My Math Problem

"Melanie, I'm so sorry. I like you so much, but I just think there's too much difference in our ages and that you'd realize it eventually. Better to do it now, before we waste a lot of time, rather than wait until then."

I was walking away down the little sidewalk when she said her final words. "For someone I thought was so smart..."

Her pause was long so I turned away again after looking back, defeat plastered on my face, but she forced out her frustration. "Oh! Whatever! You're not nearly as smart as I thought."

***

I don't know if it was by chance or if she deliberately avoided shopping during my hours at the store, but I didn't run into Melanie again before I worked my last day. I started work at my new firm on January 26 to have some overlap with the man I was replacing so I could learn the ropes. He retired that Friday, and I took over as CFO the following Monday. The hours were long as, in addition to my usual duties, I actually learned the company, working my way through the books, and writing reports on conditions with suggestions for improvements.

Weeks earlier, my biggest goals had been to see Melanie and to get out of Mrs. Katchekamp's basement, but I'd burned the bridge on the first and no longer saw the second as critical. I'd grown reasonably comfortable in Mrs. K's efficiency, so I decided to stay and save money for a while to get in a better position financially before trying to find something better. The part about my room not being nice enough to bring anyone home no longer mattered since there was no one I wished to bring home. I'd tossed the names from my molasses scheme while spending time with Melanie.

A little over two months into the job, my financial situation had improved drastically and I finally felt as if I'd learned enough at work to take off a Saturday. I finished my taxes in the morning while doing the laundry, went shopping for the first time in ages after lunch, and stopped at the grocery store on the way home.

"Clark!"

I looked in response, only realizing then that I shouldn't have.

Madeline of the large breasts and even more prominent wedding band was frowning at me from only inches away. She scolded me at a whisper.

"Clark, where have you been? I've looked for you every time I've come to the store and I can never reach you on your number. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me!"

Blocking callers generally has the effect of looking like that, but she was close to me, very close, and her breath was hot against my ear, making it hard to concentrate. Her hands were on my arms and her tips were hard against me, doing a number on me that I'd hoped to avoid and sworn to resist.

"Madeline, please, I...ah...I can't see you anymore. I...ahem...met someone."

Okay, it wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie either. She backed off, by at least an inch or two, so her blouse was just almost touching my chest.

"Well, that's very disappointing, Clark. I thought we had something...special." Her nails raked lightly across my cheek, causing me to shiver.

"Madeline, I'm sorry, but we didn't. I'd have never seen you if I'd known you were married."

She chuckled. "So you don't date married women? Hmmm, I noticed that you were careful not to ask."

"No, it was that I didn't think you'd have invited me if you were married."

"Psssh. Married, smarried," she said with a grimace. "Someday maybe you'll grow up, Clark, and you'll realize you go for what you want if you really want it, because no one else is going to get it for you."

The disappointment was clear on her face before she gave a single shake of her head. "Then I guess this is goodbye, Clark. I won't forget you for a while...but I won't mourn over you either."

She took my chin in her hand, fingers on one side and thumb on the other, and gently steered me to meet her incoming lips. The kiss was warm and soft and unwelcome; I did nothing to encourage her and she pulled away, biting her lower lip as she stroked my jaw with her fingers. Another shake of the head followed, and she turned away, going back down the aisle in the direction from which she'd come.

I shook my head, too, and looked down at my feet, but only for a second, for a little girl's voice said, "But why, Mommy? Why can't we see—"

"SHHH!"

I turned to see Melanie scooping up Jenna, abandoning her cart, and moving away. She glanced back at me as she turned at the end of the aisle, but, in shock and embarrassment, all I could do was stand and watch.

***

An hour later, I pulled to a stop in front of Melanie's house. Opening the trunk, I pulled out the shopping bags with her groceries and carried them up the walk to her little front porch. The peeling paint I'd noticed at Christmas was still there and I felt a pang of sadness that she was unable to do anything about it.

I rang the doorbell and knocked but no one answered despite her old Civic being parked in the driveway. I tried again a bit later, and then a third time following that, but when there was no response, I set the bags down in front of the door, rang the doorbell rapidly several times, and walked away. The door never opened before I got in my car and pulled away.

