I am Anne. I am 29 years old. I'm five feet, ten inches tall and I weigh 140 pounds. I wear a 34B bra. I have dirty blonde hair. I have two children and an ex-husband. And I'm a big disappointment to my mom, whose name is Erin. A really big disappointment.
Dad left us both when I was eight years old. He left us but he took his Admin Assistant with him. Erin--my mom--divorced his sorry ass and raised me alone--a single mother with a full-time job--over the next decade.
Erin is a financial analyst for the big defense contractor up the street. After Dad left, Mom did everything right. She took care of me and made sure I studied. She saved what she could for my education.
Then I screwed it all up.
When I was 18, I met Polo, the star of the college basketball team. On our second date we fucked. I got pregnant. Then it was good-bye to college and hello to being Polo's baby-mama. We got married about a year later when he was signed by a European League team. Another baby soon followed. What can I say? We were married, we had had good, frequent, sex--and Polo liked to rawdog me. I let him.
So I'm an idiot. Sue me.
Polo and I got married when I was 20; he was 23. After I got married, Mom met Erik. They ended-up getting married a year or so after Polo and I did. Erin and Erik. Cute, huh? I didn't really care what Mom was doing at the time because I had my hands full raising two young infants while their father was off in Europe, playing ball. Did I say "playing?"
Yep.
He was a player and when I realized just how much he was playing around on me, I divorced him. That was a little over year ago.
Unfortunately, the European League is not the NBA, so the money Polo reluctantly paid me each month didn't cover rent and food and the cost of living in LA. Plus attorney's fees. Divorces are expensive, especially when your husband doesn't want to pay you both alimony and child support so he can maintain his own lifestyle.
What little savings I had ran out quickly. I was forced to move in with Mom and Erik. They had a nice-sized house with a guest room for me and another room that my kids could share. Mom and Erik shared the room next to mine. It wasn't great but it worked. It was their place or a Section 8 housing waiting list--which meant living on the streets until there was an opening for us. I chose to live with my mom and her new husband.
Mom and Erik were good people. They took care of my kids after school was over, while I attended the local college, finally studying for the degree I should have been pursuing a decade ago. In an ironic twist, I attended the same college where Polo had been such a big star, ten years ago. Trust me: nobody remembered his name there anymore. I was working to get a degree so that I could find a decent job--maybe at the same defense contractor where Mom worked--and move out on my own.
When we moved in with them, Mom was 49 and Erik was 51. They had been married for about seven years. Now she's 50 and he's about to turn 52. My kids are 8 and 10; the elder is a girl and the younger one is a boy. Just so we're all clear on these things.
When I first moved in, I was worried about having the room next door to Mom and Erik. I thought it might be tough to sleep if they were as loud as Polo and I used to be. Or even if they were only half as loud as we used to be. And at first, yes. I could tell when they were having sex. There would be some moans and gasps; the bed would creak rhythmically for a few minutes. It really wasn't too bad. (It was kind of hot, actually.) But soon even that level of activity faded. By the time I had been living with them for a year, the nights were quiet. Too quiet. Instead of the sounds of two adults fucking each other, I heard murmured conversations. Strained conversations, as if they were arguing quietly.
I tried to subtly ask Mom if everything was alright between them. That led to a conversation I never really wanted to have with my mother, about menopause and how sometimes the "change of life" affected libidos. Basically, Mom wasn't in the mood very much anymore. When she was, it took a lot of patience on Erik's part before he could actually insert his penis into her vagina. They had lube but it wasn't always enough, and sometimes he hurt her--even though that was the last thing he wanted to do. That afternoon, I learned far more about senior citizen sexual appetites than I ever wanted to know, thank you so
very
much. Mom and Erik were cordial to each other, but the passion had faded away. They lived like two roommates, instead of as husband and wife.
It was weird. Erik was a pretty good-looking guy for his age. In decent shape. He had all his hair, though there was some gray in it. About six feet tall, more or less. I couldn't help comparing him to Polo. Polo was well over six feet, more like six foot five or six. Polo was ripped, with abs of steel. Polo ran nearly every single day. He was in damn near perfect shape. Compared to Polo, Erik was just okay. Still, for his age he was kind of a hottie. If you were into senior citizens, which I was not.
