“I am in my prime. Professionally. Financially. Intellectually. Not sexually. All things considered, my sexual prime came in the back of a 1970 Nova and went out the door of a judge’s office three months later.”
I crack me up. I really do. Yesterday, I randomly tweeted the above out of one of my books that I thought was one of my better lines. That’s Finn Marston,1 from Lion’s Share narrating the circumstances of his shotgun wedding at 19.
That’s funny (yes, it is; fight me), but the real story is in Lion’s Share opening line.2
In 1998 (I think) my mom, brother, and I set out on a road trip to Salt Lake. I cannot, for the life of me, remember why. I stayed in Provo with an internet friend, who was getting divorced from her asshole ex-husband, and her two single-digit kids. She was broke, her soon-to-be-ex wasn’t paying child support, and she didn’t have a job so she was on assistance. We had a couple of late-night heart-to-hearts. She had re-dedicated her life to Jesus, in non-Mormon evangelical Christian parlance. She was going to church, paying tithing (on her meager income), and had just gone to the temple to take out her endowment (fornication and adultery are verboten). She was wearing her garments appropriately and faithfully. She was focused, determined, locked in.
Fast forward a year or so. We were in a Mormon singles chatroom, and we were in DMs, chatting about her life. She was still broke. Ex still wasn’t paying child support. She was doing well with church and she was dripping with new zealotry.3
I had noticed that in the general chat, she was flirting with this guy from a state somewhere far northeast of Utah.4 I remembered his deets,5 and as far as I could tell, he was a very nice, decent, hard-working, spiritually upright fellow who loved his kids. Said his ex cheated.6 There were no warning bells as to his person. However, there were some warning bells as to how life with him would be:
- divorced
- paying a shit-ton of child support
- lived in a broken-down mobile home in a broken-down mobile home park in a broken-down small town (bonus points for honesty!)
- didn’t have a job
- didn’t have a trade, marketable skill, or defining occupation
Keep in mind: You don’t go to any chat room looking for a sugar daddy. Men with money aren’t there, they don’t want women over thirty and/or divorcées with eight kids, and moneyed Mormon men aren’t single anyway.7 I didn’t care what anybody else’s motives were, but mine was to find a nice, decent guy to marry and have children with.8
So she was chatting with this nice (I’m sure) gentleman, and I asked her very delicately WTF she was doing talking to a down-and-out dude when she was also down and out.
“He’s nice.”
That was a plus, but I thought she should be looking for someone a tidge more solid. Say what you want about a woman’s material target-seeking, but love does not conquer all, especially at the beginning when you’re thirty-five, broke, and have at least four kids between you.
I left her alone about it because it was not my business and she was a big girl and she was going to do whatever she wanted to do regardless of any wisdom I might throw her way. Free advice is almost always worth what you pay for it.
Over the next few weeks, she regaled me with the wonderful gestures this dude made. She was in luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuv. Nobody saw that coming, nosirreebob.
Then one day, in the general chat, this happened:
Well, that was alarming. I immediately opened DMs.
Her: BUT WE LOVE EACH OTHER!!!
Oh boy.
The plan: She would fly to his state with her kids, who would effectively be their chaperone. They would meet in a hotel by the airport, as it was some distance away from his home. They would have 2 hotel rooms, one for him (I can’t remember if he brought his kids), and one for her and her kids.
Me: Whatever you do, don’t fuck him.9
Her: Oh definitely not! I’ve been to the temple now.
Uh huh.
Me: You never know. And the last thing you need is another kid.
Her: No, we have promised to save that for marriage.
Ooooookay.
So she and her kids got there. He’d filled her room with balloons and flowers and just all-around romantic goodness. Normal getting-to-know-you IRL-post-internet stuff ensued … for about 1/2 hour. The kids got put in the other hotel room so they could make out. That was all it was. All clothes on, everything above the neck. I nodded approvingly.
“But then it just slipped in.”
… … … “BECKY! THE FUCK?!”
“Twice.”
• • •
I waited for years to be able to use that line in a story, but it never fit. Then one day I had a dream about a widow getting together with her widowed-father-in-law-turned-BFF, woke up, said (out loud) “Oh, that’s an interesting idea,” forgot about it, went about my day, which included a stop at Young House Love DIY blog, and an idea was born.
And fuck me if I wasn’t going to start that out with
Twice.
______________________________
1. Readers of The Proviso (Director’s Cut) won’t remember this, but Finn makes an appearance very close to the end.
2. Apologies, my friend. I’ve been hesitating posting this for almost 20 years, but you cannot possibly know how much this has delighted me and my husband. Yes, we’re laughing at you, but it’s with great affection. You helped spawn a story of grief, loss, conspiracy, love, loving, and a twist on the late-husband’s-dirty-little-secret trope.
3. New zealots of anything are the worst. Jesus, veganism, Cross Fit, colon cleanses. Doesn’t matter.
4. No, I’m not going to say which one, although I do remember it clearly.
5. I don’t bother trying to remember things about internet people. I make a database. Yes, you are on a list. I’m not stalking you. I’m trying to remember you so you won’t think I’ve completely forgotten you. Because I would have. Without the spreadsheet.
6. You always have to take this with a grain of salt. It might be true. It might not be. It’s probably some blend, but you know what they say. There are three sides to every story: Yours, mine, and the truth.
7. Moneyed Mormon men have been married since they got off their mission, their wives put them through law school or business school (while also having enough kids to do a Family Feud episode), and they’re in a courtroom or boardroom somewhere displaying the only rampant male aggression that is socially acceptable in Mormon culture. They have money because they’re married.
8. Twenty-three years later, I can definitively say I did, indeed, find a nice, decent guy to marry and have children with.
9. I don’t advise abstinence out of religiosity. I advocate for any woman to develop a heightened sense of self-preservation.
I am still The Luckiest One.
No, *I* am!