My son is with his Dad tonight, and Corey and I have been hanging out in the garage with my brother.  The rain is pounding down outside, the night mist swirls, red wine sits waiting in mismatched glasses on the ping pong table.  We’re talking about kids, life, fitness and love and I’m staring at my brother, awestruck suddenly by the fact that he will be 31 in a few months: that we’re both suddenly and firmly adults.  Not even young adults, full-fledged People Who Should Know What They Are Doing.

He’s talking about his girlfriend, about a psychic she just visited after waiting for months on a list to get in the door.

“She’s apparently one of the best in the world,”my brother says,”She said all kind of weird and accurate stuff.”

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My son is characteristically animated as he arrives back on Sunday night from his Father’s house, his blonde hair askew in rumpled shark fins and the legs of his well-worn jeans adorned with dirt and grass shrapnels. He runs up the walkway and tosses his jacket on the floor of the front entrance.  He smells like snapping Autumn air and little boy hands.

“Can I watch a movie?” he asks in his lilting little boy voice,”And maybe…maybe do you have popcorn?”

“Mayyybe,”I say, smiling.  He is growing up so fast, with his serious face and long arms and curious questions.”Did you have a good day today?”

“Yes,”he answers, smiling,”Woosy took me to Eat Fresh!  And we danced in Daddy’s living room.”

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On our first date, Corey and I walked around the seawall.  I wore inappropriately large heels and slouched a little, sussing him silently out of the corner of my eye.  He had a ridiculously contagious laugh and eyes that shocked me with their depth and I hoped he wouldn’t make me look at him straight on, because I had an allergic reaction to some skin toner and my skin was peeling off the side of my chin.

I hugged him goodbye and called my best friend, breathlessly, after our first meeting.

“Wow,” is what I ended up saying,“I am scared to say what I think about this guy.”

But the truth was I was already thinking it: if he was as he seemed to be, I could fall in love.

***

And I did: 6 months into this and I am still aghast that I have found this man who is intelligent, charismatic, beautiful — and amazing with my son.  And he is gainfully employed!  And he digs me too!

I  didn’t foresee this.  I spent 2 years single, just my son and I, and I expected I’d nurture him, raise him, and then surround myself with cats, bobby pins and fuzzy pink jogging pants.

***

“So…do you think you’ll marry him?”

This is the question I’ve been deflecting lately: from good friends, readers, relatives, everyone.  It’s meant in good spirit and in all honesty: I think I would like to marry him, eventually, there couldn’t possibly be anyone more compatible with Nolan and I.  But, then, maybe not?

I have some friends in Europe, most of whom are in long-term relationships with men: the father of their children, in many cases.  When I think of long term Hollywood couples, I think: Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins.  Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell.  Neither of these couples are married.  Coincidence?

I’m hurtling toward my mid thirties, and I’ve been engaged, but never married.  I’ve seen friends get married young and go through agonizing divorces.  I have acquaintances stuck in loveless marriages, I have trusted confidantes who whisper: “Marriage ruins it.”

I get that marriage signifies a commitment to the greater world that two people are in love, committed, believe they will be together for the long haul.  But is that reason enough?  With a 40% divorce rate, does it mean anything?

If my four-year old son weren’t part of this picture, I’d be inclined to say that I probably would rather commit myself through actions and conduct over marriage.  But with my status as a single Mom, I’d fear the stigma - and associated reflection on Nolan - if my boyfriend and I lived together indefinitely, without permanent legally recognized status.  And so, yes, I do think that marriage is probably in the cards for us, if things continue as they are.

But if it weren’t for societal judgment, I’d tell you that I secretly don’t believe marriage is necessary.  Do you?

We emerged from a long, talkative dinner with childhood friends on Friday and I touched my hand to my throat.

“My throat’s a little sore,”I told Corey, adjusting my scarf against the chill October wind,”And I just finished talking about how long it’s been since I’ve been sick.”

The next morning I woke up unable to swallow, and I ran to the bathroom mirror and opened my mouth: terrorized and eager to inspect the grossness on the other side.  I wasn’t surprised at what I saw: swollen, white disgustingness.  I’d perspired through my bed clothes the night before and my body suddenly realized: I totally shouldn’t have sprinted into the bathroom.  I’m toast.

I went downhill quickly from there and had to forcibly restrain myself from googling “Oh my god do I have swine flu?”

In the past two years, being sick has meant relying 100% of my poor beleauguered Mother to help me function, but these days, I’m paired, and Corey was eager to help.  He heated soup, made pasta for Nolan, and cleaned the dishes after dinner.  I wanted to cry in gratitude but it meant I’d have to swallow my tears, and that would hurt.

***

“I have to go to LA tomorrow,” I croaked, sitting in front of my computer in a pool of sweat and mire.

“You can’t go to LA tomorrow!”

“I don’t have much of a choice, this is an urgent account and a last minute request.  Can you — can you drop Nolan off at school for me?”

My flight would leave at 6:30 AM and so I’d need to leave the house at 4 AM: obviously much too early to drop my son off.  It felt like an important step asking Corey to do this: dropping off a kid at school is a parental thing.

“Of course I can,”he said,”Do you think he’ll listen to me?”

“I’m not sure.” I grinned ruefully,”I’ll tell him he has to.”

***

One of the most difficult things we’re experiencing as a new little family unit is boundaries: Corey is not sure where his are, as the not-quite stepdad, and Nolan has never had a man tell him what to do (besides his Dad.)  We’re all shuffling and fumbling and hoping that simple love and logic will carry us through.

In the meantime, I’m going to suck on a lot of lozenges and refrain from boasting about my good health.

On the small cul-de sac where I live, there are five houses.  I own the one at the bottom of the hill, with my brother.  It’s the most dilapidated home in a nice neighbourhood: a seventies two-story with valiant concrete beams and a slightly off kilter garden.

When I moved in, I was slightly self-conscious.  What would the neighbors think of our odd arrangement?  There was this guy in his late twenties, with an embarrassingly loud yellow truck, living in the basement.   There was a woman in her early thirties with a young son, living upstairs.  She was at home all day, hunched over her computer with a wool cap and dirty yoga pants. She stayed there all day, even though she dropped off her son each morning at daycare. 

I was certain the neighbours would think we were conducting an illicit marijuana operation.  This was such a nice, quiet suburban neighborhood.  Full of such normal families.

***

I quickly learned two things:

1) No one cares about my living circumstance.

2) None of my neighbors have normal situations.

My 14-year old babysitter is the product of the marriage of her Mom and Dad.  Her Mom was married twice previous and she has several half siblings.  There is a quiet gay couple two doors down with an adopted daughter.  There are old people across the street and their daughter visits frequently: I am not sure whether they are married, divorced, or three-toed and I really don’t care.

I’ve explained a few times that I was never married to the Father of my son, that we were only briefly engaged after a long relationship.  But it happens rarely, and when we are out in public now, many assume that my boyfriend, Corey, is the Father of my son.  There have been a few stilted conversations and muttered corrections, but for the most part, that’s fine with me.  What I’m struggling with, and what I’ll be writing about here:

-The feeling of continued 100% responsibility for the care of my son, even though I’m coupled and we’re now a “family” of sorts

-Household responsibilities in a non-biological family

-Second children, different parents.

-Relationship strains and triumphs with the ex parent now that I’m coupled with someone new.

-Fiscal issues.

Is there anything else you’d like to explore?  I can’t wait to embark on this new journey with you.

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