my hand.
“Travis,” she said softly, “people will judge us.”
I smiled.
“They already do.”
She looked away.
“No. They will judge you more than they judge me.”
I knew what she meant.
The age difference.
The rumors.
The assumptions.
I was twenty nine.
She was sixty.
Thirty one years separated us.
A number that became more important to everyone else than the actual relationship between us.
“I don’t care,” I told her.
But she studied my face.
“You say that now.”
“I mean it.”
“Your family?”
I looked down.
That was the one thing I was afraid of.
Because Eleanor was right.
My family did not understand.
When I told them, the reaction was worse than I imagined.
My father put his glass down slowly.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me.
“You’re marrying a woman who is older than me?”
“She’s the person I love.”
My aunt laughed.