In fact, I hadn't been out on a date for almost three years. It was the last time Polo came home to spend time with his family. We went out to a club and danced, then we came back to our condo and fucked like animals. That was my last date, almost three years ago. Since then... nothing.
Now we lived with my mom and her second husband. I had two kids and I lived with my mom. Who was going to want to come home with me to
that?
Nobody.
My kids and I had been living in their house for exactly one year and a day when Mom came into my room after the kids were in bed to have a talk with me.
*****
"Erik says we need to start charging you rent," she told me. "I mean, we love you and the kids but the cost of living just keeps going up. If you can't find another place to live, then we need to start charging you rent. Honey, I'm so sorry."
I took a deep breath. "Okay. I guess we have been here a bit longer than I thought we would." I tried to make a little joke. "Two months, six months. A year. What's the difference, anyway?"
Mom didn't smile back. In fact, I saw tears lurking in her eyes. "It hasn't been very easy on us. I don't think you appreciate that, Anne... just how much our lives have been impacted by having you and the kids here all the time. When Erik married me, he was under the impression that I was an empty-nester. Then six years later, our nest was filled. More than filled, if you know what I mean."
I sighed. "I'm sorry, Mom. Really, I am. I guess... I guess I just pretty much screwed up my life. Not only my life, but yours as well. I'm so--"
Mom hugged me and wiped away my tears, though by that point we were both crying. "Honey, I love you. You need to know that, just how much I love you and your two beautiful children. I think Erik does, as well. We love watching them! It's just... well. We're not getting any younger--obviously! We need to start saving seriously for retirement. I don't want to work until I'm 90!"
"I understand, Mom. I've been trying to save money myself, so that we could move out. There just doesn't seem to be much left over each month! I wish Polo would send us more, but I know he doesn't make that much himself."
Mom snorted. "He makes at least 300 kay a year, doesn't he? Maybe more. I heard that some players make 800 kay. He can afford to send you more--a lot more."
"Yeah, maybe. But then he's gonna want joint custody."
"What's wrong with that? Your children should know their father."
"What's wrong with that is that they are too young to fly fifteen hours across the Atlantic by themselves, then follow their father around various hotels for a couple of weeks, never staying in one place for more than a night or two. Living with a professional basketball player, seeing the groupies in the hotel lobbies. That's no life for them. Maybe in their teens, but not now."
Mom sighed. "Yeah, I see your point." She shrugged. "Well, then. Our thought is that 500 dollars a month is not unreasonable. Payable on the first day of each month, starting next month."
"
Five hundred!
Mom, I can't afford--"
"Well, then. How much can you afford, Anne?"
Nothing.
That's what I wanted to say. Instead, I said, "How about one hundred? If I pay you one hundred and save four hundred, then I can be out of your hair by this time next year."
"I don't think that's going to be enough, honey. Besides, I don't know if you've factored in all the other expenses besides rent and food. What about insurance? What about gas and maintenance for your car? What about clothes and such for the kids?" She shook her head. "Let's not fool ourselves. You will be staying here until you finish your degree and get a decent job with benefits. Even then, you'll need to have accumulated significant savings. A year is optimistic;
really
optimistic. Two is more likely--and that's only if you can handle a full courseload between now and then, so you can get your degree and start looking for a good job."
Did I say my mom was a financial analyst? I bet she had a spreadsheet on my budgetary needs, just waiting to be projected on a Teams meeting.
"Mom, if I pay you five hundred, then I'll
never
have enough money saved to move out."
"Honey, if you don't pay five hundred, then I don't know what Erik is going to say. But I don't want to put this all on him. This is a joint decision on both our parts, one with which I agree: you need to pay us rent. There are no free rides in life and your housing isn't one of them." She smiled thinly. "Not to mention the food."
"See what he says to one hundred. Then try two. Let me know how that goes."
