I nicknamed him Peter Pan the moment I realized he will never let himself grow up.

I find it refreshing to watch a man in his late twenties act like a college student, especially while dealing with the aches and pains of a nine-to-five job, a majority of his friends already married and divorced, and a salary that most men in their late 40s would envy. I rarely question why he finds it exciting to hang out with me, because I know that somehow he must find our connection just as refreshing.

In other ways he serves as a mentor, someone who is wiser than me but values our friendship regardless of age. However, it is inevitable that he leads two separate lives: one of responsibilities that most adults must succumb to, and the other, the life of a typical 18 year-old. A few weekends ago, he decided to put two and two together, and it failed to even out.

“Hey, will you be my date for an event my office is putting together,” he asked.

He sounded in need of some company other than his co-workers, so I agreed without second thought. I wore my most sophisticated outfit, conservative and sleek, and made my way over to his apartment. I couldn’t help but smile when he greeted me in an untucked button-down shirt and jeans.

“Come on, let’s get drunk! It’s an open bar tonight!” He took my arm and we walked to his car.

“Don’t you have to dress up or something,” I asked, knowing that he was trying desperately to prove a point. “Yeah, whatever. No one cares.” He laughed my comment off and started his car. When we arrived, I noticed this was a black-tie event with a fifty dollar cover. My eyes widened when he pulled out two tickets, and parked his car in front of a fire hydrant.

“Let’s go, this party needs us!” He leapt out of the car and we made our entrance into the main hall.

I looked around, startled to find that for once, I looked incredibly young. Everyone was way over 30, filthy rich, and balding. The women looked worn out, years of drinking and smoking had damaged their skin, a life time of eating stuck to their thighs and bellies, and too many highlights and hair straightening left little signs of innocence to what was left of their beauty.

“Am I going to look like this in ten years?” I sadly asked Peter Pan. He looked at me and smiled, “Yup, probably. Just keep going to the gym, it might help a little.”

He pulled me past the masses of grown-ups, all of which turned to stare as we walked past. Women of all ages shook their heads; men raised their eyebrows and gave Peter Pan the “nice catch” head nod. I had never been more uncomfortable, but I sucked it up and kept walking.

“Hey, I want you to meet my boss. He’s really rich you know, and he loves blondes!” He elbowed me as if I have a history with old rich men-which, by the way, I don’t-and pulled me closer to his idea of an adult good time.

We reached the bar, surrounded by post-college alcoholics, dirty rich men that sat to the side, and his boss, a middle-aged single man, who likes women of all ages.

“And who is this young woman?”

He smiled provocatively as he took my hand into his own.

“This is my very good friend. She loves to dance. Hey, you should take her Salsa dancing sometime!” He nudged me closer to his boss.

“Ooh, do you like nice Italian restaurants also my dear?” His boss winked at me and waited for my response.

“Um, no thank you. I, um, I, go to school far, far away, but thank you for offering.” I looked over to Peter Pan furiously, and excused myself from the conversation. He ran after me, completely oblivious as to why I would be upset. “How could you do that? This is not a matchmaking party! I am not here to be auctioned off to some nasty old man!”

He looked at me and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t you think it’s time to get into a serious relationship again? You’re graduating soon, and you need to start worrying about the future. I mean, you can’t be single forever!” I couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth. Especially his mouth.

He has been single for years, anti-monogamist, and in denial since he graduated college seven years ago.

“I mean, I’m a guy. It’s okay for me, but you don’t want to turn out like these women. Soon you will realize how old you really are and get scared that you are alone. I’m just looking out for you.”

My face was boiling red and I clenched my jaw to stop myself from saying something I might regret.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. And I’ll be fine. I have years before I need to worry about that. And stop projecting your insecurities onto me!”

There. I said it. He stopped short and looked at me in surprise. We left the party in silence that night. Not angry, just equally terrified with the reality of our situation.

Eve is a Collegian Columnist