Big Cherry Holler - Adriana Trigiani [33]
“Why? I wasn’t going to date men in Big Stone Gap.”
“Good point.”
“And we had each other.”
“Yes, we did.” Boy, did we have each other. For so many years, that was all I needed. Why does my single past seem so perfect now, so uncomplicated? Was it? “When did you know?”
“I guess I knew all my life. But I wasn’t out all my life. I guess I thought I was a loner, and that I would never become attached to anyone because I didn’t need it. I have a creative life, and it makes me whole. I wasn’t unhappy. I was and am very fulfilled. I never saw that people in couples were very happy, so I assumed it wasn’t for me. And when I met you, we had such a mind meld.”
“Yes, we did.”
“You never made me feel bad about being a loner. You were one too.”
“I know. It explains a lot, though.”
“Sure. Everything. It was that missing piece of information that made all the facts fall into place. I was fighting my instinct to be who I was—that’s always a bad idea.”
“Do you have someone special in your life now?”
“I did. A biochemist who was at UT on a grant, studying some kind of cells to cure some kind of something. He was terrific, but he lives in Boston, and I’m not moving, so it didn’t work out.”
“I would have loved to have met him.” And I mean that. We sit quietly for a few minutes, but I’m never troubled by long silences when I’m with Theodore. That’s just our rhythm.
“By the way, you didn’t turn me gay.”
“I like to blame myself for everything from laundry mistakes to the failure of world peace, but I won’t take on that I turned you gay.” I pat his hand.
“Good.”
“It’s a good thing you figured it out while you’re still young.”
“Yep. I figured it out in the nick of time.”
“Maybe that’s what I’m scared of. I feel like my life is ice in my hands. It’s going by so fast, and I’m not any smarter. I don’t have that peace that I read about in magazines. I’m old enough to be wise, and I’m not. I don’t want to get old, though. I feel like I’ve never been young. Maybe I thought love was going to make me young.”
“Before we go down this road,” Theodore says, “let me say that aging is worst for two groups: women and gay men. Straight men are told they’re potent all their lives, they can be ninety and have kids, and so on. I know what you mean about feeling old and stupid. I’m not a professional psychologist, so don’t hold me to any of this, but I think what’s going on here, apart from your communication problems with your husband and your grief for your son, is even more personal. It’s about you. You woke up one day and realized that you were halfway through. You’re middle-aged.”
“I am not! Fifty is middle-aged.”
“Okay, now we’re squabbling about numbers. Here’s the fact of the matter: there’s a lot behind you. You’ve got some miles on you now. You’re not a sweet young thing anymore.”
“I was never a sweet young thing! And don’t think I don’t resent that!”
“Stop whining. Let me finish. Getting older is tough. It’s depressing. But it happens to all of us. Look at me. I’m lifting barbells sumo wrestlers won’t touch because I want pecs of steel, believing that muscles will hold up my youth like those pillars hold up the Acropolis. Well, they don’t. The only thing you can do is accept it. Do the best you can. But accept it.”
“Am I that shallow?”
“We’re all shallow. But you’re luckier than most. You don’t really look forty-whatever-you-are. You can be one of those timeless beauties with the good skin. You can wear cardigan sweaters and a little lipstick, and no one will know if you’re thirty or sixty. Okay?”
“I feel so stupid.” I swing my legs sideways in the booth and sink down.
“Vanity will do that to you.”
“I am vain, aren’t I?”
“And a little paranoid. You had to take a three-and-a-half-hour bus ride to have me tell you that your husband is not having an affair. Look at yourself. You’re letting one woman in tight jeans derail your entire life. You have