The Rules of Dating a Younger Man

“You have no idea how many faces are going to light up when they see these, Mrs. Jones.”

“Please, call me Alex.”

After I left the renovation site on Sunday, rather than heading straight home, I’d stopped over at Memorial Cancer Center, the hospital the latest Ryan’s House would support, to drop off a few of the newest electronic gaming consoles and some games. I’d read an article in the Seneca Falls paper that said donations were down due to the economy. It had mentioned that the pediatric wards had outdated gaming systems, so I’d decided to do something about it.

“If you have time,” Liz, the social worker, said, “you’re welcome to come with me up to the floor to deliver these. The kids are usually gathered in the rec room before dinner. Donors should get to see the impact they make when they can.”

“I’d love that.”

“You’ll just have to wear a mask and not touch anything. Many of our patients have weakened immune systems from treatment.”

“Oh, of course.”

I followed Liz up to the fourth-floor pediatric oncology unit. We stopped at the nurses’ station to let them know we’d come bearing gifts, and then headed down to the patient recreation room.

After my husband was diagnosed, I’d spent a lot of time around cancer patients, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the heartache I felt walking into a room full of sick children. Many had bald heads and sallow skin, and the majority were hooked up to IV poles with multiple bags hanging. The room started to sway back and forth, and my chest felt like an elephant had parked his ass on it. “God,” I mumbled.

“I know.” Liz patted me on the back as we stood just inside the doorway. “But hang in there. I promise you’re going to feel better in a few minutes. These kids aren’t just what we see. They’re resilient and inspiring. Watch.” Liz walked to the center of the room and smiled. “Hello, everyone! Who remembers my name?”

A boy who was probably about eight raised a hand. “You’re Lizzle the Schizzle.”

Liz chuckled. “That’s Little Ray. He gives everyone a rapper name.”

The kid looked over at me. “What’s your name?”

“Alex.”

He gave me a thumbs up. “A-dog.”

I smiled. “I like it.”

“He calls Dr. Artemis, our chief who never smiles, MC Remission. I crack up every time.”

The heaviness in my chest seemed to float away over the next half hour. Liz had said the new gaming consoles would light up faces, but they did more than that. They made my spirit soar. The kids ripped open the boxes and hooked up the equipment in less than five minutes. After, we watched them try out all the new games. By the time Liz said she needed to get back downstairs, I’d decided I’d be making the same delivery to my local hospital when I got home.

We said goodbye to everyone and started down the hall side by side. Halfway to the elevator, I heard a familiar voice. At first, I’d thought I’d imagined it. But when I heard it a second time, I stopped and looked around. Inside a small visiting room to my left, a little boy in a gown sat on a couch between his parents. A man dressed in paper scrubs, a surgical cap, and a mask stood in front of them, holding a large box. The only thing I could see were his green eyes, but that’s all it took to know it was Brayden.

Liz pointed to the man behind the glass window. “That’s Brayden from Ryan’s House.”

“I know. We’ve…met.”

“That’s right. I forgot you said you’re working on one of their projects.”

“Why is he dressed like that?”

“It’s required when a patient is under protective isolation. Unfortunately, it’s necessary when someone is severely immunosuppressed. Only parents and members of the treatment team are permitted to visit, and they have to take every precaution.”

“But…” I was about to ask how Brayden fit into that category when the reason became clear. Brayden set down the box in his hands and took the top off. When he reached inside and pulled something out, the little boy’s eyes flared wide. He jumped out of his seat with a giant smile. I hadn’t noticed the boy was missing an arm—not until I saw the prosthetic one. And it wasn’t just any prosthetic. This one was something out of a Marvel comic book. The entire muscular arm was painted glossy red, and black web lines ran up the forearm. A 3D spider embellished the top of the hand, and the knuckles of the fingers were bright blue. I wasn’t into superheroes, but even I could appreciate how awesome this Spider-Man arm was. My heart melted as I looked through the glass.

Liz interrupted my staring. “Do you mind if we get going? I have to meet a family downstairs in a few minutes.”

“Oh. Yes, I’m sorry. Of course.” I stole one last look before walking the rest of the way to the elevator. Brayden might’ve been out of sight, but it was going to take a long time to put what I’d just seen out of my mind.

***

Back in Connecticut the following Monday morning, Wells, my best friend and partner, walked into a treatment room while I was looking at myself in the mirror.

“Morning, Kitten,” he said.

I pulled the skin on my face taut on both sides of my eyes. “Should I get Botox? Or maybe filler?”

He came up behind me and looked at my reflection. “Yes.”

My face fell. “Thanks.”

“What? Don’t ask my opinion if you don’t want it. You’re gorgeous, but you can’t stop Mother Nature without a syringe, sweetheart.”

I sighed. “Getting old sucks.”

