Beg Me-Sold to My Dad's Boss

“Well, he is really old,” I said tinnily. “What you said was true.”

Another loaded pause.

“How old?” asked Brenda.

“Forty-five.”

And there was a gigantic whoosh of air as she exhaled, my heart dropping as I heard it. Oh no, that was a deal-breaker and Brenda couldn’t look past it, couldn’t see that age was just a number.

But she surprised me unexpectedly.

“Honey, you know your dad and I are fifteen years apart, don’t you?” she reminded me quietly.

I stopped for a moment. I had known that, but had forgotten because they were just Mom and Dad to me, in the general category of “old people,” people who were positively ancient.

“I know Mom,” I said slowly, “but Chris is twenty-six years older than me, not fifteen. That’s a lot.”

“It is,” Brenda agreed, “but you can overcome it, so long as you’re on the same mental level with the same approach and expectations to life. And trust me, your dad and I know, we went through a period where people questioned our decisions, questioned our love for each other. We started dating when I was twenty and he was thirty-five, folks thought that we couldn’t possibly be a good match.”

I gaped, astounded.

“Really?” I asked. I’d never heard about this part of their courtship, it’d always been rainbows and smiles from what they’d told me.

My mom hesitated.

“Yes, both sets of your grandparents opposed our marriage. Nanny and Don, and Marta and Gramps didn’t come to the ceremony, you know that.”

I did know that but they’d always painted it as a romantic elopement, a quick getaway because they were so hot for each other.

“But what happened?” I asked confused. “Everyone loves you guys, I’ve never seen anyone be nasty or resentful.”

And my mom sighed.

“Honey, it’s because you were born. The birth of a child is a magical thing and you were such a beautiful baby. Who could hold a grudge? After you were born, Lindy, our parents saw that we were truly committed to one another, that we were going to be a family no matter what, so they fell into line.”

And I gaped again. Holy cow, there’d been years of discord before I was born, my grandparents had opposed my parents’ union because of their age difference?

And hearing my unspoken question, my mom’s voice came over the line again.

“Yes, honey,” she said, her voice stronger now. “So if you tell me that you’re in love with Chris Jones, then Jim and I aren’t going to stop you just because you’re nineteen and he’s forty-five. It would be hypocritical, and based on our own experiences, we know it’s not a dealbreaker.”

I gasped, hardly able to believe what I was hearing.

“But Mom,” I said slowly, shaking my head, still trying to get my bearings. “What about the way Mr. Jones and I met? Don’t you think it’s so sordid, like he bought me somehow, paid me for my services?”

“Oh honey, you’re so young,” began Brenda again

Again, the “young” thing. I really was going to scream now, but my mom couldn’t hear my thoughts and she pressed on ahead.

“You haven’t seen the world,” my mom began slowly. “There are so many ways to meet people, and yes, yours was a little more transactional than most. But baby,” and here, her voice hitched. “You did it because you love your family. You care about your dad and me, and … and we didn’t have many options financially.”

That was true, I loved my parents and hadn’t wanted to see them thrown out on the street. But what about the issue of Chris “buying” me?

“But Mom,” I began again. “Mr. Jones paid for me, lock, stock and barrel, like I was a horse at auction almost. Don’t you think that’s wrong, that any relationship like this is doomed?”

And that’s when my mom paused again.

“Honey, how do you think your dad and I met?” she asked slowly.

“At a restaurant,” I said slowly. “You were a waitress and dad was eating there, and you struck up a conversation.”

“That’s true,” confirmed my mom, “but there’s more to it. Your dad saw me but I didn’t like him at first. So he paid me for my phone number.”

I cut in quickly.

“Dad slipped your manager a fifty for your number,” I said stoutly. “That’s different, you didn’t get the money.”

“Not quite,” said my mom quietly. “Jim handed the manager a fifty, but then my manager passed the money onto me and said there was a nice man outside interested in meeting me. And so I too was ‘paid,’ baby. Maybe not as explicitly as you, but I got paid just the same.”

But I couldn’t square it away. My parents’ meet-cute was exactly that, a sweet story that they’d relayed countless times.

“It’s different for you guys,” I said stubbornly. “You didn’t have sex for money.”

And my mom sighed.

“Sex, sex, sex, all young people are about is sex these days,” she said. “Honey, there are so many grey areas and all I’m saying is that both you and I fall into the grey space. Maybe you’re a little more towards one side, and I’m a little more towards the other, but the fact is that a man bought us in some way, big or small. And all I can say now,” she said with a small smile in her voice, “is that your father and I have been together for twenty years. Twenty years honey,” she said softly, “happily married for twenty years.”