I felt like a damn chauffeur. That's the fate of a mom with a 13-year-old daughter, and a very social one at that. After dropping Rachael off at her best friend's house for a sleepover, I decided to drop into the local Subway for a six-inch sub. For a second I considered the convenience of the drive-through at Burger King – but a tuna sub was just too tempting. It meant that I would have to get out of the car at a time when I wasn't exactly presentable.
Having worked in the garden half the day, I took a long hot shower and then slipped into my bedclothes ... a lime camisole and some gray athletic shorts. OK, not that it looked like pajamas. Perhaps the attire was a sort of a last ditch effort on my part to feel attractive. At 45, the body was showing signs of aging. But the shorts showed off the long, slender legs on my tall frame. And the tight cami made my chest appear quite appealing. Admittedly, I had some respectable cleavage. The camisole claimed to have a built in bra; in reality it was just another piece of fabric in the bra area. Clearly this wasn't the kind of clothing I would wear around town, but it made me feel attractive in the safety of my home.
I could rationalize slipping into Subway for a few minutes, particularly when evening was starting to descend.
When I arrived at the parking lot, I noticed that Subway was practically vacant. The only customers in the store were three high school girls, huddled up in a booth. The guy behind the counter also appeared to be about the same age; he appeared a bit bookish. I could handle that.
Without a line, I immediately began to place my order. Preoccupied, I neglected to notice that the door had been opened and that there was another customer behind me. I was taken off-guard completely when a familiar voice behind me asked, "Harris?"
I knew that voice very well. Turning around and smiling shyly, I replied, "Donovan ... how are you?"
"Harris" ... "Donovan" ... we tended to use each other's last names more often than not. That was not to imply that our relationship was the slightest bit formal. To the contrary, actually. Use of the last names was a sign of affection.
Tom Donovan and I are both accountants working for the same property management company, but in different parts of town. I actually don't remember much about our first meeting. In a sea of property managers at a cocktail party, I was happy to meet another bean counter. I remember quizzing him on depreciation, of all things. I mentioned that I had designed a spreadsheet that might be helpful. He seemed interested, so we exchanged business cards. It's not like there was an instant attraction; had it not been for the spreadsheet we would likely have forgotten about each other.
The following Monday I emailed him. He politely thanked me for the attachment. A few weeks later, I received an email from Tom, this time an audit question. After a few exchanges on the topic, we started to discuss our personal lives. Slowly, a friendship emerged. Rarely does a day go by these days when we don't exchange an email or chat on the phone. We tend to get off topic ... sometimes exchanging emails over a period of several hours. We've learned to trust each other with many confidences. Since the cocktail party we'd met perhaps a half-dozen times, all under the name of business. Our relationship was perhaps the most intimate I've had in my life, and yet it was strictly platonic.
Tom and I are both in committed relationships, although neither of us happy with our current arrangement. I'm married to man who has become focused – no, "obsessed" – with his career. It's not that I don't appreciate our 4,200 square foot house and the late model cars. What Mitchell doesn't understand is that I would live in a shack if only he would talk to me like he did when we were first married. But his values have changed. Mitchell says he'll give me my walking papers, and I thought about it. But until Rachael is out of high school, I think it would be best to stay together and pretend to have a normal family life.
As for Tom, he had been dating a girl who he claimed was largely "vacant"; he claimed they were on the verge of breaking up. Tom is quite a bit younger that I am. OK, he's 8 years, 4 months, and 6 days younger. He's 36 years old. Christ, what am I thinking?
And yet, I found myself inexplicably drawn to him. He's charming, but in a way that's more sincere than smarmy. Tom always seems to have a positive outlook – and keeps me laughing. The more I got to know Tom on the inside, the more I grew to appreciate the Tom on the outside. At first I thought he was a bit overweight, but now I see a man who's husky, but in a muscular way. And initially I overlooked his stunning sapphire eyes that light up mischievously when he smiles. And this may sound silly, but I like the way his forehead furrows when he's deep in thought.
And now, I happened to run into Tom in a non-work environment ... not dressed up in formal wear at the country club restaurant, as I had fantasized, but rather in a brightly lit sub shop, looking like a teenager wannabe.
"Dressed a bit casually?" Tom commented, checking me out.
"If I knew I'd be bumping into you, I would have worn goth," I joked. "It's a good thing you don't have a camera. These sandals alone could get me nominated for "What Not to Wear."
Tom reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. "Who says I don't have a camera?" he said with a smile. He opened the phone and showed me the lens of a camera.
"Donovan ... you wouldn't dare!" From across the counter, the attendant asked, "What would you like on your tuna sub, ma'am?" A teenage girl emerged from the back and started assisting Tom.
Once I made it to the cash register, Tom implored, "Wait up for me, will ya?" I smiled shyly and waited for him off to the side. "If you have a few minutes," Tom continued, "why don't we eat together?"
It didn't take much to talk me into that. Despite my cool exterior, I seize every opportunity to chat with Tom.
"Sure," I replied, "What's say we sit at those picnic tables outside?"
Tom agreed, much to my relief. Although I wasn't entirely disappointed that Tom got to see me dressed "unprofessionally," I would feel better in a darker area, where the signs of my aging body might not be as evident. As it turns out, the light by the picnic tables was burnt out. The last bit of sunlight was fading fast, but our eyes quickly acclimated. I found myself eating very slowly, only to make our time linger. At one point I had noticed the stars appearing in the night sky. "Look, Orion's belt", I said, pointing practically overhead. My eyes remained fixed on the sky for a few seconds, trying to make out other constellations. When I looked back, I had noticed that Tom's eyes were planted firmly on my chest. When he realized that I was looking in his direction, he quickly focused on my face and smiled.
I do believe that I caught the gentleman leering at me
, I thought to myself.
Perhaps
