We began seeing each other regularly. He brought flowers to my house, remembered the names of my former students, and listened patiently when I spoke about Robert.
He never made me feel foolish for being older.
When my sister, Helen, expressed concern, I invited her to dinner with us.
She waited until Daniel stepped outside to take a phone call.
“Margaret, he’s thirty-one.”
“I know. I was there when he told me.”
“Don’t be clever with me. I’m worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s moving too fast. Because you barely know him. Because you have a house, savings, and no children of your own. And because men don’t usually fall into the laps of women our age looking for nothing.”
I put down my fork.
“Would you say the same thing if he were sixty-four and I were thirty-one?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then at least you’re consistent.”
“Margaret!”
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
