Libby SommerHe’s blonde, his hair in a Man Bob. I look up at his dreamy blue eyes and he invites me in for a toastie. The sun is lowering behind his bedsit. The glare is startling my eyes through the window, and I’m frowning, knowing that my wrinkles are darkening into crevices.
He pulls the blind down halfway to soften the light.
‘Does that help?’ he asks.
The first time I came here he said he worried I’d be put off. ‘As long as it isn’t dirty or smelly,’ I’d said. ‘But your place is so much nicer and bigger than mine,’ he’d laughed. We hugged each other with relief when I gave him the thumbs up.
I haven’t told him my age yet. It’s a cliché: the older woman and the younger man—the much younger man. He’d said he can’t tell people’s ages but he knows I’m older. ‘A lot older,’ I’d said. ‘How much older?’ But I’m not ready yet for full disclosure. And, anyway, how will my grown-up children react? And what about him? Will he be judged by family and friends?
We eat our cheese-and-tomato toasties sitting on his bed.
‘I can’t believe I’ve got a girlfriend and she’s here at my place,’ he says, his face lit with excitement.
‘How come?’
‘Because I’ve been alone for such a long time.’
‘I still don’t understand why you haven’t had a partner for so many years.’
‘I told you. I’m an introvert.’
I smile and nod. ‘Yes. Socially awkward.’
He stands up, pulls off his t-shirt. His chest is smooth, flawless and hairless. He’s broad across the shoulders and has large hard biceps. His is still a boy’s face though—like someone who has been waiting for his life to start.
‘What are you looking at?’ he asks. ‘Looking at your handsome boyfriend?’
‘I feel so uncomfortable when it’s the other way around, when you’re watching me.’
He takes my hand. ‘But you know I love looking at you.’
‘And you know how self-conscious I am when you won’t look away.’
He leans back against the pillows. ‘I didn’t think I’d meet a woman who didn’t like being told she’s beautiful.’
Later, much later, when he dresses in his walking gear—shorts and a singlet top—he says he’s going for a jog before it gets dark. I pick up my watch and necklace and move towards the door.
He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me. ‘You’re leaving me already?’
‘Don’t make me feel guilty.’
‘Sorry,’ he apologises.
The rain starts up as I reverse my car out of his laneway. I turn on the windscreen wipers and the headlights. It’s not dark yet but it’s hard to see the way ahead. The thing is, can we survive how different we are? Or are our differences, in fact, what we love most about each other? We’ve agreed that more than anything, we want to enjoy ourselves as a unique couple and to savour the small moments.
Crossing the bridge to the other side of the city I stop at the park near my house and walk along the path by the tennis courts to breathe in the newly-cleansed air. The rain is coming down hard as I continue towards the rainforest of trees. I have to peer through the thick grey but know all I need to do is let the rest of the world fade away.