Wells took a seat on the stool we used during treatments and spun around. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

“You’ve never once considered injections. You’re one of the few women I know who actually likes her appearance as is and has natural confidence. So there’s something going on if you’re suddenly considering joining the frozen-face fan club, like me.” He pointed to a cabinet and started taking off his shirt. “We have a half hour before either of us has a patient. Can you do a touch up under my pits? I’m starting to sweat again.”

Unlike me, Wells used every service we had, including injections for hyperhidrosis—excessive underarm sweating.

I shook my head, yet reached for a vial of Botox and gloves. “You know sweating is natural.”

“You say natural like it’s some prize. You know what’s natural? A banana. You know what happens when it sits around too long? It rots and shrivels up. You know what doesn’t shrivel? Plastic. It sticks around for a thousand years. I want to be plastic.”

I chuckled. “Lift your arm, crazy man.”

Wells and I caught up while I injected poison into his underarms. He told me about a horrible date he’d had this weekend, and I told him about my time at Ryan’s House.

“Are there a lot of hot, sweaty construction workers at this place? Maybe I should come with you next time.”

My mind went to one man I knew I’d like to see sweaty. “Can I ask you something and you won’t interrogate me about why I’m asking?”

“Sure, honey, let’s pretend that’s possible.”

“Am I too old to go out with a thirty-one-year-old?”

“Absolutely not. I went out with a twenty-four-year-old last weekend.”

“You did?”

Wells nodded. “His name was Cash. He had washboard abs and told me his life goal was to meet Scott Disick.”

“Who?”

“Oh Jesus. You might be too old to date someone in their fifties, Grandma.”

“Great.”

“Seriously, though, who’s the guy? Because I don’t like him already if he’s making you feel this insecure.”

I sighed. “It’s not Brayden making me feel this way. That’s all on me.”

“Brayden, huh? Cute name. Tell me more.”

I finished the last injection and dropped the needle into the red box hanging on the wall. “He’s the guy who founded the charity I’m working at.”

Wells wiggled his brows. “I like givers.”

I laughed. “He’s a super nice guy. Not to mention, he’s gorgeous, and we seem to have a lot in common.”

“So the only problem is that he’s younger than you?”

“He’s a lot younger than me.”

“You said thirty-one. That’s not even a decade.”

“I know. But he’s almost the same age as Caitlin. And he’s never been married and will want a family someday. So it’s more than an age difference. It’s where we are in life.”

Wells sat up and tugged his shirt back on. “I thought you said you weren’t even sure if you would ever want to get married again. Since when are you shopping for another husband?”

“I’m not, but…”

“But what? You do know you can just have a good time with someone, right? You don’t need to map out a ten-year plan.”

“I know.”

“Why does an age gap bother you now, anyway? You weren’t concerned that Richard was seventeen years older than you.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because…I…”

Wells grinned. “Good answer.”

“Shut up.”

He smiled. “Seriously, Alex, thirty-one is not too young for you. Especially if the guy has his shit together and runs a charity. Even if you think he doesn’t have long-term potential because he wants to have kids and you don’t, there’s no reason you can’t enjoy him short term. Where does this guy live?”

“Manhattan.”

“How long does this renovation project you’re doing take?”

“About three months.”

“Then you have an expiration date anyway.” He shrugged. “Sounds like a fling made in heaven, if you ask me.”

“I guess…”

“Stop overthinking it and just have fun for a change.”

“You say that like it’s simple.”

Wells stood and kissed my forehead. “It is, pumpkin. Just raise your arms and enjoy the roller coaster of life.”

A little while later, I finished my first appointment and went to catch up on some paperwork and mail in my office. When I was done, I somehow wound up on the Ryan’s House website. I clicked around for a bit, looking at photos from all the projects they’d done, and then went to the About Us tab. A photo of five young guys standing with their arms around each other’s shoulders popped up. I recognized Brayden first, before realizing I’d met most of the other guys, too. They were his friends Holden, Colby, and Owen. I assumed the one who didn’t look familiar was Ryan. They were probably only late teens or early twenties, all of them different from each other, yet each very handsome. I imagined that crew of five had made a lot of heads turn when they went out together. Underneath was a story about Ryan, and then a bio of each of the guys, who were apparently all on the Ryan’s House Board of Directors. I read through everything once, but went back for a second read of Brayden’s bio.

Brayden Foster is the founder and chief executive officer of Ryan’s House. He holds both a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in mechanical engineering from the University of Pennsylvania. At just twenty-three, he received his first patent for a revolutionary artificial limb joint, which is currently licensed to the world’s biggest prosthetic companies. Brayden founded Ryan’s House to honor his childhood best friend, Ryan Ellison, who passed away from leukemia. Brayden’s passions include developing artificial limbs that look like action heroes’, skiing, kick boxing, traveling, ant farming, and knitting.

