Original publication date July 1, 2015
Graham takes me out to lunch at the university’s cafeteria. I’m really impressed by all the options the students have. I get a small pizza. I haven’t had pizza in so long!
Afterwards, Graham doesn’t want to go teach his class, saying he’d rather spend time with me. I remind him that he needs to do his job in order to keep it, so he sighs in an overly dramatic way. He suggests I go hang out at the library while he teaches. I do.
I go and have a seat at one of the computers. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a guy smirk while looking at me, and he comes and sits at the computer next to me.
“Working very hard on your paper, I see,” he says facetiously, assuming I’m a student.
“I’m passing the time until my boyfriend is finished with his class. I don’t have any assignments due.” Well, it’s true. My boyfriend has a class… sure, he’s the professor and all. And I don’t have any assignments… because I’m not a student here. But this guy doesn’t need to know that.
“Must be nice not to have any assignments. What’s your major?” he asks, still talking to me.
I smirk. “History.” Yes, I’m MAJORLY interested in one of the history professors.
“You don’t strike me as the history type,” he says in a leading way.
I take the bait. “Really? What type do I strike you as?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Art, maybe. Early childhood education, perhaps.”
“No. I’m very interested in history,” I say and can’t stop a giggle.
He gives me a confused look, probably wondering why I thought that was funny. I go back to my game.
Later, Graham says he wants to cook me dinner. I get the feeling he’s wanting to feed me, worried I’m not getting enough to eat. He drives me back to his house.
“Home sweet home!” he says happily after showing me inside.
Wow, I think, isn’t he supposed to have just moved here?
Graham answers my thought. “I bought it with the furniture included. I liked the way the realtor had the house staged.” He points to the desk. “I plan on replacing the computer, though.”
I head to the restroom, and as I walk in, Graham asks in a voice loud enough to reach me, “So, you like fish?”
“Yeah.”
I come out of the restroom to find Graham already in the kitchen, fixing dinner.
Fixing dinner for his homeless girlfriend, I think and quickly swallow my tears. Ever since explaining my living situation with Graham, it hasn’t felt as free and exciting as it was when I first ran away from home.
I do my best to squelch my melancholy thoughts, and my eyes drift over to a coffee maker. “I’ll make some coffee if you show me where the stuff is.”
Graham turns around, smiles, and points to one of the cabinets with the knife in his hand. Then, he goes back to shredding the lettuce on his cutting board.
While I put the coffee in the filter, he comes over to stand next to me to start cooking, humming a nameless tune while he does it. I smile. “What’s for dinner?” I ask.
“Fish tacos,” he replies.
“Sounds nice.” I pour the water into the coffee maker, and my inner voice decides to show her ugly mug. ‘Playing house now, are we? Oh yes, this is REAL nice, Bri. What’s going to happen after dinner? Hm?’ If my inner voice were a real person, I’d slap her. Why does she have to be right? What IS going to happen after dinner? Is he going to expect me to stay? Is he going to insist upon driving me home? Is he going to insist upon seeing my living conditions for himself?
‘This shouldn’t even be an issue. You never should’ve lied to him in the first place; you never should’ve gone on the date; you never should’ve gone to the university today; you certainly don’t need to be here.’
I wish I could run away from my inner voice.
I lose my appetite by the time Graham finishes cooking, so for now, I just grab a cup of coffee.
Graham can’t help but comment. “You’re not going to eat?”
“I will in a minute.”
Before he can start hassling me about not eating, I quickly change the subject over to talking about him. “So, you’re twenty-eight?”
He makes a quiet snorting noise through his nose. “Yeah. I know. I’m an old man.”
I giggle.
He looks over at me, smiling, and says to me in a conspiratorial voice, “Don’t worry. I’m very immature for my age.”
I laugh now. “I would say the opposite is true.”
Still smiling, he asks, “How so?”
I motion to the house. “Well, look around you. I’d say you’re doing well for yourself.”
“This? This is new for me. I’m doing this well because I’ve had an extensive college education and have landed a really good job.”
“It’s bad enough you’re a teenager, but SIXTEEN?! Brielle, how could you DO this to me?!” I hear a possibly-future Graham say to me in my head.
I give him a look. “So we’re back on convincing me to go to college, are we?”
“I’m merely pointing out that that doesn’t mean I’m mature.”
“Yes it does,” I argue. “Are you saying that you’re immature because you’re dating someone my age?” If you only knew. No. I don’t want you to know.
He scowls now. “Brielle, where is this coming from?”
I scowl back. “I’m just saying that you think I’m too young for you.”
“That’s obviously not the case,” he states evenly.
“Well then, what do you mean that I shouldn’t worry?! That I shouldn’t think you’re too mature for me because you can easily sink to my level and be immature like I am?” I breathe fast.
“Again, where is this coming from? I was joking. Look, I’m sorry. I’m sensitive about my age. I go to college, study my ass off, turn around, and I’m almost thirty? What the f— happened to my life?!”
Make good memories. This isn’t making good memories. “Sorry,” I say quietly. “I guess you’re not the only one sensitive about their age.” I stand up to go and get some dinner.
After I plop my rear end back down in the seat, Graham gets a remote out of nowhere and turns on the stereo in the living area. It fills the tense quiet with a soft jazz. I crunch down on my taco and chew. Graham’s a good cook.
