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“How old is she?” Mom asks.
Most parents would see right through this “friend” ruse immediately. I think Mom might, too, if her head was clear, and she wasn’t thinking about her next hit. But with her mind foggy from the drugs, she might be buying this.
“My age,” I say. “Well… twenty.”
“And how old is he?”
“Forty,” I tell her.
Mom laughs, rolling her eyes. “Of course. You said half her age.” She massages her forehead like the basic math hurts. “Do they have anything in common?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. They haven’t spoken much. They’ve just been texting, but my friend says she wants to take things to the next level.”
“She wants to go on a date?”
“No, I mean, yes, she does. She’d love to go on a date with him, but they’re not ready to meet in person yet.”
Mom massages her forehead again. “I’m sorry, Katy. I think I’m confused. She wants to go on a date, but they’re not ready to meet in person yet? If she wants to go on a date, surely that means she’s ready.”
“Yeah, she is,” I say, though I’m unsure if it’s true. I’m uncertain if I have what it takes to keep all this hunger and need trapped inside when we’re face to face.
“So he’s twice her age and refusing to meet with her in person,” Mom says.
“Not refusing,” I mutter.
“You said your friend wants to take things to the next level. If you didn’t mean your friend is ready to meet, then what did you mean?”
“She wants to, uh…” Am I seriously having this conversation? “Get steamy. Over text.” I can’t believe I just said that.
“Steamy,” Mom repeats. “Meaning sexual?”
“Y-yeah.”
Mom shakes her head. She’s still got that cloudy, not-really-with-it look in her eyes, but it seems more distant now. It seems like she’s almost seeing through my flimsy story. “I think your friend should be very careful,” Mom says. “Men can be wonderful, like your father. They can be teammates as well as soulmates, but men will use women, too, if given the chance. They’ll use them like a junkie uses a needle and throw them away just as easily.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That’s what I told her. She shouldn’t do anything until they’ve met in person.”
“Sound advice,” Mom says, then slumps back in her chair, wrapping her arms around herself. “Do you want mine, Katy?” She nods at her food.
“You should eat,” I tell her.
“Should, should, should,” she repeats, our conversation already forgotten.
But I’ll remember what she said. I’ll be careful, but the thing is, even as I tell myself this, I know it’s not true. I know that, if given the chance, I will throw myself into the steaminess with Sam.
Maybe I need a second opinion. After Mom excuses herself, I go and find Eli in his bedroom. I hear him humming through his door, talking in frantic, staccato bursts. “What sort of man… never better than… am I a devil, then? A devil?” When I knock, he yells, “Yes?”
“Can I come in?” I ask.
When he says I can, I push the door open. He’s sitting at the desk, his plate clean, tapping his fingers against his cane. “Need some mindful reconfiguration, young’un, is that it?”
“I need to talk about something,” I tell him.
He flashes his teeth. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”
Despite the angst trying to throttle me, I can laugh at this. Sitting in the spare chair, I give him the same story I told Mom about my friend and wanting to take things to another level.
As I talk, it’s like I’m watching myself, this young woman and this old man, and I can’t help but think she should have somebody else to talk to. A friend her own age, but the past is the past. Maybe I can have some genuine connection in the future.
“She wants to fire the cannon before shaking his hand, so to speak, correct?” Eli says, leaning forward.
“Uh, yeah,” I mutter, hoping the cannon is metaphorical.
“But her heart’s quaking in anticipation of a thunderclap from her Romeo.”
“She’s worried he’s going to use her, yeah. That it’s all a trick to get what he wants, and she’s worried she will make a fool of herself.”
“Ah, but that’s the thing, Katy.” Eli grins, seeming suddenly lucid. “There’s only one fool here, and it’s not you, my dear.”
“I’m not talking about m—”
“Whatever you choose,” he cuts in. “I know it’ll be the truest course you could’ve traveled because it was you who set sail, and you’re the smartest person I know.”
“Eli, I’m not talking about me.”
He smiles wryly. I expect him to make another lucid comment, but then he grips his cane in both hands and stares at me with the most heartbreaking look. I don’t have to ask to know he’s forgotten what we were just talking about.
“Remind an old acorn which wind this conversation was sailing upon, will you?”
