Page 82 of A Much Younger Man
“Why don’t you go on. I’ll take care of the kittens.”
“You sure?” He didn’t glance my way.
“I’ve got it.” I wanted to say more, but it didn’t seem like I’d say the right thing.
“Okay, then. Thanks for the coffee.” He started in the opposite direction, then turned. “Hey. If you want to come see me, I’ll play your favorite song, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’”
I tried to laugh, to make things light between us again. “I just might.”
My throat tightened as I watched him walk away. Guilt gnawed at my conscience. I even had the urge to chase after him and apologize, but the original problem remained: I didn’t want people to see me as a guy who chased after men Beck’s age.
Until I could get over my discomfort, I had no business leading him on, not just in public.
I had to either pull my head out of my ass or walk away.
* * *
Inside the clinic,nothing stirred. No one had stayed overnight, so you could hear a pin drop. It was rare that I spent any time there absolutely alone. Between the techs, Lena, the clients, and their pets, there was rarely ever a dull moment, but now…it was too quiet.
I mixed formula and put it into tiny bottles then took the kittens from the cage where we’d stashed them, along with water and a blanket to curl up in. They were growing so fast. One—Rose, maybe—tried to bite me with her sharp little teeth. She clung to the fabric of my shirt with tiny claws.
“Look at you, kitty. You’re a fierce one, aren’t you? You’re a survivor.”
She drank her milk hungrily and eliminated on cue. I moved on to the next one and the next until they were all done and ready to sleep.
My phone rang as I was closing up shop.
“Mother.” I was still none too happy with her just then.
“I just got off the phone with Remmy. We’re both very disappointed you didn’t get on with Dylan.”
“Mother.Listen to me. Don’t set me up. I can find men on my own.”
“But you don’t. You’re nearing forty, and you live with a bird.”
“Because Ilikemy bird.” I tried not to raise my voice. “I’m happy living alone. Why must you persist in trying to set me up when I keep telling you I’mhappy the way I am.”
“Because I don’t believe you.” She sniffed. “You’re a social creature. You’re nurturing. You have so much to offer a partner, and if you could only find someone—”
“Okay. What if I did find someone, and they were totally unsuitable?”
After a brief pause, she said, “What do you mean, unsuitable?”
“What if I wanted someone who was already married, or half my age, or from Peru?”
That was neatly buried.
“Do you?”
“No,” I lied. “But how fast would you abandon your crusade to pair me off if you didn’t like my choice?”
“Linden, who is this unsuitable person?”I should have known.“Are you involved with him already?”
“No,” I lied again. “But you keep matching me up with the same kind of man. Older, successful, connected, metrosexual.”
“And what’s wrong with that, I ask? You could be describing yourself.”
She was right. “Maybe I’m not looking to date myself, Mother.”
