June Clawson and I, Brian Walters, married right out of college after a three year romance. Although we graduated the same year I was three years older than June because I was "red shirted" by my parents in kindergarten, and I served two years in the Peace Corps before enrolling in college.
Although both families were happy with our choice of mate, perhaps most happy was my mother-in-law Cheryl. Cheryl was particularly happy because not only did she seem to like me, but my romance with June and our subsequent engagement, wedding preparations, and wedding, allowed her to live vicariously through June since she never had that experience herself.
Cheryl got pregnant as a teen and had a very hard time making it as a single mom in large part due to the fact that her zealously religious parents essentially disowned her. After just scraping by for a few years when she was twenty one she married a much older man just to have some financial security to provide for June. Cheryl never had romance, a fulfilling engagement, or even anything more than a modest wedding since her husband Sam Clawson had been married before and wanted something simple.
Sam is a decent guy and did provide well for Cheryl and June -- but he is about as dull as dishwater and as romantic as a door knob.
I, in turn, have always liked Cheryl. Since she's only eleven years older than I am I don't really look upon her as a typical mother-in-law; rather more like a young aunt. In fact she's just as good looking as her daughter, although three inches shorter than June with green eyes instead of blue, and not quite as voluptuous. Her beautiful visage usually has a striking smile, and she is very kind. For someone as pretty as she is she is shy and always wears conservative clothing, perhaps engrained in her because of her past including her parents continuously referring to her as a slut.
After June and I had been married four years Sam died of a heart attack. It wasn't really unexpected because of his lifestyle, but Cheryl took it hard. I handled all of the things with regard to Sam's estate for Cheryl, gave her a shoulder to cry on, and even more so than June included her in our activities so that, combined with charity work that she did, she stayed occupied. One thing that she wanted no help with, or even discussion of, was her going on dates. There were literally dozens of guys I knew, some much younger than she is, who would have loved to date her, but she had zero interest.
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Shortly after my six year wedding anniversary I realized that I was a cliché -- a clueless husband being cheated on by a scheming wife. I may have been clueless but I wasn't indecisive. When June's cheating was confirmed I moved out of our apartment into an extended-stay motel and immediately split all of our finances.
I do believe that June actually did love me, but had lost her way and didn't consider her "short term" affair with someone that she allegedly had no emotional attachment to that serious. She accused me of over-reacting.
I know that June confided in Cheryl (I never called her "mom" or anything like that, only "Cheryl") and asked Cheryl to intercede on her behalf. I know this because three nights after I moved out of our apartment Cheryl visited me at the extended-stay motel. When she knocked on the door I was surprised to see her, but given how kind she had always been to me and how much I liked her I wouldn't deny her entry.
We sat down in my motel room couch next to each other and she held my hand. "I'm so sorry, Brian. I think that you know that I didn't raise June that way."
"I know Cheryl," I replied, squeezing her hand. "You've always impressed me as a moral person who overcame bumps in the road of life, and June's actions have nothing to do with you."
"How are you holding up?" she asked with a small tear in one eye.
"I'm doing OK; it was a shock, but I've never been indecisive so I took the bull by the horns and moved out. I'll probably be hurting for a long while, but I'll get over it."
"Is there a chance that you could forgive June and take her back?"
"I don't see how, especially since her take on things is that I'm over-reacting. It hasn't occurred to her how badly she hurt me," I replied. This time the tear was in my eye.
We talked for another hour, not just about June, but about other things. When she got up to leave she hugged me -- longer than appropriate considering that she was still my mother-in-law -- and once she broke contact seriously said, while staring up into my eyes "If you divorce June I hope that doesn't mean that you're divorcing me too."
"Cheryl, I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for you."
After Cheryl left I felt better. While making her daughter's case she had validated that I had the right to feel like I did, didn't try to put pressure on me, and acted like a true friend rather than a mother-in-law.
That is I felt better until I went to sleep that night. I woke up sweating from a very, very, inappropriate dream.
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A week after I moved out of our apartment and gave the landlord notice that I was no longer responsible for rent (we were on a month-to-month basis at that time with no contractual responsibilities) I filed for divorce on irreconcilable differences. June was very upset; I couldn't understand why she was so upset. What did she think that I would do -- she had known me for nine years at that point in time and I never misrepresented myself to her in any way.
