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02-20-02 - 4:13 p.m. First day at my new job went rather well. I did a lot of typing and running around, and I think I could get used to this whole "urban professional assistant" sort of look. Today I wore a skirt and a cardigan over a camisole top. Really simple, really conservative. Seeing that he had no lunch engagements, my new boss (Adam) invited me to eat with him. I accepted and we talked through our sandwiches, trying to casually get to know one another. He's in his late fifties or early sixties, is and has been happily married for twenty-something years, has three grown "kids," all married but one, and has one granddaughter by his son, Matt. He told me I'd probably meet his wife some time soon, as she frequently visits the office. He asked about my home life. I felt no need to inform him of anything less than picture-perfect. I told him about Bryan and Justin, even that they were gay partners, which he greeted with a nonjudgmental "Hmm," told him about my adoptive family, the pets, random crap. "And your boyfriend?" "Huh?" "Please tell me you know that young man you were kissing at the beach!" "Oh. Yeah. That's Leif. He's, yeah, he's my boyfriend." "You don't sound so sure." "Oh, I am. I mean, we've been dating for a long time. I mean, we broke up, because of, y'know, stuff, and then my ex-boyfriend basically told me he was in love with me, which was totally out of line, as far as I'm concerned, so it's just a little...hectic. Complicated. But yeah, we're dating and...yeah." He smiled the kind of smile I'd expect a grandfather to give me. Having never known a grandfather, I can't exactly reference this, but I've seen a lot of movies. And I did read Tuesdays With Morrie. I asked him what he was smiling at. He told me, "Youth." "Youth?" It was less of a question than an effort to repeat his word in hopes that it would make sense to me the second time around. "You'll understand when you're an old fart like me." "You're not an old fart." "You don't have to build up my ego, don't worry about that." "Alright." "So tell me about this ex-boyfriend of yours who loves you." So I briefly explained knowing Rob my entire life, our rocky and complex relationship, our breakup(s), and our current state of nothingness. "And you feel nothing for him?" "That's not it at all." "But you love this Leif character?" "Noooo." "Why would you be with someone you don't love?" "You didn't instantly love your wife, did you? I mean, it was a gradual thing. You liked her, then you grew close, and eventually you found yourself hopelessly in love with her. Isn't that how it works?" "In most cases." "See? Then give me time." "Do you believe you could ever love Leif the way you love Rob?" That caught me off-guard. I hadn't said anything about loving Rob. I asked what made him think that way, trying to scoff at the accusation. The next thing I've quoted him as saying is a direct quote. (The rest is paraphrased. Ha, I wish I was this verbally eloquent!) I've quoted this part directly because it has stuck in my mind: "I've been a father for 33 years and a man for a lot longer than that. I can tell these things." I don't think I was blushing, but I might have been. I asked him what he thought I should do. "Whatever you feel is right." "Don't tell me that! I can't think for myself. If I knew the difference between right and wrong, I wouldn't have a police record!" (This part, of course, was not news to him. His law firm makes it a habit of running background checks on prospective employees.) He gave me that grandfatherly grin again, saying that I'd figure it out, eventually. The thing is this: I love spending time with Leif. I love it. He and Steve keep me rolling on the ground with laughter, Leif shares my taste in music, clothes, anti-religious views, political and life philosophies, everything. If I wasn't so attached to Rob, I'd be all over this guy, because it's not like Leif's hard to look at. Nooo, not at all... Speaking of Leif, he got a third speeding ticket today. He's got me beat by one. Nyah nyah. Then again, he's 24 and I'm 18. Ah well, my co-workers were really friendly and seemed thrilled to have an employee under 40 years of age. They all want to hear about the "teen drama" in my life. A little patronizing, yes, but I'll oblige. For a while. There's one chick who I know will get on my nerves. She looks to be in her early 40s, but acts about 13. She spent half the day telling me about her asthma, how awful it is, how I should feel sorry for her because she has to lug around an inhaler. Cry me a river, honey. The mom I've not even had for three years is dying of cancer. Oh no, she and I will not be friends.
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