Thirty-five and Single

She’s right. Dating is hard. I’d liked the last guy, and even though I don’t want to give up, I do feel a little gun-shy.

“Okay, get dressed, sexy lady. And I do mean sexy,” she says.

“I thought I wasn’t going to hook up.”

“No, but dressing like a handmaiden isn’t going to get you laid in the future.”

I squint at her. “When have I dressed like that?”

She shoos me away.

“Hurry, you’re meeting him in an hour.”

Where is Amelia when I need her? She’s the ying to Ella’s yang. But there is no time to call my big sister. If I don’t choose an outfit, Ella will come in and choose one for me. I’m too drained to fight her.

I go for a business look. Based on his message to me, my date is a professional who’s meeting me for dinner after work. The dress I choose is smart, one that I’d used on interviews to feel smart. I wear heels even though I’m walking a couple of blocks to M Street for the restaurant I, or rather Ella, had agreed to.

Ella does my makeup and, I have to admit, I look almost pretty. I hesitate at the door and Ella calls after me. I ignore her and check the hall for Joel.

It’s telling that I don’t want him to see me. He’ll know I’m dressed up for a date, and suddenly that bothers me more than I want to admit.

Why does it have to be so wrong for me to want a younger man? Men do it all the time, like dating women who could be their daughters or granddaughters. Why is there always a double standard when women behave the same? We are given titles like cougar and slut, which have been ingrained so deep, it’s the butt of every joke about women in those roles.

“Looking for your cub.”

I turn to glare at my sister, who shrugs.

“If you want to be a cougar, own it,” she says.

“Why do I have to be a cougar just because I like Joel?” I ask, clenching my hands into fists at my sides.

“I’m only saying what you’re thinking. Love is love to me as long as that person is legal. You’re the one with hang-ups.”

“I don’t have a hang-up. He deserves someone younger and prettier than me.”

I’m mid-rant when I notice my sister isn’t looking at me, but past me. I feel sick because even as I turn, I know who I’ll see.

“Joel,” I say, heat staining my cheeks.

He nods appreciatively. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.”

“Have a good time,” he says before walking away.

I have no idea how much he heard, but he guessed correctly that I was going out. I give my sister a sad smile before I leave for my date. She’s planning to hang around a little bit in case I need her, which I hope I don’t.

I’m so distracted dissecting Joel’s facial expression and words, I walk straight into a solid chest. Strong arms grab hold to steady me.

“Hey,” he says.

His voice is rich like the expensive looking suit he wears.

I step back out of his hold.

“Thanks,” I say, embarrassed for the second time today.

I hope my date goes better.

“Something tells me I’m going to be shut down, but can I take you out some time?”

He’s classically handsome with chiseled features and an alluring smile.

“I’m—”

“In a relationship,” he finishes.

“No. I’m actually headed out for a date.”

I find myself smiling until I remember Joel.

“Then maybe there’s still a chance. If it doesn’t work out with him, you can give me a call.”

I’m at a loss of how to handle the situation. My mind is still confused over Joel and nervous about my date. I find myself exchanging contact info with him for no other reason than I have to do something, so I can let go of Joel in my head.

“I’d say have a good night, but that wouldn’t work out for me. Instead,” he says, taking my hand and placing a quick kiss on my knuckles, “I hope to see you again, Olivia.”

Chapter Fourteen

Joel

“Bro,” my brother says, barging through the door, though I hadn’t invited him in.

He’s the oldest of the three of us and sees himself as the de facto leader.

“What are you doing here?”

I don’t hate him, but both of my brothers side with our parents and not me.

“Mom and Dad are having their annual thing,” he says.

Reluctantly, I close the door and not because I welcome the conversation, but rather don’t want my neighbors in on it. He walks around the place, studying my art as if he’s interested, while I fold my arms across my chest and wait.

“Yeah and?” I ask.

The annual picnic at my parents’ lake house is something that happens every year. I don’t need the reminder. I’m keenly aware of every one of them I’d missed after our father declared me not a part of the family anymore.