He laughs. “Hardly. In analyst-speak, we talk about the contrasts between someone’s mental age and their physical age. It’s a common basis for assessment, especially in terms of child and teen development.”
“Yeah, but I think . . . hope? . . . I’m a fully formed human by now, and I know I sound like a Negative Nancy.” I look down at my lap, ashamed. “Can we talk about something else? Like . . . what mental age do you think you are?”
“I’m thirty-seven years old, and I kind of feel thirty-seven mentally, too. But . . . maybe not? Given my life stage, I’m probably closer to early thirties.”
I nod repeatedly, still chewing over my horrendous monologue from a minute ago.
“That was a joke.” He smiles. “To justify why it’s okay for you to date me.”
“Oh. Oh! Gosh, sorry! I just keep trying to devise ways to extract my foot from my mouth.”
He laughs. “I actually think, or at least hope, I’m a bit ahead of the thirty-year-olds. I’m hoping it’s not too much longer before I can settle down again. This time for keeps. And maybe have kids. . . .” he trails off. “What about you?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you want to settle down? What were you looking for when you signed up for Match?”
Without giving it much thought, I rattle off my now-near-rote explanation of wanting to “branch out beyond the alumni population of my college”; I mention my theory about timing, and “porch swing candidates.” It’s really starting to feel like I’m dating myself.
May 7 at 8:30 p.m.
Hey Alison,
I really enjoyed having drinks with you this afternoon, so much so that I came home and told Boomer all about you. Boomer asked me if I was uncomfortable about our age difference. I told him I wasn’t, primarily because you seem wise beyond your years. In fact, I think you’re possibly wiser and more mature than I am.
Boomer then asked if you were uncomfortable about our age difference, and I said I thought you might be, but that you’re a good actress. Boomer wanted me to tell you that I still run around and tumble with him in the park most days, and that I have really good genes. My dad hasn’t gone gray yet, so hopefully I’ve got a few good decades in me still.
On a more serious note, I think you seem really interesting, really thoughtful, and kind. So if you want to talk the age thing through on a more serious level, or ask any more questions about my divorce, I’m always happy to discuss.
Finally, Boomer asked if he could meet you. I’m on call Tuesday, but the second half of the week is free. Let me know if and when you’re free, and I’ll tell Boomer so he can start getting excited.
Best,
Luke
May 9 at 10:21 p.m.
Hi Luke!
Apologies for my tardy reply – please don’t think I didn’t appreciate your email. Unlike for normal people, summer for me means significantly longer hours, since that’s when all the scaffolds are up and the chemicals flying. So right now we just kicked off my most exciting/happy time of year (I’m no longer confined to the office) but it’s also the most sleepless time of year, which is a bummer since I’m really good at sleeping.
But! We certainly don’t want to keep Boomer wagging his tail for weeks on end, overly eager to meet me (sidenote: Eek! Pressure!). Is 9:00 p.m. on Wednesday past Boomer’s bedtime, or would that be OK?
Cheers,
Alison
May 11 at 7:14 a.m.
Subject: Positive Feedback
Alison,
I thought about what you said last night about keeping a conversation flowing. That’s an insightful comment. Without good conversation things will be limited. What I’m trying to say is that I’m impressed by your observation. Also, I think that so far we have had nice, interesting conversations. I like that you make an attempt to keep the conversation equal and make sure we talk about you and me. Thanks.
As far as Sunday is concerned, can we do 5:45 at the entrance to the Reservoir? Let me know if that works.
-Luke
May 12 at 10:01 p.m.
Aww, sweet and thoughtful email. Thanks!
As for me making an effort to talk about you, it’s not something that deserves a “thanks,” because really it’s just selfish on my part - I have no interest in dating myself. . . . The only problem is that you have this tremendous ability to elicit lengthy anecdotes, descriptions, and opinions from me, despite the fact that the last two times we hung out I secretly vowed to give you the silent treatment in order to force you to take the conversational reins. It’s like that magicians’ trick, where they pull multicolored paper out of their mouths in a long string. I close my mouth, mime not talking, but then you pull the words out of me and they don’t stop. It’s magic!
