My Math Problem

I raised up, grinning like a wet-mouthed Cheshire Cat to see the enraptured look on Madeline's face. "Any time you want to do that again, Clark, you call me, you hear? Send me a text and we'll get together, okay? I'll even take off from work."

Wow! My luck had changed! This incredible woman wanted to be my lover, if not in love, at least on the physical, friends-with-benefits fucking side, and I couldn't have been happier.

For all of maybe ten seconds, anyway, for that was when she added, "You better get dressed and go. My husband will be home in a little while."

***

I parked in an empty parking lot out on the main road; being almost 7 PM on Christmas Eve, it was dark and all the stores and businesses were closed or closing. I'm not sure how far I was from Madeline's house or even how I got there. The burning embarrassment I felt so soon after such incredible sex almost tinged my eyes blood red.

When in college, in grad school, and in the following time before I met Greta, I'd been happy to screw any of my tutees who suggested it and any of the nerdy girls willing to have me. Being so geeky myself, I gravitated to them and had several of them, short or tall, skinny or heavyset, pretty or—well, maybe not too ugly—before finally trying for a beautiful Betty somewhat similar to Lewis Skolnick's in one of my favorite movies.

While that didn't turn out well, it encouraged me to date beyond my usual crowd and I came to enjoy the results. During all that time, though, I always drew the line at married women or even those seriously involved with someone else. Not wanting them to do it to me, I didn't want to hurt someone else in such a relationship.

Being older and free for the first time in so long, my sights were more focused on my specific "type," but married women, even if they were a 100% match for that, were still strictly off limits.

Now, unknowingly, I'd violated that sacred tenet on my first such encounter.

My breathing calmed as I sat there watching the raindrops falling. I honestly thought Madeline had me pull into the garage because of rain, not to hide what turned out to be our illicit affair. How wrong I'd been!

I wiped the remaining glisten from my forehead and cheeks before rubbing my nose and mouth. As I did, I detected the smell of sweat and sex, Madeline's delicious sex, calling to me to do it all over again. She'd said she wanted it again, so maybe—

"No!" I said aloud as I set the GPS on my phone for home. "I can't see her again. Ever."

The app showed I wasn't far from an area I knew, so I followed the route, heading home. I'd get a shower and then try not to dwell on the sad state of my Christmas holiday.

Our college-aged kids were going with Greta to her parents' house, so I'd mailed their presents there. I'd also included a box of candy for Alvin and Berta, since I'd always gotten along so well with them, even through the divorce. Greta's present was, in my mind, as lost and missing as our marriage.

I was turning onto my street just seconds from Mrs. Katchekamp's home and my little apartment when my phone rang. Thinking it was one of my kids, or maybe both, I pulled to a stop on the side of the street and looked at the number. No, it wasn't Chad or Andrea, but it looked vaguely familiar so I answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi! Is this Clark? This is Melanie Watkins. We met at the grocery store."

My heart was racing in an instant. "Melanie, of course! Hi! You got my message?"

"Yes, thank you so much, Clark. I've been so busy today; I just got off work and found your message. I know the store is already closed and it's too late to go get the molasses, but I wanted to call and thank you for following up with me. Jenna, my daughter, will be disappointed that we won't be making gingerbread cookies, but I'll tell her we'll make sugar cookies instead and that can be fun, too."

Melanie said something about cookies but I really missed most of what she said after she said "my daughter." I'd be crossing her off my list, too—if she'd ever truly been on it—as soon as I went inside my apartment. Considering I might be as much as twice her age, I was surprised at how sad that made me as I pulled into my assigned spot in Mrs. Katchekamp's driveway and killed the engine.

"Well, Merry Christmas, Clark. I hope you and yours have a great time."

She was on the verge of hanging up when I saw the bag on the floorboard of the passenger seat. "Melanie! Wait!"

"Clark? What's wrong?"

"Ahem, Melanie, when I didn't hear back from you before closing time, I went ahead and got the molasses. If you still want them, text me your address and I'll drop them off for you. You said your daughter wants to make cookies? There's no reason to disappoint her."

"Really? Oh, Clark! I can't believe you did that for us!"

"It's nothing, really," I said. "I just got through, ah, working out, so I've got to get a shower to get this stink off of me and clean up, but I can come by and drop them off either a little later this evening, or even anytime tomorrow, depending on when you're available, if that works better for you."

