I had been brought up in a very good way, from very good parents. I knew not to do drugs, or to steal, or to do anything terrible of the sort. And I knew most definitely that going for someone else’s boyfriend was wrong, wrong, wrong. And it had never been a problem. Sure, I didn’t date as much as I probably could have, but that never bothered me. I never felt the need to date, nor the pull of attraction that told me, “he’s the one. Go for him”.
That is, until I met Tom.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. You don’t tell a story and give away the ending, do you? No, certainly not. So here we go. I’ll start over.
“Michelle!” I cried, running towards my friend. She turned around, a huge smile nearly splitting her face. She opened her arms, and I flew into her petite frame, nearly knocking her over, giggling. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you!”
“I’m so happy you’re here to visit,” Michelle replied, pulling away to look at me. “You look fantastic. I’ve missed you.”
“Well, I’m here now, so there’ll be no more of this sad talk! I want to see everything! You live in London, for heavens sake! I want to see your flat, go to the best tea house, get some real pub food, you name it!”
Michelle considered this as we walked towards the baggage claim, where an English woman was speaking over the announcements, declaring where each flight’s baggage was coming in. “Your list of demands seems reasonable. And…there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Who is it?”
She smiled slyly, and I groaned.
“Oh, Mimi, not another boy!”
“This one is a keeper,” she protested. “Though you may not like him – he’s a bit older than me…”
“How much older?” I asked suspiciously, grasping my purple luggage and hoisting it off the track. I groaned with the weight of it. Not only did it have mass amounts of clothes in it, but it also held my absolute favorite books, the ones I couldn’t leave behind. There was about twenty in there. I was so distracted by the weight of my suitcase, I almost missed Michelle’s mumbled answer.
“Well…he’s 31.”
I dropped my suitcase on my foot. “Michelle Patterson! You have got to be kidding me!”
“You’ll really like him,” she pleaded with me, lifting the suitcase. She began walking away quickly, bag behind her, as if this would make me forget her statement. Silently I fumed. What was I going to do with her? My headstrong, stubborn friend was going to get herself in trouble with all of these men. Especially men eleven years older than her! I thought the eight year difference of her ex, Paul, was bad enough, but now this? “He’s so smart, and so witty. He’s almost like you!”
“Should I be flattered or creeped our you’re dating a male version of me?”
“Oh, definitely flattered.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I sighed. Michelle led me out to the street, where cars raced by quickly, dodging past one another in a manner that was hectic and seemed unsafe. Michelle seemed unconcerned as she loaded my things into her little white Fiat. I took the passenger side, cringing as Michelle jerked out in front of someone. “Still a terrible driver, I see. So tell me, how did you meet this man of yours? We can hardly call him a boy.”