5:45 is totally fine. I’ll look for you and Boomer in that vicinity. ;)
Hope you’re having a good day!
Cheers,
Alison
“Hi, Boomer! How are you?” I bend over and scratch him, tentatively, behind his ears. Boomer is a terrifying beast of a pit bull who attacks everything in sight and is bigger than I am in every which way. But I pretend to like him a whole lot. “You look pretty energized today!” I squeal, as if coaxing an infant. “Did you maul any puppies on the dog run this weekend like you did Wednesday? Bad doggie.”
“Annnnd hi, Luke!” I straighten and give him a hug. He pats my back again, like a teammate coming off the field.
“How was your weekend?” he asks.
“Good! Busy. Happy it’s not over quite yet. You?”
“Low-key. Boomer and I explored Bear Mountain State Park with some of my colleagues. Have you been there? I feel like you’d really enjoy it.”
“I have been there. Yeah, it’s crazy how close we are to . . . real wilderness, just a short ride from this . . . manufactured kind.” I gesture to the Reservoir path we’re circling. We swap tales from hiking trips gone by, he talks about his rock climbing and cycling, and we make our way out of the park and toward the nearest Starbucks.
“Okay, wait here. I’ll go in and buy our coffees. You hold Boomer.”
I hesitate. “What if we swapped tasks?”
“Nah, I want to pay. And besides, I could use the bathroom, too.”
“Umm.”
“Do you not want to watch Boomer?” he asks, lowering his face to read my expression.
“No, uhh . . .” I scratch at my neck, “it’s not that. It’s just. Boomer weighs a lot . . . and is exceptionally strong. . . . How am I going to restrain him? I’m, like, a weakling compared to you.”
He laughs. “Hold his leash like this.” He loops the leash handle around his wrist twice. “Then give it an upward tug if he misbehaves. It’s got these spike-like things that dig into his neck. It doesn’t hurt him, but it makes him behave.”
I contort the left side of my mouth into an unconvinced frown.
“You’ll be fine!” He laughs. “I promise.”
In the time it takes Luke to get through the bathroom line and the coffee line, Boomer lunges and barks maniacally at no less than three dogs and two pedestrians who pass by. I scold through my teeth, I try that upward jerk of the leash, I loop the leash handle around my wrist three extra times for good measure. And I feel so nervous I could cry.
Luke comes out with coffees in hand. He’s laughing. At me, I think?
“Here, you deserve a reward.” He extends a large iced coffee. “I’ll trade you, the leash for the cup?”
Relieved, I relax my shoulders and try to smile, feigning an easygoing calm. “Do you have the leash?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Are you sure sure? Like, positive?”
“You’re funny. Yes, I’m sure. Do you know I watched you through the window while I was in line? You looked like you were trying to herd a grizzly bear.”
I blush. “No. I wasn’t that bad.”
He nods. “You were. Every time he turned
his head, you looked like you were going to have a panic attack. When he barked, I worried you might take off running in the opposite direction. It was really cute.” He laughs.
“Well, laugh it up. I wasn’t trying to be cute. During those two-point-five minutes, I summoned more courage than I have in my lifetime.”
“Just standing still?”
“Just. Standing. Still. . . . Hey, that was hard work! Perfecting my defensive stance, feet firmly planted . . .”
“Okay. I promise not to make you do that again. But hey, Boomer loves you!”
“I . . . am not sure that’s totally true.”
“No, it is. Look at your pants.”
I glance down. “Ew! How did that happen?” My black pants are streaked with huge white swaths of slobber. It looks like they’ve been tie-dyed.
“Alison, don’t let Boomer hear you say that!” Luke says, bending down and pretending to cover his dog’s ears. “It means he likes you. He’s nuzzling your legs every chance he gets.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Well, I needed you to pass the Boomer test, and I’d say your pants are telling me you did.”
groovymonday80: Younger Luke
May 10 at 9:49 p.m.