My frustration level was high that afternoon, and I didn't know what to do. Seeing Madeline and experiencing her kiss had excited me in spite of myself, and realizing Melanie had witnessed that display cut me all too deeply. Still, something about what Madeline said kept coming to mind: you go for what you want if you really want it because no one else will do it for you.

What did I really want? Was it Melanie? Was it to be Jenna's father? Maybe her granddad? Was it...

There were too many questions and no answers. All I could think about was Melanie, our ages (and the difference between them), and that damn equation. It was early evening when, at wits end, I picked up my cell and called my father.

Dad and I hadn't been close since he walked out on my mother after over 30 years of marriage. After going through my divorce with Greta, I understood a little better and had finally come to accept that he wasn't trying to hurt her by leaving but that they'd grown apart and needed to move on.

"I never cheated on her, Son," he'd told me, "but when the love was gone and there was so little left between us, no intimacy, I wasn't going to stay until I did." Now, he was 75 and doing the retired thing in Florida and I spoke with him occasionally, but I didn't share with him as much as I once had.

We spoke for a few minutes, catching up on our time since Christmas. I told him that I'd taken a new job, but didn't mention that I'd left Pelton Wiederhoff almost a year earlier. He knew that Greta and I had split, but didn't need to know of my other problems. Then I came to the real reason behind the call.

"Dad, do you remember the prom back when I was in high school?"

"Ahhh...no?"

"I couldn't get a date so I wanted to ask Lisa Hill."

"Ah, yes. I remember now! Little Lisa Hill, Tom and...oh, I can't remember his wife's name. Anyway, their daughter, she was like eight or something, right?" He chuckled at his humor, but I didn't.

"Jesus, Dad. She was 14, almost 15."

"That old, eh?"

"You wouldn't let me go with her because you said she was too young, but Dad, she was almost 15."

"Yeah, son, you were 18 and she was 14. Think about it. Would you want Andrea going out with a guy that old when she was that young?"

Well, when he put it that way, I understood. Greta had let our daughter start dating too young, in my opinion, but we'd been careful to make sure she wasn't going out with someone much older. "Yeah, way too young at that age," I agreed. "Say, do you remember telling me about Half Plus Seven?"

He chuckled. "Did I tell you about that? It's a great go-by for young people until they're old enough to understand better and make adult decisions about relationships. Of course, once we're old enough to make our own decisions, most adults still fuck it up like we did, but—"

"Dad, wait! For young people? I thought you meant...." I trailed off as I fully understood what he said. "So you meant it's for kids who don't understand maturity levels?"

"Of course. An 18-year-old shouldn't be going out with someone who's too young and immature to have experienced things and to understand consequences. You try to protect them until they're old enough to understand and to make informed decisions on their own. That Half Plus Seven's an old wives' tale but it works. Believe me, if more people followed it these days, this country would be better off instead of going to hell in a handbasket. Did you hear about—"

He was starting into one of his increasingly frequent rants so I interrupted. "Dad, so it works so an 18-year-old wouldn't go out with someone too young at the time, but as you get older..."

"Yeah, of course. It works for dating age and up, say 14 if you're stupid enough to allow your kids to date that young. You know, 14 divided by two is seven, plus seven, is 14, so both members of the couple are at least 14. Of course, anyone who lets their child date at 14's a complete jackass—"

"DAD! So when I wanted to ask Lisa Hill to prom, you were trying to protect me?"

"Yeah, you and, just as importantly, her. You were 18 at the time, so half plus seven was 16, and she was, what did you say, 10?"

He laughed again as I growled at him. "Okay, so it's a bit artificial, but if it helps keep kids from falling in lust, or from a statutory standpoint, in bed or prison, then what's the harm? Nobody ever thinks about it again after they mature a bit. Say, why are you asking about that anyway? You havin' to explain it to your kids?"

"Uh, yeah. Hasn't been a problem so far, but just trying to remember in case it comes up," I agreed, not reminding him that they were both over 18 and not wanting to admit how, in my math nerdiness, I'd misinterpreted his advice for all those years.

We switched gears then and talked for a few more minutes before we ended the call. When we did, I sat down with my head in my hands. I had a lot to think about.

