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“Oh, yeah,” she says with a wave. “But half the time, Milford is under blue-green algae warnings, and you can’t come out here. Or if you do, it’s in the middle of winter, and you can’t swim unless you want to plunge head-first into freezing water. And personally, I don’t like the cold.”
“I’m the opposite,” I tell her in a conspiratorial whisper. “But that’s just because I’m so big. I’m always hot. Winter is the only time I get chilly enough to feel comfortable in my own skin.”
Danielle looks away from the lake and makes eye contact. “Really?” Her eyes drift to my shoulders and down my body, taking in my size. “I didn’t realize.”
The waitress comes by to grab our drink orders. I catch her looking at young, beautiful Danielle and then at me. She keeps her conclusions to herself before wandering off to grab our water.
“Tell me about yourself,” Danielle asks as the waitress departs. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“A mechanic.” Becoming a teacher wasn’t my lifelong dream, I’ll admit. “I remember when I was four or five, my dad and I would tinker under this old beat-up truck every weekend. He couldn’t teach me much because I was young,” I grin, “but I’ll never forget righty-tighty, lefty-loosey.”
Danielle brings her elbows up onto the table and makes a rest for her head in her hands. She looks enthralled as she asks to hear more.
I tell her that I wanted to be a mechanic until I was thirteen. “I was sure if I was good with cars, my dad would come back one day.” I hate how idealistic I was; I hate that it never worked out how I thought it would. My father never came back; I never became a mechanic. “But then, when I was a teenager, I got really into cooking. I thought I would leave high school and head straight to Paris to go to culinary school. I would get a real world-class education in the heart of France.” Another dream that never materialized.
“What happened?” Danielle asks in the painful silence that follows my admission.
“Life,” I tell her with a shrug. “Or something like that.” I couldn’t afford to go to college; I could barely afford the $20 it cost to take my ACTs, not to mention all the application fees. I thought I’d spend my summers mowing lawns and cleaning pools to raise the money to go to France, but after the first year, I realized I wasn’t making enough money to pursue my dreams.
“But something interesting happened my sophomore year. We used to have to take a mandatory home economics class at MHS.” I couldn’t sew worth a damn. To this day, I can barely thread a needle. My hands are too big, and my fingers are too clumsy for the fine art of hemming pants and embroidering pillows. “When we got to the food section, though, I’d picked up so many tips from cooking shows and recipe books over the years that I became the star of the class. The teacher even let me teach others when she was busy some days.”
That was when I learned I had a passion for sharing knowledge with others. It was silly at the time. Teaching others about baking and making omelets didn’t feel like my life calling, but something about working toward a common goal made me feel good about myself. My mom was the one that suggested I become a teacher.
I gesture to the table in front of us, and the room filling up around us. “As you can see, I never made it to Paris. But I think I made a good life for myself anyway.”
We’re interrupted before Danielle can respond. The waitress drops off our drinks and takes our order. She keeps a weathered eye on my date the entire interaction and promises to come back soon. “I think she’s worried that you’ve been trafficked or something,” I whisper to Danielle as soon as the woman leaves.
“Yeah, she seems a little concerned, but I’m fine,” she shrugs as if that somehow solves all our problems. “It isn’t like I wasactuallytrafficked. If she has a problem, I’m sure she’ll confront me when I go to the bathroom or something.”
Or she’ll call the cops. But I don’t voice that fear. Technically, Danielle is eighteen. She’s an adult in the eyes of the law, and while they might look at me judgmentally, they wouldn’t be able to arrest me. The sticky part is when you consider my job and the fact that she’s my student, but I doubt the police are going to ask that pointed of a question.
Danielle changes the subject. “So why are you still single at forty?” She swirls her finger around the rim of her water glass, carefully not making eye contact. “If that’s okay to ask,” she adds quickly.
“You can ask me anything.” I would never lie to Danielle; I would never want to hurt her. “Honestly, I think I’ve been picky. I’ve been waiting for something special to come along.” I don’t know how to explain it, but I do the best I can. “I want thatcan’t eat, can’t sleepkind of love. I’ve seen so many of my friends settle over the years. Then a couple of kids later, they realize that they don’t want to be with the person they’re with, or that they never should have gotten married.”
The divorce rate among my friends is staggering. I don’t blame them. I’m proud that each of them could come to the conclusion that their happiness would be best found elsewhere. I think it’s better than staying in a lifeless marriage that isn’t fulfilling. That’s what my mother did until my father left. She became a different person after he was gone, but I don’t think she ever fully recovered.
“I’ve become an expert at going on dates and picking out the worst qualities in the woman I’m with,” I admit with an embarrassed blush. “Then I spend the entire date analyzing whether I can live the rest of my life with someone who has a weird laugh or refuses to eat vegetables. They’re little things,” I tell her sheepishly, “but for some reason or another, by the end of the date, I realize they aren’t things I want to sacrifice. I mean, I love cooking and eating vegetables. I love to hear the woman I’m with laugh. I can’t give those things up for an uncomfortable existence.”
Danielle’s finger speeds around the rim of her glass, going faster with each revolution. “What are my worst qualities?” She asks the second there’s a break in the conversation. “I’m sure I have plenty.” There’s a nervous smile on her face as if she’s afraid I’ll tell her what I think her worst quality is, and it won’t match up to what she thinks it is.
But it occurs to me that I haven’t thought about it. Besides her age and the fact that she’s my student, I haven’t taken the time to mull over what Danielle’s worst quality would be. We haven’t spent as much time together as I would like, but the same could be said about all those first dates that never materialized into a second. I judged them the moment we got together; I didn’t do that with Danielle.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I shrug. “I haven’t even thought about it.”
She purses her lips before telling me to come off it. “I’m immature, and you can’t take me to a bar,” Danielle insists.
“Women mature faster than men,” I tell her. “If I were an eighteen-year-old boy, you’d be more mature than me. Besides,” I grab my glass and take a sip, “if I want to drink, I’ve got buddies I can go out with. I don’t want to sour our memories with alcohol.Thisis pure,” I gesture at us, “and I don’t want to ruin it.”
Danielle reaches across the table to grab my hand. Hers is so dainty in my grasp, but I examine every curve and cut of her skin, memorizing it. “You’re too good for me.”
But I know the thoughts that I’ve had about Danielle. Dirty, disgusting thoughts. I mean every word about keeping what we have between us pure, but that’s only because I keep the filth to myself. “You deserve to be treated well, Dani. If a man ever treats you as anything less, leave him.”
It’s fatherly advice; I hear it as I say it. But I expect that one day Danielle is going to wake up from this fantasy and realize that she wants a younger man, one capable of bending over and touching his toes. My back cracks every time I stand up. My joints have started to hurt in the mornings. Hangovers last two, sometimes three days now that I’m forty. I can’t expect Danielle to put up with my aches and pains when she’s entering the best years of her life. I will be a fond memory when she’s older; I am not the man she’ll end up with. But I’ll enjoy her while she’s around.
I’ll love her as long as she’ll let me.
20
