staring at my landlord’s place.
Tommy pulls the car to a stop and puts it in park. I take a deep breath. This is it. Tommy is going to say his piece, and I owe it to him as a friend to hear it out.
I owe it to myself to at least consider this option. Before I beg Nate to stay with me, I ought to acknowledge that Nate is not the only man in the world.
Tommy looks me full in the face and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s nervous I realize. He reaches up and turns the interior light on so we can see each other better.
He’s also determined.
“Cynthia, I’ve got something to tell you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nate
When I hear the car in the driveway, I practically run to the window and peer out, keeping my body out of sight.
A million questions race through my head. Cynthia doesn’t have a car, so who is driving her home? And why did she take a ride home. I would have picked her up if she needed it. Does she not know that? Or did she purposely get a ride from someone else to avoid me?
I squint out at the car as it parks right outside. Why is it parking? Is she taking someone home?
Then the light inside the car flicks on, and Cynthia and a boy are illuminated within.
It’s her friend Tommy. I recognize him from a picture Cynthia showed me. I was curious about her college life, and I wanted to hear all about her acquaintances. The way she talked about him, it seemed obvious he was a friend, nothing more. It seemed she and Becca and Tommy were a totally platonic trio. Now, I’m not so sure.
And I find it nearly impossible to believe that Tommy wouldn’t be in love with Cynthia. If he’s spent enough time with her, surely he’s fallen.
My stomach lurches as I stare at them out in the car.
I’m disturbed by how normal they look together. They wouldn’t get stares if they went out in public. No one would mistake them for a father-daughter pair.
He’s taller than her, and he bends his head towards her as he speaks. I can see the back of his head, covered in light brown hair, and a small piece of Cynthia’s face. She’s looking up at him and nodding. Her facial expression is impossible to read from this distance.
I swallow as a deep sadness permeates my soul. This is the guy Cynthia should be with. He’s the right age. He understands her. He knows her as a friend, and plenty of strong and long-lasting relationships have been built on a foundation of friendship.
He’s young enough to not have made any huge mistakes in life. He’s not some damaged divorcee like me. He doesn’t have an ex-wife or a long history of hook-ups. He’s as ready as I once was to be a partner through Cynthia’s twenties.
Over in the car, Cynthia is nodding, but I can’t read her expression.
In a flash, my sadness evaporates and is replaced with white-hot rage.
She’s mine. She should be with me, not in some car with some idiot college guy who wouldn’t know how to make love to her properly even if he read every instruction manual on the shelf.
I don’t care if they’re just friends. I want Cynthia to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m hers. She belongs to me, and I belong to her. I want everyone else to know it. I want her family to know it, my friends to know it, and I especially want that guy sitting in the car with her to know it.
I clench my fists and take a few steadying breaths. It’s no big deal. She’s going to get out of the car soon. He’ll leave. Then I can go over there and talk to her.
Except she’s not getting out of the car. She’s talking to him now. They are having some sort of in-depth conversation. I don’t know what it’s about, but I’m willing to