"Clark, you're such a sweetheart! How about 8 or 8:30 this evening?"

"Sounds great. Text me your address and I'll see you then."

I tried to steam Madeline's essence off of me but Mrs. Katchekamp's water heater wasn't big enough or hot enough to do the job, so I scrubbed and scrubbed again, brushed my teeth and tongue for ages, and then dressed in khakis and a sweater that looked somewhat Christmassy. In fact, it was the only slightly Christmassy-looking thing I owned, so it would have to do. I had a bit of ribbon left over from wrapping and sending the gifts to the kids and their grandparents, so I took a length of it and tied it around the neck of the jar with a decent bow. I couldn't remember Melanie's daughter's name and didn't think she'd mentioned her husband's name in our overwhelming conversation, so the little card I taped to the top read

To Melanie and Family. Merry Christmas! From your friend, Clark

I didn't have an extra gift bag, so the flimsy plastic shopping bag from the grocery would have to do. Umbrella in one hand and the bag with the molasses in the other, I headed back out to the car, my heart heavy that my friendship with Melanie would be so short lived.

***

Melanie and her family lived in a small bungalow-style home with similarly sized houses on either side of it. Being an older home probably built in the late 40s or 50s, it had a covered front porch with a few steps leading up. With no streetlights, the only way I could see all of this was that Melanie, or maybe her husband, had pulled a Tom Bodett and left the light on for me.

The rain had stopped so I parked on the street and hurried up the walk to the house. An old Honda Civic sat in the driveway, but with the limited light from the porch, I couldn't see if there was another car on the other side or in front of it.

Stepping up on the porch, I raised my hand to knock when the door opened and there stood Melanie with a little girl somewhere around five or six years old dressed in her one-piece pajamas standing next to her. Melanie smiled at me, a genuine, friendly smile before she said, "Hi, Clark! Come in, please. This is my daughter, Jenna. Jenna, this is Mr. Clark."

"Hi, Mr. Clark," she said, extending her hand matter-of-factly to shake mine as her mom closed the front door.

I did, dropping to one knee in front of her, before taking her little hand in my own and giving it a firm but gentle shake. "It's nice to meet you, Jenna. You're such a big girl and have such a great grip. How old are you?"

She giggled and looked rather sheepishly at Melanie before turning back to me. "I'm six, Mr. Clark. How old are you?"

Having been quite some time since Andrea had been that age, I wasn't expecting that, but Melanie, with an embarrassed look on her face, shushed her. "We don't ask adults that, Jenna," she explained.

Still on a knee in front of her, I grinned. "It's okay, Jenna. I'm 50, but what's important is that I have a little Christmas present for you and your parents."

A look—surprise? shock, maybe?—flashed across Melanie's face as I said this, but for only a second before her smile returned. She didn't have time to say anything, though, since Jenna squealed and asked, "What's the present, Mr. Clark?"

"I'll tell you what, sweetheart, I'm going to give it to your mommy since it's fragile and might break, okay?"

The little girl nodded so I stood up and handed the bag to Melanie, who took it with a thankful smile. Melanie pulled the jar of molasses out of the sack. "Jenna, look! It's molasses! We'll be able to make gingerbread cookies and a gingerbread house after all!" Turning to me she added, "Oh, thank you, Clark," before giving me a soft brush of her lips on my cheek. "Thank you so much!"

Surprised at the gesture, I nodded, unsure what to do or say, but Jenna broke the impasse by yawning wide with a cute little sound as she cut it off, causing Melanie and me both to smile.

"Jenna, honey, go get in bed and I'll be in to tuck you in shortly. But tell Mr. Clark 'thank you' first, okay?"

"Thank you, Mr. Clark," she said before surprising me with a hug.

"Good night, Jenna," I said.

She gave her mother a big hug, too. While she did, I glanced around the little living room. It was cozy, with the couch, a loveseat, and a chair surrounding a coffee table. Family photos graced the table below the TV mounted on the wall. My eyes were immediately drawn to the family portrait, with Melanie, a man dressed in an army uniform, and Jenna, about three or four years of age, with them.

Jenna took off toward the back hall to her bedroom at run, leading her mom to speak with a force and authority I hadn't witnessed before. "No running!"

