Eleven Eleven

by Micalea Smeltzer

He wasn’t lying. Twenty-one. I turned thirty-two a month ago. That makes him eleven years younger than me.

The "age gap" is only 11 years? She's not even old enough to be his mother!

“Bring your gossiping selves back in here so I can hear!” Glenda calls out. “I can’t turn my hearing aids up any more, and you know I’m nosy.”

I. Love. Glenda.

Is this what happens? The thirties hit, and suddenly one’s body is incapable of handling the abuse it’s been used to taking?

YES.

Do I need his help? Technically, no. I can take care of this myself. Am I going to? Absolutely not.

I just fucking hate that I’m twenty-one and don’t have my life figured out.” She laughs softly. “Reid, you’re twenty-one. No one expects you to have it figured out.” “Well, I do. I bet you knew what you were doing at this age.” She hums. “At twenty-one, I was dating the man I’d eventually marry and on track to be a lawyer. Need I remind you that I’m divorced and not practicing law anymore? I don’t think you’re making the point that you believe you are.” I stare glumly into my coffee. “Touché.”

“Why haven’t you told that lovesick golden retriever of a man that you’re in love with him?”