“Brielle, please don’t feel like I’m trying to tell you how to live your life. I’m just… Dammit! I’m so worried about you!”
I say nothing and take another crunchy bite of my taco.
He tries another tactic. “I’m not saying you’re immature, either. What you did, leaving and going out on your own like you did took guts. I just don’t think living somewhere in the woods is the best choice for a young, beautiful woman to make.” He curses under his breath. “Anything could happen…” He lets his voice trail off, runs his fingers through his hair, then rests his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, leaning over his plate of half-eaten food. After I take another bite, he lets out a huff, gets up, and disappears into the bathroom. I keep eating.
I don’t want to do this to Graham. I don’t want to worry him.
What is WRONG with me? Whatever happened to storing up good memories? How did this turn into a fight? What is the fight even about?
“Two things,” Graham says, and I jump because I’d not heard him come back to the table. “One: I’m seriously worried about you. I know I can’t tell you how to live your life but neither can I stand aside and let you live in such a way that places you in danger. Two, and two is by no means lesser in importance than one: Yes, I am a full decade older than you. I don’t have a problem with it, obviously, since I knew your age the night I met you. You, however, found out today and are acting strangely probably because of it. I don’t know how to apologize for being my age, for being, at least for now, successful, and for being concerned about you.”
I return my eyes to my plate, thoroughly scolded. Graham’s right. I’m in over my head. Our first fight, and I’m in over my head. How can I combat what he just said when he’s totally right? He’s so smart. I’m freaking out because I found just how much he is older than me. He doesn’t know the extent of it because I keep living the lie, but it’s possible I might still freak out if it were only ten years.
“No,” Graham whines and puts his elbow on the table. Then he slams his hand down on the table and cries out, “Dammit!” The chair roughly scoots back as he gets up and heads over to the coffeemaker. I hear him pour a cup of coffee and take a sip, and I imagine him looking out the window above the sink as he asks, “Brielle, please say something.”
I’m acting just like Mom, how she’d just sit there and let Dad yell at her. Does that mean Graham is just like Dad? He’s not yelling, though.
I stay silent, and he says quietly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I only wanted to plainly state my thoughts, and I guess I came across as a jerk.”
I get up, get our dishes, and walk over to the sink to wash them. He stands next to me and watches me quietly. Then, I get the leftover food and put it in his fridge.
He walks over to me and says in a desperate voice, “I can’t stand it! Would you at least tell me what’s bothering you most?”
“I don’t know!” I finally cry out. “Graham, in your office today, you weren’t supposed to react to everything I told you the way you did. I’d expected you to tell me to take a hike, that you didn’t have time for someone with my problems. This shouldn’t even be happening! I shouldn’t even be here! I had prepared myself for you to break up with me, but then you didn’t. I didn’t want you to, but I expected it.”
“You think I’m that heartless?”
“I don’t know! And I guess I am freaking out over the age difference, and I don’t know how to handle it! I’m on edge waiting for that moment when you finally realize that I’m no good for you.” That’s a truth; he just doesn’t know how far that truth extends. Wanting to hide my face, I turn around and fold my arms across my chest.
“I should’ve cancelled class today,” he tells me, and I don’t understand exactly what he means. He puts down his coffee mug and walks around me.
I make a surprised noise when he kisses me without any warning, even less warning than earlier this afternoon. He talks to me but doesn’t really stop kissing me while he does. “Stop…worrying. I’m older than you…I don’t care. I’m going to worry about you…because I do care. If we ever break up…it won’t be…because I’m a heartless jerk. Not all men are a–holes, Brielle.”
He knew! He knew I was comparing him to my father! That’s why he said what he said at the end. How could he know?
Graham really cares about me. He said he doesn’t care about the age difference. Would he forgive me if I told him I lied about my age? Would he still not care about the difference? I’m still me; he’s still him. It would be better if I told him instead of him finding out another way.
My heart hammering, I pull back and say, “Graham, I have to tell you something.”
“Shh. One thing at a time. Please. I’m not being insensitive; I just think you’ve had enough of the emotional rollercoaster today.”
“No. You have to hear this. I’m-“
He kisses me and holds me so tightly that I can’t pull back. I make a noise, asking him to stop, but he doesn’t. “Please don’t,” he says very, very quickly and goes back to kissing me.
The kiss goes on and on, and I get the feeling that he’s trying to wear me out. I start losing my nerve to tell him because I’m terrified all this wonderful-ness would end.
Good memories.
Graham kisses my neck and talks to me at the same time, letting me breathe. “I should’ve cancelled class today. During those few hours, you got more and more worried about something that would’ve been better addressed immediately. I should’ve guessed you would.” The hand on the back of my neck starts massaging it, and I feel like I’m melting. I lean into him, and he has to support more and more of my weight. He chuckles and pulls back to say, “Let’s go sit on the couch. I think that would be better for your knees.” He smirks like he knows exactly what kind of effect he was having on me.
I glare at this history professor holding me in his arms and smirking at me, and he lets out a happy laugh up to the ceiling before practically carrying me over to his couch.
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The library is Library NewCrest by MaciuchRainbow
Graham’s house is newcrest starter by steph0sims
(not 100% sure I got the capital/lowercase letters right)
chainreactionlegacy.wordpress.com 