I thought about the last $12 in my wallet, and my car door that didn’t lock.
“Yes,” I said.
What kind of man marries an old woman for her money? Not a good one. I knew that even as the word left my mouth, and I knew it would follow me into whatever came next.
“This won’t be a romantic relationship.”
The wedding was small.
Two witnesses, a judge, and a courthouse hallway that smelled like floor wax.
Eleanor wore a pale blue dress and held my arm like I might float away.
I kissed her on the cheek like I would’ve kissed my grandma, if I’d had one.
I remember thinking she looked proud, and I could not understand why.
I knew from the start that people would judge us, but I never fully realized how difficult it would be to feel their stares boring into me, and hear their harsh whispers.
