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I bring my drink to my lips as my drunken brain feverishly tries to ignore the crazy shit my lovesick heart is saying to me.
CeeCee arches an eyebrow. “You’re planning to propose to Georgina?”
My heart shouts, Yes! But I ignore it, as best I can. Because, obviously, that would be a ridiculous thing to do. Georgina is too young for that. And I don’t even believe in the institution of marriage, as a matter of principle. “No,” I manage to say in a calm voice. “I don’t believe in marriage. But even if I did, Georgina is twelve years younger than me. She’s got a lot of life to live before she’d be ready to commit to ‘forever’ with me.”
“I’m fifteen years younger than Francois, and I was ready to commit to him forever.”
“Yes, but you’re twenty-five, darling. Not twenty-two. That’s a big difference.”
We both laugh at my silly, drunken joke.
“I was twenty-two the first time I got married,” CeeCee says wistfully. “And it was so much fun.”
“CeeCee, you got divorced!”
“Yes, but it was fun while it lasted. And the wedding was a damned good party.”
I can’t help laughing.
“Have you asked Georgina what she thinks about all this ‘forever’ business? She’s been through a lot at such a young age, you know. Losing her mother. Taking care of her father through his cancer battle. And let’s not forget what she went through with Gates. I think maturity has more to do with what’s happened to a person in their years of life, rather than how many years of life a person has had.”
I swirl my drink. “I’m not going to ask Georgina’s permission to ask her to marry me. That’d take all the fun out of it.”
CeeCee chuckles. “Oh, so you are a romantic, underneath it all.”
I shrug. “Maybe I am. I decided tonight I hate the word ‘girlfriend.’ It isn’t even close to enough to describe what Georgina means to me. In fact, the word feels like an insult, at this point. A hideous slur.”
CeeCee laughs. “Well, I think that’s a tad bit dramatic. But okay.”
I look out at the neon-lit view, gathering my thoughts. There’s something on my mind... something I didn’t realize I thought about, until this very moment. But now, suddenly, it’s crystal clear. “I think my parents’ marriage, and bitter divorce, has messed me up in the romance department. My father was thirty-two when he knocked up my nineteen-year-old mother and married her. I was too young during my parents’ marriage to understand the dynamics of their age gap, but looking back, as an adult, I can plainly see my father steamrolled my mother at every turn. He lorded over her, controlled her, squeezed the life out of her. In fact, I’d even venture to say he gaslighted her. Finally, my mother discovered his mistresses—one of whom was nineteen, by the way. Oh, and then he divorced her when she found him out, as if she’d done something wrong because he had mistresses. I was only nine when they divorced, so I didn’t fully grasp everything, but Georgina recently showed me some legal documents that shed some light on my parents’ divorce and custody battle, and I got to see how nasty it was. How scorched earth my father was. And I guess, if I’m being honest, I’m terrified of history repeating itself with me and Georgina. Either with me as the controlling older husband who squeezes the life out of his young wife. Or with me as my mother, who falls apart, completely, when the fairytale doesn’t work out.”
“Oh, Reed. Who says the fairytale wouldn’t work out?” She grabs my hand, her face awash in sympathy and love. “Not every love story ends the way your parents’ did. You’re not your father, and you’re not your mother. You’re you. A beautiful, brilliant man with a huge heart and a whole lot of love to give. You’ve kept the best of your love bottled up for thirty-four years, like the finest wine. It’s time for you to finally pour that delicious wine into someone’s goblet, without holding back. Whether that will translate to marriage for you, I have no idea. Just, please, don’t let your parents, and your childhood, keep you from doing whatever is truly in your heart. Whatever that might be.”
My eyes feel as though they’re on the cusp of tearing up. So, I take a deep breath, and then another, to ward off my threatening emotion.
“Forever is a beautiful thing to promise to someone you love,” CeeCee says. “If you’re feeling the urge to propose to Georgina, then get yourself a prenup and roll the dice.”
Yes! my heart screams at me. But, again, my brain tells me, No, it’s a non-starter. She’s too young. And marriage only ends in pain.
I wipe my eyes. “I’ve actually got a better idea than making Georgina sign a fucking prenup.”
