Page 35 of How to Date a Younger Man
After I’m cleaned up and dressed in a new pair of shorts, I curl onto my side and gather Layne in close. She wouldn’t let me touch her tonight, but she doesn’t stop me from holding her. It’s something, I guess. I close my eyes, feeling pretty damn certain that sleep will be impossible tonight.
11
* * *
LAYNE
Present day
As I walk into the small, cozy waiting room, the glowing aromatherapy machine in the corner puffs a stream of vapor out into the air. I can’t quite place the smell—something herbal and soothing with a little lavender in it, maybe—but it instantly puts my mind a little more at ease as I sit on the edge of one of the overstuffed armchairs along the perimeter of the room. A large painting of a sunset over the ocean hangs on the wall across from me, and I zone out, staring at the sweeping strokes of red and orange that fade into subtle pinks and yellows.
It’s only my fourth session with my new therapist, but I have to say, it feels like it’s working. Whatever that means in this context. Sure, I’m still stressed and unsure about my life, but so far, just having someone else to dump all my anxieties on has made my future feel a little more manageable.
Plus, I’m absolutely obsessed with how warm and comforting Dr. Benson’s whole office is, from the Himalayan salt lamp on a side table near the door, to the plush cream-colored couch, to the soothing artwork on the walls. It’s like everything is designed to make you feel at ease—which, come to think of it, it probably is.
The door to Dr. Benson’s office opens, and the sweet older lady pops her head out, her silver chin-length hair hanging loosely around her gently lined face, her tortoise-shell horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.
“Hi, Layne. It’s good to see you. Come on in.”
Adjusting my purse strap over my shoulder, I walk into her office, settling myself onto the couch as she takes her usual seat in the armchair across from me and reaches for the small notepad next to her.
“So, how are you doing today?” she asks with a smile, the lines around her mouth deepening.
“Oh, you know, I’m fine. Just the usual,” I say with a soft chuckle, crossing one leg over the other.
I’m still not sure why I insist on playing this game every week—the one where I say I’m fine and she presses me for more details. But after thirty-seven years of pretending everything’s fine, I’m not quite ready yet to spill my guts immediately upon seeing someone. Even if that someone is my therapist.
“Mm-hmm. And tell me more about the usual.” Dr. Benson cocks her head to the side, her pale blue eyes on mine.
I stare at her for a moment before sighing and pushing my fingers through my hair. “Well, things at work are as stressful as ever. I tried some of the prioritizing techniques you recommended last week, and they helped a little, but I still feel like I can’t quite get a handle on everything.”
She nods along as I speak, scribbling away on her notepad. “Okay, so you’re still struggling to feel in control at work. Is anything else bothering you? The usual sounds . . . ominous.” She smiles gently.
“I mean, there’s also the whole thirty-seven and still single as fuck thing. Sorry for cursing,” I quickly add, lowering my gaze to the carpet. Classy, Anderson.
“You don’t need to apologize. Swear words can help us relieve stress. If letting out a hearty fuck now and then makes you feel better, then by all means, let it out.”
I can’t help but giggle, my eyebrows shooting straight up to my hairline. Never in my life did I think I’d hear my sixty-five-year-old therapist say the phrase “hearty fuck,” let alone encourage me to use it too.
“All righty then, I’ll keep that in mind.” I grin at her.
“Where do you think your anxiety about being single at your age comes from?” she asks after a slight pause, her eyes trained on the notepad as she finishes whatever it is she’s writing.
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I just always thought I’d be settled down with kids by now. Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted a family of my own. And now I’m at that age, where every day that passes and I’m still single, the further and further away I get from making that dream a reality.”
“Have you considered raising a child on your own? Plenty of women your age do. There’s not nearly the same stigma about it as there once was.”
“Being a single mom was never something I wanted for myself. I can barely manage my work-life balance as it is. Besides, I already bought my dream home for myself instead of waiting around for Mr. Right. Don’t get me wrong, my house is amazing, and I don’t regret buying it for a second. But being in that space alone, no matter how perfect it might be, can make bad days worse sometimes, you know?”