June and her attorney tried numerous tactics, including asking for counselling, so things did not go smoothly the first three months. During that time I was still somewhat in shock, but I was not moving off my principles. I probably would have taken it harder except that two of my single male friends took it upon themselves to cheer me up, and Cheryl called me every week not just to see how I was doing -- although she always did express concern about that -- but also with uplifting stories mostly from her rewarding charity work. We also had lunch once a month and she was always upbeat during that time.
After the papers had been on file for about three months about 1 p. m. on a Monday we had a preliminary hearing before a magistrate. June plead her case for counselling however my attorney was able to successfully rebut it by showing photos of June going to lunch with George, the co-worker that she had the affair with, at least twice since the divorce papers were filed. While she strenuously and tearfully proclaimed that she hadn't had any sexual contact with him since I walked out, the fact that she had not distanced herself from him caused the magistrate -- at my attorney's request -- to dismiss her request for court-ordered counselling.
Everyone in attendance at the hearing knew that that was probably the death knell of the marriage, which would likely be concluded in three months.
Tuesday at work Cheryl called. It was unusual for her to call me at work, but I was always happy to hear from her. After an initial exchange of pleasantries she got to the point.
"You probably know, Brian, that June called me after the hearing yesterday quite upset since it seems that the divorce will go through in a few months. Is that your take too?"
"Yes, Cheryl, it is. I'm very sad about it but I have to move on. My attorney thinks that we will be able to get all of the monetary things handled properly so that the final decree will come out in about three months or so."
"I thought that you might be sad so let me take you out to dinner Friday. You wouldn't consider it pathetic to go out to dinner with your soon to be ex mother-in-law would you? If you're embarrassed I could wear a mask."
I had to chuckle at that. "No, it wouldn't be pathetic, and no you don't need to wear a mask. I just don't think that I'd be very good company."
"I'll get some good food in you, and you'll feel better. I know that you're not much of a cook. So what time should I pick you up on Friday?"
Since the "not much of a cook" was an understatement I chuckled as I replied "I'll pick you up or meet you at the restaurant."
"Absolutely not, since it's my treat -- no argument -- I'll pick you up; say 7:00 p. m."
"OK seven it is. Let me give you the address of my new apartment..."
I had another very disturbing dream Tuesday night. I was going to have to go to a shrink if they persisted.
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To my shock -- not surprise, shock -- when Cheryl knocked on my apartment door at 7:02 p. m. on Friday night she wasn't dressed in the conservative clothes that she always wore. She had a stylish low-cut blouse, short skirt, three inch heels that matched her skirt, light makeup (she almost never wears makeup) that accentuated her enchanting emerald green eyes, and a new hair style that made her pretty face look even prettier. She sure didn't look forty three -- more like thirty.
Cheryl stared at me with apprehension on her face.
"Wow -- you dress up well," I said when my jaw started working again.
"Thanks," she replied, obviously relieved by my words. "The restaurant is kind of upscale and I didn't want to look like I didn't belong."
"Is that a new outfit?"
"Uh...yeah...I bought it and a few others similar to it this week. I thought it was time that I stopped wearing the frumpy clothes I've always worn."
Cheryl drove to the restaurant, which turned out to also have a dance floor. It was unfortunate that when she drove her skirt rode up her thigh. I had never seen part of her thigh before and chastised myself for thinking "Looks shapely!"
The dinner was pleasant, and Cheryl's upbeat demeanor was infectious so I almost forgot about my unpleasant divorce. It was unusual that Cheryl drank alcohol as much as she did, however; normally she drinks only one glass of wine when out to dinner. This night she bought a bottle "to share" but since I rarely drink and had only one glass she polished off the rest.
After dinner she enticed me onto the dance floor. The only times I had danced with her were at June and my wedding reception, and a couple of nights after Sam died when June and I brought her with us (during which times she declined many offers by other guys to dance). She was a pretty basic staid dancer -- then! Now, she was a firecracker.
After six or seven dances we took a break; she went to the bathroom and I got a table. When she returned I asked "How did you learn to dance like that?" I pride myself on being a good dancer -- for a guy -- but she was obviously better than I was.
"I've been taking lessons once a week for almost the last year," she smiled. "Did I do OK?"