Hey there,
I’m sure you get a lot of messages on this site, and I’m sure a lot of them ask you all about your pet hermit crab, Poseidon (that’s the lie, right? Back me up here). Rather than make you talk about the same stuff as every other guy, I’ll cut to something more fun: it’s about to be summer soon. Are you doing anything exciting this summer?
Stick to the true stuff, though, no more lies. Let’s get off on the right foot here.
-luke
May 11 at 10:31 p.m.
Hey Luke,
Yes! You are actually the first person to get that right. I used to have a pet hermit crab. I bought him at Myrtle Beach. His name was Romeo (RIP).
To answer your other question, I am very, very much looking forward to summer. It’s good for me job-wise (it’s our busy season in the construction-conservation industry, so I get to be out of doors all day and climbing around on the outside of buildings, rather than chained to my desk), and also I’ve got some fun travel plans. Mostly to destination weddings (Napa; an island off the coast of Maine; Newport, R.I.) but also a trip to Europe in a few weeks.
How about yourself? Same rules apply: true stuff only. ;)
Cheers,
Alison
May 13 at 12:33 p.m.
Hey Alison,
You’re not a very good liar. That means your list was really 2.75 truths, and only 0.25 lies.
As for me and my summer, I’m spending the next month and change studying for a financial exam. It’s pretty depressing stuff, having to spend all of my free time cramming. My brain hurts enough from work as it is. But I’m trying to be a light at the end of the tunnel kinda guy. The end of the tunnel is a killer trip to Vegas with my high school buddy after the exam. We’re going to cycle through the desert, try our hands at blackjack, chill by the pool . . . cannot wait.
How many times are you going to get married this summer? I could really use a blender. Not the crappy kind, but a really nice one.
Sorry to hear you’re busy right now. Also, based on your photos, wondering how you manage not to get burned to a crisp every day if you’re working outside. Anyway, I went to the Turkish baths (Russian? I forget) this morning and am spending the rest of the day with my financial textbooks. Until you free up, I’ll just be here, studying, waiting for my blender.
May 13 at 3:46 p.m.
Hey Luke,
Such a happy coincidence in that email - the Turkish (Russian?) baths reference - because . . . (drum roll) . . . I actually just finalized my flight to Turkey this morning! In two weeks I’m journeying through Istanbul, Cappadocia, and Ephesus. . . . I’m excited about the architectural, culinary, and climatic aspects, but also, just think: such fabulous opportunities to furnish my bedroom! (Kidding. Kind of. Though, I might actually need to carry on an empty suitcase on the way over.)
So! Back to your bathing experience. I’ve never been to the baths of NYC, but have long yearned to experience them. However, a dude friend recently went to the one way downtown and said it was just like a scene out of Eastern Promises (i.e. overrun with foreign mobsters), plus he got flogged so hard with twig branches that his skin was purple for weeks. Can you confirm or negate this?
Not related at all to bathhouses are the following questions/observations:
1.
I’m sorry to hear you’re suffering through the prep work for a tedious exam. Am I to assume it’s the CFA? Also, remind me exactly what you do job-wise?
2.
Your Vegas adventure-to-be sounds fantastic. . . . Last time I was in Vegas I was ten, so suffice it to say you’re going to see a different side of the city than the one I’m familiar with. You will have to take many photos of your desert adventures, and I shall have to live vicariously.
I think I’m forgetting to respond to a whole bunch of things. Oh, I know I am. Your blender request, my once-in-a-lifetime tan, etc. But this is turning into the longest Match message I’ve ever written, so I’ll hold back until you reply.
Cheers,
Alison
May 13 at 7:57 p.m.
Hey Alison,
I love your long message. You’re like the pen pal I never had. Also reading your stories means I get to ignore my studying for a little while.
That is hilarious, btw. The baths are great, but definately reminiscent of Eastern Promises. There are two that I know of in the city. I think you’d definately like the one in downtown more than the one in the E. Village. Its much bigger and there are lounging areas.