"Sor-ry!" came the call from a back room.

Melanie caught my eyes looking at the photos, causing me to be embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snoop," I told her.

She shook her head at me. "You weren't. Snooping is looking when they're hidden; these are in plain sight for people to see. That's my husband, Mitch, in the photo with us."

"He's in the army? What does he do?" I asked, trying to be polite and overcome my disappointment.

Her eyes clouded suddenly. "He was a helicopter pilot. He went back on duty a few days after this was taken and was killed in a crash a few weeks later. That was about two and a half years ago." A tear slipped down her cheek.

I felt horrible, having brought up the painful memory and leading her to tears.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Melanie, and for prying. I didn't mean to—"

She held up a hand and shook her head. "Thank you, Clark, but, again, you didn't do anything wrong to be sorry about. There's nothing we can do about the past but remember the good times and try to move on."

Melanie was right, of course, so I nodded and then nodded my head toward the back where a little girl was waiting patiently to be tucked in. "I better get going so you can do what you need to do back there," I said.

We took the two or three steps to the front door where I turned to her. "Goodnight, Melanie, and Merry Christmas. I hope you and Jenna have a lovely time making your gingerbread cookies."

She thanked me and was opening the front door to see me out when she paused, looking a bit uncomfortable as she said, "Clark, you said you could come by tonight or any time tomorrow. Don't you have plans for Christmas day?"

"No, not really. I'll do a video call with my kids sometime tomorrow. They're 18 and 20 and are at their grandparents' house...with my ex."

"I'm sorry you can't spend part of the day with them. Say...would you like to come to Christmas dinner with us? We're going to have our little feast around noon and then make the cookies later in the afternoon. We'd love to have you join us."

It was such a sweet invitation, nothing like Madeline's vamp, and I so wanted to say yes, but the sadness was probably obvious when I replied, "Melanie, I really appreciate the offer, but I don't want to impose."

She cocked her head and gave me a little scowl. "Clark, it's kind of like apologizing when you didn't do anything to apologize for. It's not imposing if you're invited and the person inviting you wants you there. Noon, okay?"

My sad expression melted under the brightness of her smile that followed. "Noon sounds great, Melanie. I look forward to seeing you then."

***

I had trouble sleeping that night, angry that Madeline would have ruined such a great time by being married, and telling myself over and over that I should call Melanie and politely decline, using the old "something-suddenly-came-up" routine. She was far too young for me to be interested in her and way too young for her to possibly be interested in me.

My mind mentally calculated half plus seven equals 32, which was at least several years past Melanie's age, and the disappointment weighed heavily on me. My dad had taught me that rule when I was growing up, and although I'd never needed it since that one time, I'd never forgotten it, either. At least, I hadn't needed it again until now when I was practically 51.

Half, plus seven. Half plus seven. Thirty-two. Too, too old. And that wasn't even considering my upcoming birthday.

Yes, avoiding the situation would be best for both of us, I told myself over and over, before finally falling asleep.

***

The phone rang at 9 AM. It was Melanie.

"Hi, Clark! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Clark!" came Jenna's voice from in the background.

"Merry Christmas to both of you," I replied. "I was just about to call you."

"Well, good. I saved you a call," she said cheerily. "You think you can be here around 11:30? We'd love to have you help with setting things up."

"Ah, Melanie, about that..."

"Clark, we've already been through that and resolved it, right? We want you to come so we'll see you at 11:30, okay?"

"Melanie, I really appreciate it, but it doesn't feel right and I don't want to interfere with your Christmas. I'm very sorry and I've got to go. Goodbye."

I was surprised at how much it hurt to do that, but I really didn't want to interfere or to get too close to a girl half my age. Even worse would be getting close to little Jenna and then not being able to see her anymore when Melanie's eyes opened and she recognized the difference in our ages.

Oh, I'm sure she was just being Melanie, nice and sweet, not even thinking of me in a romantic light, but once she thought about that age difference, she'd apologize and say she couldn't see me any more. I surprised myself, realizing I liked her too much as a friend to even risk stepping across the line between friendship and romance.

It was a very lonely day, not unlike many since my divorce, but stores and shops were closed so there was nothing to do. The normally tight confines of efficiency seemed even worse than usual, so I went for a long run between rain showers, trying to put Madeline, Melanie, and the events of recent months (and especially the night before) out of my mind. Jenna's hug, though, made me think of my Andrea, now a college freshman, who had little interest in me beyond making sure that her present arrived on time and that her bills were paid.

