The Choices We Make

2

"Not your type? Not. Your. Type? Really? Uh, I hope not, because I'm a decade older than you, kid," Polly told her windshield as she drove to the store. "Not your type? Fuuuck. Youuu," she said with a final huff.

She turned up the music and thought about the situation with her new neighbor. Sure he looked like a man, but he was a boy. Well, not technically. But compared to her and the men in her...dating pool.

If she had a dating pool. And if she did have a dating pool, it would be filled with thirty something year old men. Naked. A pool of naked men. Her. Own. Age!

Sighing, Polly realized the last several years with porn and her hand being her only date - that she was a bit...edgy. She vowed to set up an online dating profile. Swipe right, bitches!

Dating without her daughter at home would be much easier. She never liked the idea of introducing Sloan to a man that wasn't her dad. Especially since they may not stick around. So not dating seemed like the best idea. So many excuses for not dating. Cowardice being the main one.

Of course Sloan's dad, Patrick, was married with several other kids. Yes, Polly was a smidge resentful of her first boyfriend.

She wanted a husband. She wanted more kids. But she pressed pause on her life once Sloan entered the picture.

"Not your type? Just a boy. Good. I need a man. A real...". Polly turned to the left and saw an elderly man with a twenty year old bleached blonde in a BMW convertible.

"I got a real man right here! Right, daddy?!" The blonde squealed at her, giggling as they pulled away from the light.

"Great. Perfect Saturday fuckery," Polly mumbled as she left the intersection.

***
Polly rarely saw Michael after meeting him. When she did, she gave a smile and wave - a few hello's but nothing more.

It wasn't until a week later that she truly understood what "not my type" meant.

It was a long day of yard work, cleaning, and laundry - so Polly just wanted to enjoy her back deck while summer still provided warm evenings. That was the first time she saw Michael on a date - although "date" seemed like a generous term.

Michael and a buxom redhead came tumbling out of his house on to his back patio. Although the lighting was dim, it was obvious that the redhead was at least forty.

She was slurring and begging Michael to touch her. "You're drunk, Cass," Michael said in his deep baritone. "It's our first..."

"Mikeeeey...give me some young cock, baaabbbyyyyyy," Cass whined.

Ugh. Gross. Polly thought. Time for bed.

Michael must have had a turnstile in his bedroom, because a few times a week a different older woman would come by his house. The women were alway in their forties in her estimation.

Only one woman came by on several occasions. She was a petite blonde with a slim waist, fake breasts and flat ass. He could do better.

One night she came flying out of the front door and rushed to her car. "I can't do this Mike!"

"Can't do what, Jenny?" Michael asked right on her heels. Polly had a clear view from her open kitchen window.

The blonde opened her car and plopped in her seat. "This Mike! I thought you knew the deal. I can't date you. What would my friends think? Ugh, what would Evan and Clara think? Their dad would have a fit."

Michael was now leaning over the car door looking down at her. "You're embarrassed." It wasn't a question. He knew the truth. "I thought you wanted a relationship..."

"Mike, you know I just wanted sex. I mean...my friends...they totally get that part. You're super hot. But they would think I've lost my mind...dating you." She said the word "dating" like it disgusted her.

"Got it," Michael said in resignation. He clearly decided it wasn't worth the fight or effort. He shut the car door and walked back to the house. The blonde sat in the car for a minute looking at his retreating form. Hm, perhaps she regrets it already. He does have a fine retreat. And by that I mean ass.

Polly felt a little bad for Michael. Although he was clearly not finding prize female companionship, he seemed to want more with these older women. But from the few conversations she had overheard - these women only wanted him for one thing.

Now that Polly knew his type and how he was being treated, she decided to forget the whole "not my type" comment. He was just a kid after all.

***

"Mom! Come on! My friends wanted me there at 6:00!" Sloan was home for the weekend saying that she was having a blast at school but wanted to come home to see friends.

"Sorry, hun!" Polly came running into the room trying to get her sneaker on her right foot - the left one already in place. "I had to work la-"

"Let's go!" Sloan said as she walked out the door.

"Late. I had to work late," she said to the ceiling. Polly finished getting her shoe on while she looked at herself in the mirror. "Gorgeous."

Polly was in tank top and running shorts. Her hair was up in her signature messy bun, and her socks clearly didn't match. She had changed because Sloan didn't want her friends to see her work clothes. "Mom you look like the office slut."

The hurtful words weren't new from Sloan. But they still stung.

Her pencil skirt had been to her knees and her blouse was opaque and classy with a pussycat bow. Nothing about her outfit screamed slut.

So soccer-mom would have to do for her insecure daughter.

When Polly got outside she saw Sloan speaking to Michael. She had a coy, shy look on her face and was tracing a spot in the ground with her toe. "...I'm home for the weekend. Perhaps we could...um...go out. Or stay in..." she said suggestively.

Polly internally cringed for her daughter. Michael definitely was going to say no. Sloan looked more like fifteen than eighteen, and definitely not forty. "Well, kiddo, I think it best you spend time with your sister. Ya know? Family time."

"Sister!?" Polly was sure this would not go well. "I don't have a sister."

"Um, friend?" Michael looked at Polly for help. Hell no, bud. You brought this one yourself.

"You mean my mom?!" Sloan threw her thumb over her shoulder. "Did she tell you..."

"No!" Michael clearly knew this was not going in a good direction. Abort! Abort! "Wait...hold on...mom? But Polly is like twenty-two or something..."

"Or something is right! She tell you that?" Sloan asked glancing back at her mom. Then she started to laugh. "Way to be desperate, mother."

"I did n-" Polly started as she moved toward the two young people.

"More like thirty two!" Sloan clarified looking back at Michael.

"I didn't say..." Polly tried again as she reached them.

"She had me when she was 14! I guess now that I'm gone she has gotten back to being a sl-"

"Sloan!" Polly yelled. "Enough."

Michael broke into the argument. "I'm sorry, Polly. I totally just assumed..."

"Pshhh, she made my friends call her Ms Carter. Since you are closer to my age, you should call her that, too. Right, mother dear?"

"No, he shouldn't. Now let's go, Sloan," Polly grabbed her daughter's arm. She had never been so embarrassed or angered by her daughter.

Polly sent apologetic looks to Michael. But his look showed that he wasn't angry or upset, but amused. Like he was calculating a plot.

"Bye, Ms Carter," Michael said with a cheeky grin as Polly pulled Sloan to the car. "See ya brat," he added looking at Sloan. It was clear he wanted Sloan to understand he only saw her as a child. An unruly one. And by the way she was acting, he wasn't wrong.