“Just another few weeks.”
“And the turtle races are tonight?”
“At six,” he confirmed.
“I have to change. I’m not going to a bar that races turtles in my work clothes.” I pulled off the freeway and began to navigate the roads toward my apartment. “Do you want to meet me there to save time?”
“I don’t mind being late,” he said softly.
“Where is the bar?”
“Redondo Beach.”
“Wesley, that’s like an hour from you.”
“Did you not want to go?” he asked, sounding wounded.
I tried to rein myself in, to remind myself of what it was like to be twenty. Life was different, the expectations were different, responsibilities were different. But it was hard to ignore the fact that I was pushing forty and a six o’clock turtle race in Manhattan Beach was going to have me out until well after ten. I hated the idea of it, but I found I loved the idea of seeing Wesley.
“I’ll text you my address. Meet me here and I’ll get changed. I’ll drive.”
“Did you just say you’ll text me?” Wesley laughed at me. “Am I rubbing off on you?”
“Do you want to go or not?”
“I do! I do.” His answer devolved into a fit of laughter as I approached the parking garage for my apartment building. “I’ll take an Uber so I don’t get lost. Can you drop me off at home after?”
“Yeah. That’s fine. Come up when you get here and we’ll go. I’ll text you the address when we hang up.”
“Yes, sir,” he teased.
My breath caught in my throat.
“Bye, Wesley.” I ended the call and made quick work of sending him my address before I could talk myself out of it.
I parked, jogged up the stairs to my apartment, and stripped out of the clothes that suddenly felt far too staunch and formal. I changed into a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt that I pushed up to my forearms so I didn’t overheat.
Stopping in front of the mirror to study myself, I messed a little with my hair, terribly aware of the wisps of gray that had started to come in around my ears. My facial hair hadn’t been left out, and if I let it grow too long, a huge swatch of silver colored its way up the left side of my jaw. I didn’t hate it, but still, rubbing my hand over the scruff, I worried about it all the same.
I needed to not get used to Wesley’s friendship. I was almost two decades older than him, and even if I had fleeting glimpses of bad ideas, he didn’t have to know about any of that. He wanted to be my friend, and I wanted him to be my friend. But once he got more settled in town, once he got a job and met people his own age, I knew the interest in me would falter. That was fair and it was reasonable, even if I didn’t like it.
I didn’t want to think about not liking it.
Not liking it was a horrible idea.
I’d spent thirty years convinced there was something wrong with me because I’d never found a woman who sparked any long-term interest in me, and then I’d kissed a man. I’d kissed a man whose name I didn’t know, but whose eyes I’d never forget, and it was like a puzzle piece slotted into place. Nothing had worked before because women weren’t where my interests lay. And instead of leaning into that new knowledge, I buried it and wondered if it would go away.
There was too much at stake. I didn’t have siblings or a big extended family. The only people I had besides Henry were my parents, and I knew they wouldn’t accept me with someone of the same gender. My mom had pinned so many of her own hopes and dreams on me and I couldn’t let her down. So I’d pretended the big secret wasn’t anything at all… and then I’d met Wesley.
A practical teenager who had no right having the eyes he had, who had no right looking at me like he saw me, even though it was very clear he didn’t even see himself. Wesley, who was effortless and fun and all of the things I’d always wanted to be, but never dared.
Oh.
That’s all it was.
I was having a mid-life crisis.
I could get past that.
