The relationship with my dad’s parents were understandably strained. With the added distance, we had effectively put up a lot of emotional distance between them and us, and it served us well in our new life as a psuedo-married couple. I settled into a life as an adjunct instructor-graduate TA, and she a nurse in her new hospital, and things were fairly normal. Since dad didn’t ever respond to the divorce paperwork, it took a few added months as mandated by law, but eventually, the divorce came through. And though there was some noticeable difference in our ages, Andrea looked to be in her early 30’s rather than 39, and so we appeared to most to just be a unit where the older but still sexy lady had robbed the cradle just a smidgen in order to snag a younger stud.
So life continued. During the day, I worked on my education, making my tuition and a small student stipend off of my teaching. On the weekend, we slowly worked on getting the house in order, painting and doing all the nonsense that goes with a house as you slowly move into it and make it your own. We raised Chloe, who had slowly taken to calling me “Papa Alex,” since her own father had disappeared. She obviously missed him, but seemed somehow okay with the transition. The house we had moved into was bigger than the one back in Fort Collins, and it was always in need of love, so it kept us insanely busy. And every night, Andrea would drag me away from my books, house project, or putting Chloe to bed, bring me to our bed, massage some tension away for a few minutes, and then we would make love. Sometimes it was frenzied and kinky, other times slow and loving. Sometimes it was only once a night, other times it was multiple times. But the one agreement she had made to me was that, regardless of how tired we were, stresses, period, whatever, that we would always be together every night.
After two years, Chloe’s and my grandmother died. It wasn’t surprising, as she was older and had never taken good care of herself. We flew back to Colorado for the funeral, and despite the sadness of the event, the biggest strain was that Andrea and I couldn’t be affectionate in public, as too many people knew us and stepmother and son in our old town. We had to keep our hands off each other for days, which was torturous, as I had begun to take for granted kissing her or touching her in public, and it was highly distressing to be denied my daily dose. We somehow got through it, though, and eagerly returned to Boston the day after the funeral. Stepping off the tarmac, I noted the horribly gray weather, and thought that it felt great to be home.
My masters completed after two years of intensive work. I had considered getting a doctorate, but after deliberation, decided to take a job with the local branch of the FBI as a translator and civilian contractor, and put the PhD off for a few years. Truth be told, I was a bit tired of school and needed a break, and the money I was being offered was quite good. Between Andrea and I, we would be quite comfortable. Around this time, my grandfather also passed—no surprise again, as after 50+ years of marriage, I don’t think he knew how to get by without his wife.