***

You go for what you want if you really want it because no one else will do it for you.

Madeline's words—at least as close as I could remember them—seemed to be at the forefront of my thoughts over the next week. I wrote them down and posted them on front of the little frig in my efficiency and looked at them far too many times.

Just what did I want? To be perfectly honest, I wasn't really sure, but there was something unfinished with Melanie, something that made me wonder if there could be more or if we just needed to end on a better note and move on. Something...

Once I quantified the problem and the potential outcomes, it was like an issue at work and I understood what needed to be done. Unlike the typical problem at work, though, I wasn't sure how to do it. On Sunday afternoon, after a great deal of undecidedness, I reached a decision and typed a text.

Hi, Melanie,

It's Clark Delahoya, from the store. Can we talk? I need to apologize and would like to speak with you. Please?

Thanks,

Clark

I was pretty nervous as I typed out each and every word and corrected the typos. After sending, I realized that she must have remembered me considering her recent reaction and that my "from the store" remark was pretty stupid. Everything I'd done was pretty stupid, though, so it was par for the course.

The wait was long and frustrating, with no response from Melanie, not even a read receipt on the text. Had she turned that function off or had she blocked me entirely? I didn't know, so I fretted as I waited.

Monday came but her reply didn't, and Tuesday and Wednesday followed in like manner. By Wednesday evening, I was about to give up but decided to try one more time, sending her another message.

Please?

Two minutes later, my phone vibrated. She'd responded!

Call me

Seconds later, the phone was ringing.

"Hi, Clark," she replied, leading me to think that I was still in her contacts list.

"Hi, Melanie, thanks for speaking with me," I said in reply. "How've you been?"

"Why do you care? And how much do I owe you for the groceries? I don't accept charity."

"Melanie, I've been wrong. I'm sorry. Please, hear me out."

"Right. Why? You've obviously found what you want."

"No! I saw Madeline once, but then found out she was married—"

"Married, too?"

"—so I refused to see her again. She caught me at the store and kissed me, trying to change my mind—"

"Yeah, right."

"—but I didn't kiss her back and told her I wouldn't see her again. That I'd met someone else—"

"Well good for you." Sarcasm dripped from her words, but I was almost done.

"—I thought I might care about. I didn't tell her, but I'd pushed my new friend away and now that I finally realize my mistake, how stupid I was, I'm hoping it's not too late, that you'll give me another chance."

There was silence on the line.

"Melanie? Melanie, are you still there?"

A shallow breath told me she was, so I waited, clinging to hope that she wouldn't hang up or worse. When she continued to hold, I finally decided to say what I needed.

"I asked to speak to you because I've missed you, much more than I expected. I don't know you well enough to know how much I care about you, but I know there's something there—whether it's friendship or more, I don't know. What I do know is that I didn't give you the respect you deserved when you told me to let you make your own decision."

I'd spent a lot of time thinking about this, my big transgression against her. When only the gentle sound of her continued breathing was heard, I continued.

"Melanie, you were an accomplished, beautiful young woman in front of me, but, in my goofiness, my sole focus was on the young part, that one word. Instead of praising God for sending you my way, whether for a moment or for a lifetime, I thought it was wrong, a big mistake, and I let a juvenile equation and stupid misunderstanding of it dictate my actions rather than listening to you and to my heart."

"Mmm-huh."

Her agreement was such a surprise that I stuttered in confusion.

"Ahem...It was wrong—"

"True."

"—no, even worse, I was wrong—"

"That, too."

"—and I'm so sorry. If it's not too late and if you still have any interest at all, I hope you'll let me have another chance and that we can see if this is going anywhere or if it really is the end of the road for us."

"Us? You think there might be an 'us' after all you said?"

"If you have it in your heart to forgive me, then we'll only know if we give it a chance. If not or if you forgive me but have no interest, then I'll leave you in peace but with a great deal of regret at being such an idiot."

She laughed and I could almost hear her smile through the phone. "Idiot, yes, but a very sweet one, I think. I'll need to get to know you a lot better before I can be sure."

"Wait. Does that mean you forgive me? That you'll give us a chance?"

"Ummm, maybe?" I think there was a little chuckle, telling me she was enjoying holding my feet to the fire a lot more than I was enjoying my well-deserved roasting.

