I was forty years old, a widower and a father of one young boy. My beloved wife of 15 years had succumbed to breast cancer the year before and I was feeling the urge to move on, if not for my sake but for that of my 2-year-old son. Still I didn't want to go on blind dates, nor frequent the regular divorcée pick-up spots, or heaven forbid join Tinder. The dating scene had changed so much since I was young and single. No, I wanted a different approach and as a software engineer, I thought that I knew just the way to go about it.
I wanted a young woman, someone with lots of energy, and less likely to get sick and die on me and my son. I wanted someone who was a giver, someone sweet, someone who loved kids, and someone who wasn't too ambitious. Finally, I wanted to find someone who would be grateful for the security and love we could provide them.
My wife had been the typical blonde blue-eyed bombshell. A classical beauty from her hair follicles down to her dainty toes. At the time, my tastes were rather stereotypical for a white guy and from the ogling that my wife got every time we went out in public I could see that most men agreed with me. But over the years, the physical look of my perfect woman had changed. I found myself more and more attracted to brown skinned women - Latinas, Middle Easterners, Africans. But given where I lived, in Southern California, Latinas would be in more plentiful supply and less of a culture divide away than someone who was Muslim or from Africa. I wanted a young woman, fresh and innocent, just into her last teen years, who I could mold and transform. I wanted a taut, strong, healthy body, someone who could bear me children and help me raise them. I wanted a quick lively mind, not a quitter or a settler.
From my days at law school, I knew a classmate who was a practicing immigration attorney. Every couple of months we would meet for a drink and he would tell me his sad stories of families separated through detention and deportation. I decided I would take advantage of his do-gooder nature and ask for introductions to families where I could offer "assistance" but I would be upfront that I was looking for a wife in the process. Several weeks later, and our regular drinking session came up. I met my friend, Jeff, at the bar we frequented and we headed off to a booth to drink up our beers in relative peace and quiet.
"You know Jeff, I've been thinking a lot about the need to move on and find a new wife, if not for myself as much as for my son" I said.
Jeff heartily agreed: "It's past time."
"So, I was wondering if you might be able to help me?" I said.
"How so?" said Jeff.
"Well you are always sharing your sad stories of separated family and I was thinking that perhaps I could help out by marrying someone and providing some cash to pay for lawyers." I said.
"Go on." Said Jeff. He was a skilled interviewer and knew when to keep quiet and draw out information.
"Well I'd be willing to help out a family in need by marrying a daughter for example. Do you know anyone that might fit the bill." I said.
"As a matter of fact, I do," said Jeff, "but she's quite young, I don't know if that is what you are looking for. Gabriella is her name, she's Guatemalan, she came to the US illegally at age 12 with her parents and two younger siblings but they will probably get deported within the year if something doesn't change in their situation. If you were to marry her, there is a good chance I could get the whole family an emergency stay and then over time a Green Card. She's 18, wears braces, pretty sure she's a virgin. Basically your quintessential good Catholic girl. Is that what you really want?"
"Well is she somewhat good looking?" I asked.
"She's got that innocent cute thing going. Tallish, great smile and dark eyes, medium chest and round butt. Here is a picture I have of the whole family." Jeff said. He showed me a family shot that included Gabriella next to her parents. She was definitely cute, despite the braces, and looked like a nice wholesome girl.
"So how do we meet and see if it would work?" I asked.
"I'll reach out to Gabriella. She's the one who I speak with most of the time since she can translate for her parents. I can give her a rough outline of what we've been talking about and I'll see if she is game to meet you. Sounds good?" Jeff asked.
"Sounds perfect." I said.
So a few days later, I'm sitting in an upscale café in town, sipping a latté, wearing smart but casual clothing and my hair neatly combed in place. Jeff had shared a photo of me with Gabriella so she would recognize me. I'd arrived a few minutes early to grab a quiet corner spot, as I didn't want anyone else to hear our conversation. At the appointed time, Gabriella arrived, she was wearing a tight-fitting white shirt and jeans with her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. We recognized each other at the same moment and I waved her over to the table, getting up to greet her properly.
"So nice of you to come meet me." I said.
"No problem. Jeff said I should have a chat with you and I trust him so here we are. He said you might be able to help my family." She said.
"Would you like anything to drink?" I asked. Of course she asked for one of those dreadful syrupy coffee drinks but I was happy to oblige.
Gabriella took to slowly sipping her drink waiting for me to start the conversation. So I asked her a couple of questions about her parents and siblings, her schooling, and her home life. She was the typical 18 year old, chafing at the bit to be free of her parents, but at the same time very loving and concerned about her siblings and the fate that might await them should immigration finally catch up with them. They were living in a two bedroom apartment with one small bathroom and no privacy at all.
"Well I think I might have a solution for all your problems at the moment. I'm a widower with a two-year-old son and I'm looking for someone to fill the void of my wife in our lives. I have a four bedroom house with a large backyard. I've saved up plenty of money over the years and my current job pays well. We have no troubles in our life. If you'd consider marrying me, I'm sure we could help out your family with its immigration status and get them into a nice apartment in a better part of town with better schools. I'm not asking for an answer right away. In fact, if you are interested I'd really like you to meet my son and then if you think it's a good idea, get to meet your parents." I said.
Gabriella eyes had widened to dinner plates by that point. Clearly, Jeff had not spilled all the details of my arrangement, which was probably for the best. I could see she was processing the pros and cons of the offer. Pros: money, help for her family, and getting out of the house. Cons: living with a 40-year-old man with his young son. She regained her composure and said: "I guess I didn't know what I was expecting but it wasn't this. I'm not saying no but I'm not saying yes. But I would like to meet your son and see your house. Any chance we could go now?"
"Of course. When you have finished your coffee we can head out." I said.
I escorted Gabriella to my car, a very nice BMW SUV, and she rode shotgun back to my house. She was clearly comfortable enough to go with me to my house which was saying something. We pulled into the driveway and I went around to open her door and we walked up to the main door and went in. Sam, my son, was playing in the backyard on the play structure I had built him. He was under the watchful eye of our regular nanny, Josie, a middle-aged Irish woman who probably had an interest in replacing the former Mrs. Smith if she had only had the chance. I dismissed Josie who gave me some curious looks and then I introduced Gabriella to Sam. She was clearly a natural with kids, she immediately got down on her knees to be at his level and gave him a little hug asking if he would like to be pushed in the swing or play hide and seek. Of course he was thrilled to be getting the attention and then went off together playing multiple rounds of hide and seek in the garden. Gabriella made sure to be relatively easy to find.