Ask Me Again In Twenty Years

Hugs and kisses, congratulations made, the women huddled in the corner, making plans. Remembering the advice I got on my first wedding, we guys took the kids out on the beach for awhile.

We came back in at lunch for sandwiches and soup.

Sarah fed Robbie.

"Say Momma," she would tease him, waving the soup spoon in front of her.

"Momma," he said obediently, which started her crying.

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I was sweating bullets, scared to death Elsa would show up at the last minute and complicate things, but she didn't. The divorce went through, and the ink wasn't dry before we had the marriage license.

They gave us a little party at work. Since we worked in different departments on different floors, there was no problem with keeping our jobs.

"I thought you guys were already married," said one of the daycare workers.

"We were," I told her holding Sarah tightly.

"I just didn't know it."

We had a long talk before we married. She was eight years older. I started doing the math and she stopped me.

"I told you, I was a little hellion. I had to grow up too soon, too fast."

We knew there were no more children in our future, but we were happy with Robbie. We had our lives all plotted out.

Just before we married, she asked me a question.

"Honey, do you remember the first time we met? You hugged me, and when I asked why, you told me to ask you again in twenty years. Can you tell me a little earlier, now that we're about to be man and wife?"

I gave her a kiss.

"Sure, babe. I've always heard that if you wanted to see what your wife was going to look in twenty years, look at her mother. All I could think was how lucky I was going to be. Now I've got you, the original hottie. Have I told you lately how lucky I am?"

Tears appeared, even as she was smiling.

"I'm gonna fuck your brains out tonight, you understand?"

"I bow to your wishes. Can we get married now?"

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We told Robbie the truth when he turned eighteen. He called us liars, then calmed down and said we were still wrong, Sarah would always be his mother.

"Besides, who'd believe this babe is a grandmother?"

I never made CEO, but I did make VP, and made a very nice living. After my second promotion, I talked Sarah into being a stay at home mom. She embraced it, reveling in the things she missed the first time around.

She became the ultimate soccer mom. Our house became the preferred hangout, and there was always a few boys, and later on quite a few girls, underfoot. It left a big hole when Robbie went off to college.

She filled it with volunteer work, she never could stand to stay idle. Then we became foster parents. That only lasted a year, because the first one we fostered became our daughter. She was ten when we got her. Her parents were abusive alcoholics, dying in a car crash when she was eight. She was in the car, but just got scrapes and bruises. She was thirteen before the nightmares stopped.

We went through another round, this time with all the problems attendant with girls. When Bridget went off to college, it was time. I retired.

I was fifty nine, Sarah was sixty seven. Still a hottie.

We did indeed get to have a thirtieth, and was given a reception by our kids. I was looking forward to our fortieth, our goal was to make fifty. The kids had thrown us a party.

I found Robbie out on the deck. He was never really good at hiding his feelings from us, and I knew something was bothering him. He was just past thirty, with a great wife who was two years older. He said he was just following precedent. She came with two children, and had another with Robbie. He worked for my old firm, working his way up the corporate ladder at a faster rate than I did.

"What's up?" I asked, waiting for him to open up.

"I got an interesting visit Thursday. A black guy. He said he was my brother. Showed me pictures of my biological mother. She looks like a smaller version of mom. He didn't want anything, just wanted to meet me. He just moved into the area, and found out about me from his mom. Curiosity got the better of him."

"What did you think?"

"I thought he was a nice guy. Like I said, all he wanted to do was meet me. Showed me a picture, I have another little sister, she's pretty. She wants to meet me too. He gave me pictures of them. And Dad, they want to meet their grandmother. What should I do?"

"The first thing you should do is tell your Mom. I'm sure once she gets over the shock, she's going to want to meet her grandchildren. Come out for lunch next week, sit down, tell her about them. Let her decide, but you know how loving she is. Once she finds out, she's going to insist on seeing them."

And that's exactly what she did. Robbie had them come to his house for a barbeque the next Saturday. I wasn't going to come, but she said she wanted me there, for my strength.

I could see the family resemblance in their faces. Sarah took one look and started crying, hugging them. They talked, I listened.

Little Sarah was trying to get into college. She was eighteen, an oops baby, and seemed pretty bright. Big Sarah cried again when she heard her name.

Mike was twenty nine, two years younger than Robbie. He was married, two kids, making Sarah a great grandmother. He was a master carpenter, made good money when he had work. She kept the pictures he showed her.

They said little about their mother other that she was still alive. Their father had taken off when Sarah was four, they hadn't seen him since.

She was quiet on the way home.

"When are you going?" I asked.

"In two weeks. Bridget will be home from college, I'll take her with me to meet her new siblings. Please don't be mad."

I sighed. "Thirty one years, and you still don't know me. Go. I know your heart is breaking, thinking about all you missed in their lives. Bring me pictures."

She was on my shoulder, crying gently all the to the house.

They were gone four days. She didn't say much for a couple of days, then started giving bits and pieces until it all came out.

El had gained forty pounds, was living in a small apartment, barely getting by. She fainted when she opened her door and saw her mom standing there. Then the crying started.

Mike lived in a nice house, small for his family, but neat and full of love. She got to meet her great granddaughters, who were so young they couldn't understand why the crazy redheaded white woman was hugging them so hard.

She finally brought up what was on her mind.

"Can I help them?"

"Honey, our money is our money. I'd never presume to tell you not to spend it. I ask one thing. I checked on little Sarah. She graduated top of her class. We're going to send her to college. The only catch is she has to go to my alma mater. And she has to decide if she wants a dorm room or a bedroom here."

After she stopped crying, she rushed off to call her. That started another round of crying.

"She'll be here next week, to visit the school."

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I showed her around, visiting dorms, she even audited a class. She was bubbling. I introduced her to the dean as my granddaughter, here to carry on the family tradition.

She rushed to tell her grandmother when we got home, getting really quiet when she told her I introduced her as my granddaughter.

Later, as she snuggled to me in bed, she asked.

"Did you mean it?"

"She's your granddaughter, you're my wife and that makes her MY granddaughter. I'd prefer not to discuss it any longer."

Little Sarah was was on her way to the bathroom and heard it all. Soon I was smothered by two crying women.

She decided to live with us. It was a fun four years. When she married the next year, I gave her away. I didn't want to.

Robbie got Mike a job, helping him get into community college. He now works in the receiving department as assistant manager.

Our great granddaughters, and great grandsons, come over often.

Sarah moved Elsa into an apartment nearby, helping her get a job at her old company.

She finally started showing up at family functions. I'm civil, but don't engage her much. She respects that.

She tried to apologize to me once, tell me what happened, but I shut her down.

"I have no interest in dredging up painful memories. Despite how bad it hurt me, I'm glad in a way. If you'd have been faithful, I'd have never gotten Sarah. And that would have been a tragedy."

She left, crying.

I have to go now, my son, daughter, grandsons and granddaughters, and all seven great grand children

are waiting to help celebrate our fortieth. I wonder how many will be there on the fiftieth?

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I think I may give up writing in any other category. Everything I write seems to end up a romance.

As always, thanks for reading. Until next time.

Q