"I hope," I agreed. "I'd really like to get to know you better."

"That'll be good, Clark, but I really want you to be yourself. I want to get to know the real you, to see if I like you as much as I think I might, and for you to do the same with me. And yes, I know there's a big age gap between us—I'm not blind or stupid, you know—but I also know that if two people grow to really love each other, an age gap is an obstacle to overcome, not an insurmountable barrier."

It probably wasn't the best time, but she'd opened the door so I decided to get to part of what bothered me about it. "But...but...if we were to fall in love and get together...well, I'd probably, ahem, die a long time before you and leave you alone."

"Like Mitch? Dying while I might still have another 40, 50, or maybe even 60 years left? I loved him and still do, Clark, and I still miss him sometimes, but I know he's gone and won't be coming back. I'm so sorry he won't be able to see his little girl grow up, graduate, get married, and maybe have children of her own, or to share any of those precious moments with her...or with me." She was probably wiping a tear during pause, for my eyes were cloudy, too. Moments later, she added, "Sorry, I didn't mean to get so emotional, particularly when I'm trying to make a point."

She sniffled and blew her nose lightly to regain her composure. "That made me sad for a long time—and still does occasionally. Sorry—I know that life goes on and that we all have to live if we don't want to crawl in a hole and pull the dirt in on top of us. It's been years and I know that I have to move on. I don't know if it's with you, Clark, but I'm willing to give it a try if you are."

While I still had concerns and doubts, I didn't want this incredible woman to slip through my fingers without learning more about her, to see if she might be the one. Taking her offer, I was nodding energetically to myself when I replied, "Melanie, I'd really like to try."

"Okay. First things first...how much do I owe you for the groceries? I know you can't make that much working at the grocery store."

"True, I didn't, but don't worry about it. I have a new job."

"Oh, Clark! That's great news! Where?"

I told her the name of the firm and I think I heard the recognition in her voice when she said, "Oh! That's wonderful! What are you doing there?"

I smiled to myself. "I deal with all the money."

***

Over our next few dates, we began a very careful process of getting to know each other better in public settings while little Jenna spent the evening with a sitter or at a friend's. We didn't want her getting her hopes up that it might work out between us or to let her unduly influence the situation.

It was a Friday evening when we got deep into backgrounds and education. I saw a flash of concern cross Melanie's face when I mentioned my MBA and earlier experience. I paused and asked, "Is something wrong, Melanie?"

"Clark, we agreed to be open and honest with each other. Please don't exaggerate to try to impress me. If you can't tell me the truth, this will never work between us."

"Melanie, it is the truth. I'd never lie to you. Or exaggerate...at least too much." I grinned at the end trying to be playful, but she didn't bite.

"Okay," she said with more reservation than I'd hoped. Maybe she believed me but I felt that her impression of me from our early encounters was tainting her belief.

"How about if we take a drive? Ten minutes tops, each way. I want to show you something."

She hesitated, as if scared that the chameleon was showing his true colors, but curiosity and the wish to believe in me got the better of her. She nodded slowly.

We pulled into the parking lot at my firm a few minutes later. Melanie was apprehensive as I unlocked the front door and we approached the security desk.

"Good evening, Mr. Delahoya," said the guard at the desk. He looked quite attentive and was checking Melanie out as his eyes glanced back and forth between us.

"Good evening, Willie," I replied. "This is my friend Melanie. I'm running up to my office to grab something I forgot so I want to show her my office. She may be helping me decorate it. I'm tired of staring at blank walls."

Willie laughed. "Yes, sir, I understand. I go stir crazy looking at these monitors. Go right on up, sir."

A couple of minutes later, Melanie, wide-eyed, looked at the placard by my door with my title as Chief Financial Officer. Inside, she looked around my office, with its blank walls, while I quickly logged in on my computer. I downloaded a file to a flash drive while she thumbed through a box containing my framed diplomas and a number of registrations and certificates. There were tears in her eyes as she noticed the frames sitting on the bookcase near my desk. A double frame had 3 x 5 prints of my Chad and Amanda, and the other, a 5 x 7, had a photo of Melanie that I'd downloaded from a social media site.