There was a younger older woman in my life once.
She seemed incredibly mature and didn’t want a relationship with a younger man – I was all of two years younger. So she’d invite me to her small apartment on Beacon Hill and prepare delicate, carefully planned feasts on the china, porcelain, and cruse she’d collected at the shops on Charles Street.
Everything she did was tasteful, down to the passion we shared afterward. But she didn’t want a relationship with a younger man, one of limited means and future. So she kept me carefully like the contents of her china cabinet, to be put away when not in use.
She was waiting for a man with capital, passion, and vision. She maintained that I lacked these qualities, though I was sweet and endearing.
I began to drift away. I’d return periodically, but she was still waiting. She was waiting for five years and then seven. She’d not settle.
I believe she may still be waiting with her cabinet of china, porcelain, and cruse.