Page 84 of A Much Younger Man
“I’ll tell him. Bye.”
The call disconnected, and I was left holding my phone between sweaty palms.
My parents were coming.
On the one hand, I really did adore them. We’d always been a tight knit family, and I’d only grown more fond of them as they’d gotten older.
My father wasn’t around much when I was a kid, but now he made Mom and me feel like we were the most important part of his life. And I had learned to use humor to deal with frustration from my mom.
I knew they wouldn’t be around forever, and I wanted to enjoy their company—frustrating as it could be—while I could.
Obviously, I’d raised my mother’s suspicions that something unexpected was going on with me. Did I dare talk to her about Beck, even indirectly? About how my feelings for Beck were developing into something more than friendship and how confused I was by those feelings?
From the beginning, I’d made the same assumptions about relationships Mom did—that I should stick with men from the same walk of life, at the same stage in their evolution, with the same tastes, the same interests, the same likes and dislikes as mine.
My brain told me real romantic partnerships ought to be equal. That, as in my parents’ case, equality was the way to mutual admiration and affection and happiness.
But my heart…said something entirely different.
My heart wanted someone to nurture. To take care of. To bathe and even hand-feed. Because despite all my misgivings, taking care of Beck was the most natural expression of love I’d ever known.
My brain said it was wrong—maybe even a little weird—but my heart wanted Beck.
I no longer knew which I should listen to.