I was almost back to Mrs. Katchekamp's house when my phone vibrated. Thinking it was a thank you note from Chad or Andrea for their presents, I checked my messages only to find a photo of a gingerbread man. The note that followed read:

Jenna really missed you today and wants you to see the Gingy she made for you. It would make her very happy if you'd come pick it up.

I started to reply but paused, wondering why the little girl would be so interested in seeing me again. Could it really be Melanie putting Jenna up to it?

Another buzz. We're home all evening if you'd like to stop by to get it.

Despite our ages and all the arguments I'd made against it, I was surprised to feel my blood rush at the thought of spending time with Melanie. Perhaps it was only that she saw me as a grandfatherly figure for her daughter, but it felt like something more.

Or maybe, just maybe, I was hoping it was.

***

Loneliness and boredom can get to a person, particularly on a holiday when all is supposed to be merry and bright. I'd left a message for Chad and another for Andrea, but neither of my kids had bothered returning my call. My father and I spoke briefly; we hadn't had a good relationship in years since he'd left my mother, who'd passed away several years earlier. In fact, I hadn't spoken to anyone all day except for Melanie over the phone that morning and my dad, so my boredom and frustration were building up like a snowball rolling down a mountain as the afternoon turned to evening. Those little contemplative thoughts of earlier in the day had become huge by nightfall. A walk didn't help so I decided to do laundry on returning home.

"Clark! What on Earth are you doing?" demanded Mrs. Katchekamp, making me jump as I was pouring the detergent. "It's Christmas and you're in here doing laundry?"

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Katchekamp," I said, sopping up the spilled liquid with my towel. "Nothing to do tonight, so I figured I'd at least do something useful."

"I'm sorry, Clark. Did you see your kids today?"

"No, ma'am. They're out of town and have more important things to do, I guess."

"Well, come on upstairs when you get this set up and I'll fix you a cup of hot chocolate."

"Oh, no, Mrs. Katchekamp. I don't want to be a bother."

"Clark," she said with a huff, "I could use the company, too."

A few minutes later, we were sitting together in her living room holding cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows. It smelled so good but I'd already burned my tongue when I tried to take a sip.

"Let it cool, silly. That's why coffee and hot chocolate are such good social drinks. You have time to talk while they're cooling down." She blew lightly on the surface of her cup and looked at me expectantly.

"Ah...thanks for the hot chocolate."

She gave me a little frown. "Okay. You said your kids are gone, but why didn't you make other plans instead of being here with an old lady drinking cocoa."

"Actually, someone invited me over, but I didn't want to interfere."

"'I don't want to be a bother. I don't want to interfere,'" she parroted. "Clark, when are you going to learn that people invite you to do things because they want you to do them, to be able to spend time with you? You've always seemed a little shy, but don't you get that?"

"Uh...yes, ma'am. I do, but things are complicated...sometimes."

Her frown was deeper this time. "Okay, so...what's so complicated?"

I blew the marshmallow foam on top of the hot chocolate again, moving it out of the way to cool the liquid below. I was almost hoping that the drink would have cooled enough for me to gulp it down so I could say goodbye and flee, but it still felt as hot as before when I took a sip.

"I met a...a lady, name of Melanie. She's nice. She's sweet. She's pretty. I helped her with something at the store and she invited me over. I wanted to go but...but Melanie's young, way too young for me. I'm afraid that I'd find that I like her a lot but that she'd realize how old I was and—"

"Wait! Were you in disguise when you helped her? Makeup? Mask? Didn't she see how old you are?"

"No, she saw, but I don't think she thought about that and probably didn't even think of me in a romantic light. If I tried to push the situation, to see if there might be anything between us, then she'd have plenty of time to think about it and send me packing. I just don't want to go through that, through the inevitable hurt."

She shook her head. "You don't know if there's anything between you beyond friendship and you're already thinking about breaking up? My granny used to tell me that's called getting your buggy before your horse. Give it a chance and you may find out it's not even an issue. Or, you may find out that you and this Melanie are head over heels for each other and can't live without each other no matter how much difference in age there is. So how much is there anyway?"