After more than two years of marriage, we still go on dates almost every night.
This irritates my friends and family when I ignore their calls while I go around the house, lighting candles and preparing dinner.
Around seven in the evening, my husband and I sank into the sofa cushions, plates in hand, to watch a movie or listen to music.
Nothing extravagant, just
comfort and romance.
Our loved ones have told us:
“Wait until you're together seven years” or “This is just the honeymoon phase.
“They are going to get fed up with each other.”
Maybe, but so far we seem to be going in the opposite direction.
This is his first marriage and my third.
Minutes before our rainy courthouse wedding, my future mother-in-law said:
“He will be your last love and you will be his only love.”
If you had asked me five years ago if I would date again, I would have said:
"Not in a million years".
She was a middle-aged woman going through a divorce, who slept in the living room until my then-husband moved out.
Our separation wasn't exactly amicable, but it wasn't a war either.
I think we both knew
it was over
.
We agreed that he could take almost everything, except some furniture:
the sofa, the coffee table and the yoga mat.
He had bought most of it anyway, so it seemed only fair that he keep it.
When he left, I felt like my life was free of burdens and I wanted to keep it that way.
I work as a freelance makeup artist in Portland, Oregon, but business wasn't going well at the time, so to earn extra income I took a job as a cashier at Fred Meyer Supermarket, where I met Tylan.
I thought he was very handsome with his long hair, his piercing blue eyes and his hippy clothes.
He also worked the cash registers, but he was a “PAC” (person in charge) who also had management responsibilities.
When the pandemic hit, my makeup work stopped completely, and I became dependent on my cashier job at Fred Meyer, which, as an essential business, remained open even during the worst of COVID.
It was not easy.
The place was crowded and stressful, at times hostile and even violent.
Every once in a while, however, a stranger would express gratitude, which was like eating a teaspoon of gold dust, instantly increasing my
sense of self-worth.
Sometimes, after work hours, we employees would buy beer and stay outside on the sidewalk, drinking under a dim streetlight.
On our days off, a group would have a picnic in the park at the end of the street.
My contribution usually consisted of cider and omelette, others brought sweets and whiskey, and food lovers bought something hot from the deli.
Tylan usually worked during those outings, but just before his shift he would stop by to say hello.
We exchanged secret glances and from time to time touched our fingertips.
It was exhilarating when he visited me, but it also scared me.
I was attracted to him.
But I was 46 years old, one year younger than his own mother, and he was 27, two years older than my son.
In the store, he was witty and flirtatious whenever I was around, which made me blush, and I never blush.
If he worked at a checkout and I bagged products, he would smile and tell the customer:
“This is Cat, my fabulous bagger and helper.”
He introduced me to the emo-rock genre and I introduced him to dark slow-core.
We drank mead, tried new recipes, and talked about music, career goals, and sometimes our love lives.
Mine was non-existent and I was content with that, and he was single, waiting for the right person.
Sometimes I even tried to play matchmaker, but it never worked.
One afternoon when I was at Tylan's house, he told me jokes that made me laugh so hard I put my legs over his lap.
It seemed natural to me to get around him.
I remember the light in his eyes when that happened:
maybe it was surprise, maybe it was pleasure, or maybe a combination of both.
When we were just friends and coworkers, the age difference wasn't a big deal.
But as romantic partners?
When we started dating, I was terrified.
Our nineteen-year age difference seemed treacherous to me, the kind of thing people gossip and slander about.
I was worried that people would think I was disruptive and call me a cougar.
The few who knew our relationship sometimes asked me:
"How they did it?".
I would get defensive when answering and felt the need to say:
“It just happened.
I didn't look for him, he looked for me!
As a Korean adopted in the United States, I have never felt like I was in the mainstream and have adopted an atypical life, raising my son on my own and not giving in to conventional pressures.
Furthermore, the pandemic had shaken people's lives in many ways, so people began to evaluate their jobs, their marriages, their happiness, or lack thereof.
Still, I had a hard time seeing a future with Tylan because our age difference was too strong a taboo for me.
However, he was relentless.
He said things like:
“It's just a number, Cat. I love you, and I even love those lines around your eyes.”
I didn't know I had crow's feet before, but now I do, along with a new set of questions:
Would it be okay if we didn't have children?
Would he still love me when I got more crow's feet?
She knew that kind of romance had complications, but she wasn't sure Tylan would.
If we stayed together, he was going to see me get older, maybe have age-related medical problems, and whatever else.
Would you then change your mind about me?
I had assumed that middle age was synonymous with confidence and stability, but here I was, feeling small and insecure.
There was also the matter of meeting his friends and family.
Tylan said things like:
“They will love you because I love you.”
But I knew that loving me would be more acceptable if we were closer in age.
Even ten years older is much more acceptable than nineteen.
You don't hear about couples with such a difference in age, especially when the older partner is a woman.
For the first year, we managed to keep our relationship a secret.
We bathed naked in the river at midnight, kissed in a giant velvet sack, and camped in a tent made of sheets.
And then it happened one night:
Tylan got down on one knee and proposed to me.
I was stunned and for a moment speechless.
It wasn't until Tylan said “yes?”
when I nodded my head and stammered, “Yes!”
Tylan proposed to me with a candy ring.
I also gave him one.
Every few months, we traded in our engagement rings for new ones from a junk shop, a novelty store, and a metaphysical store down the street.
At this point, we were already living together and coworkers were beginning to suspect our relationship.
Especially because of our jeweled fingers.
Eventually, word spread and surprised everyone we knew.
I had already told my son, who at first objected.
When I tried to talk to him, he told me:
“I'm not ready, mom.
“This is too weird for me.”
It almost felt like I was confessing a sin, and yet, even with all the dark narratives running through my head, it also felt good.
I understood my son's reservations, so I gave him time.
But it didn't take long.
As soon as she saw the joy in my eyes and heard the nightly laughter in the living room, she warmed to Tylan.
I don't think my son has ever seen me so happy and alive with another person.
On our wedding day, he told me:
“Mom, I'm so happy for you.
Tylan is a good guy.
I approve it".
Hearing his validation took me back to those teaspoons of gold dust, but this time, the spoon was a soup ladle.
My marriage is far from conventional, but it is perfect for us.
Tylan brings out the best in me, and I like to think I do the same for him.
I am a woman with a story and experiences that excite him, and he is a man with new perspectives and sensitivity who teaches me many things.
That is not something that is easily found in the same age group.
Yes, sometimes I still worry about what people think.
But if you see my crow's feet these days, you'll know I smile a lot.
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