As for amazing furniture, I sometimes procrastinate by searching online for interesting furnishings I could never afford. Check out http://berbereimports.com -- they import mostly from the middle east, africa, and india. Pretty incredible stuff. Someday I plan on buying out half their showroom.
Work-wise, what I basically do is follow the aviation sector and invest in related companies. Boeing aircrafts and aircraft carriers, stuff like that. It’s kinda boring, but if you don’t mind being bored, we can chat more about it when we meet up.
Speaking of which, I’m going to quiz night with my office tomorrow night and then have test prep Monday (yes, CFA. How did you know that?). Any chance you’re free Tuesday? Let me know. OK, this is without a doubt the longest match message I’ve ever sent. Looking forward to hearing from you soon. My cell number is below.
-luke
May 14 at 10:45 p.m.
Hey Luke,
I surfed your favorite site and have decided that when I next win the Mega Millions, I am springing for the Opium Bed. What are you adding to your registry from the shop? Right now, I think you’ve just got one measly blender on there.
How was quiz night? Did you manage to stun your team with a vast knowledge of obscure musical groups and irrelevant historical events? (My claim to fame the one time I played was knowing the plot of It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World . . . until I failed to contribute anything of value for the rest of the night. Oops.)
OK. I’m cutting myself off and ending here. After all, I need to save something to tell you about on Tuesday, because, you know, our Match messages are so short as it is, what if we run out of things to talk about? My cell number is below, too.
Cheers,
Alison
P.S. That was my way of saying “Yes, Tuesday works.” Where and when?
May 15 at 6:08 p.m.
LUKE 2: ARE WE STILL ON FOR TOMORROW? HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT WHITMAN & BLOOM ON THIRD AVE? 7 P.M.?
May 15 at 7:33 p.m.
ALISON: ANYTHING I SHOULD KNOW? LIKE WHERE TO FIND YOU ONCE I’M THERE?
LUKE 2: IT’S CASUAL. SO NO NEED TO WEAR A PROM DRESS OR ANYTHING. I’LL BE AT THE BAR.
I walk in and scan the occupied bar stools. I see someone give a short wave, “howdy” style, and I walk toward Luke #2.
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“Hey, I saved you a seat.” He nods his head at the empty stool next to him.
“Perfect.” I add, “Such a gentleman.”
“Yeah, I try.” He shrugs. What is it about Henley shirts on men that gets me every time? Such a cute look. The fit of the shirt enhances his lean, muscular shoulders, and the worn-out gray matches his eyes, which are offset by these extra-long, extra-dark lashes.
I pull off my jacket, hang it on the hook beneath the bar, and sit beside him.
“So how’d you know I was taking the CFA?”
“Oh.” I shrug. “You’re not the only banker in New York, you know.”
“But it’s funny that you’d know that. I don’t know a ton of people who have taken the exam.”
“Huh. I don’t know. I have a ton of college friends who work in finance, and a few of them griped about it last year or the year before.”
“That’s odd. I don’t think I have any friends from college who went into banking. Where’d you go to college?”
“Uhh, Yale? It’s in Connecticut.”
“That’s cute. Do you always say that? As if people might not have heard of it?”
I blush and bite my lip. “I do actually always say it that way. I feel like it’s so cocky if you just say, ‘Yale,’” I say flatly. “Period. Like, ‘I know you’ve heard of it because it’s so great and all. . . .’” I roll my eyes. “I feel like most of my friends say it that way: followed by a question mark, and with geographical positioning.”
“Why did I think you went to Columbia?”
“Uhhh. I guess because I went to grad school there? Maybe I said that in my profile?”
“Wow. So you seem like you need a little ambition or something. Like you could, you know, try a little harder?”
I blush further. “There aren’t that many people vying for the architectural conservator slots. I feel like everyone who applied my year got in.”
“I got in,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“To the Historic Preservation program?” I ask, bewildered. “Really?”
Match Made in Manhattan Page 17