I chuckled to myself at those last two hobbies. Ant farming was odd, but it didn’t give me the visual the other did—Brayden sitting on a rocker with a giant ball of yarn and knitting needles. Maybe he wasn’t too young for me after all. Underneath was a giant red donate button. My eyes shifted to the check sitting to the right of my keyboard—my husband’s old partners sent him a small percentage of the practice’s profits each quarter. The payments were part of their partnership agreement and would continue for ten full years after his death. I’d been mailing them to Caitlin whenever they came in, but last quarter she’d told me not to send them anymore. Instead, she wanted me to donate the money since she was doing well enough on her own. My eyes shifted back to the donate button on the screen. The foundation did support cancer patients, and I was certain Ryan’s House was a charity my husband would have really liked. So I figured why not? and typed in the exact amount of the check. The screen then prompted me to enter information for a tax receipt, including name, telephone number, and email. I did so, and after another ten minutes, I finally forced myself away from the photo of Brayden and shut my laptop. As I did, my phone buzzed with an incoming text, though it wasn’t from a number I knew. I swiped to open the message:

Unknown: $11,842.88? I can’t wait almost a week to ask. Do you have an aversion to round numbers?

A second text came in before I finished reading the first.

Unknown: This is Brayden, by the way. Stole your number from the donor information that came in.

I smiled so wide, it felt like my face might crack.

Alex: Hi! I donated the exact amount of a check I received. Not sure why I didn’t round up or down. I can see why that seemed strange.

I hit send and then sent a second text:

Alex: Though not as strange as your hobbies…

I chewed on my fingernail as I waited for him to respond. It took only a few minutes.

Unknown: Crap. It took me a minute to figure out what you meant. I had to go check my bio. That’s Owen. He maintains the website for me. Anytime he goes in to do an update, he adds a new ridiculous hobby to the end of my bio. Apparently two this time.

I laughed out loud.

Alex: Damn. I was going to put in a request for a red merino wool cap and scarf. I lost mine.

Unknown: Sorry to disappoint. But I might consider taking a knitting class if you don’t run out on me next weekend…

I didn’t really run out, though I did leave without saying goodbye.

Alex: I actually saw you at Memorial Hospital. I donated some gaming consoles and happened to pass by as you were giving a little boy a Spider-Man prosthetic. It was really cool, by the way.

Unknown: That was Landon. Why didn’t you tell me you were there?

Alex: I didn’t want to interrupt. Plus, I needed to get home.

I started to type that I needed to get home before it got dark, because I didn’t see so great driving at night anymore. But that would only make me sound even older than I was. So I hit send and waited. This time, the dots started to bounce around, then stopped for a minute or two before resuming jumping, and then again stopping once more. Nothing happened for a full five minutes, so I started to think maybe our chat had come to an end. Then my phone vibrated.

Unknown: This might be inappropriate, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you since yesterday. Actually, since we first met…

Reading that made me way more excited than it should’ve. But I wasn’t sure how to respond. Did I admit that I thought about him all the time, too? I could…but I didn’t want to lead him on. I could lie… Or change the subject without an answer? While I was still mulling over my choices, another text arrived.

Unknown: I know you’re sitting there carefully considering how to respond, so I’ll let you off the hook and change the subject. Think you can get back upstate on Thursday again this week? I could use help picking out tile and appliances. And before you say no, you might want to think about the poor patients with cancer who are going to be looking at gray walls, gray tile, gray paint, and gray appliances if you don’t help a guy out…

I really, really wanted to. But my gut said it wasn’t a good idea. I didn’t trust myself to spend time with him alone. Wells might be able to compartmentalize his experiences into simple flings vs. relationships, but I wasn’t so sure I had it in me. I wanted to give it some more thought, though, so I kept my options open.

Alex: I’m pretty busy at work this week. I probably won’t be able to, but I’ll try.

I heard the disappointment in Brayden’s voice, even via text.

Unknown: I won’t bug you any more since you’re busy. Thank you for the donation. It was very generous of you. Have a good week.

I typed back thank you and tried to get back to work. But when I opened my laptop, the screen illuminated right to Brayden’s face again. Guess I hadn’t closed the website. Damn. He’s so handsome.

Wells strolled into my office. He came around my desk and looked at my screen. “Lord, have mercy. Who is that beautiful creature? Please tell me you’re on a gay dating website.”

“It’s Brayden. The guy I was telling you about earlier.”

“You said he was good looking, not an Adonis.”

I exhaled. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like. Nothing’s going to happen, Wells.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Flings are not for me.”

“When do you see him again?”

“Friday. He actually just asked me to come up a night early to help pick out some things for the house. But I said I didn’t think I could.”

Wells pointed to Brayden’s face on the screen. “Oh, you’re going early. Even if I have to tie you up and drive you there myself.”