146 COSMOPOLITAN.com.au TO SUBSCRIBE CALL 136 116
WHEN YOU
L VE
HIS
MUM
F
alling for my uni
boyfriend, Max*,
happened hard and
fast. He took me to
my first ever Indian
restaurant. He was
a pub trivia superhero and he
made me laugh until I was
begging for mercy. Max’s life- full of cool friends, weekend
film shoots and intellectual
talks into the morning – was
like a dream I’d had of the
future when I was a starry-
eyed teenager.
I didn’t realise he came
from serious family money
until about a year into our
relationship. There had been
some clues: Max had a gold
MasterCard for emergencies,
which often included $30
entrees. He had no job other
than going to uni while I was
on scholarships and loans and
spent more hours waitressing
than in lectures. I grew up in
a rural country town with my
six siblings. I was probably
10 the first time I lay awakeat night with a stomach ache
from worrying about money,
about 16 when our house was
foreclosed on, and 18 when
my mum applied for welfare.
When I moved to the city, I
took that old anxiety with me,
so it was an instant relief that
Max would alway insist on
paying for everything.
Max’s whip-smart and
ferociously loving mother –
I’ll call her Nancy – was the
force behind his lifestyle. She
worked as a real estate agent
in an area where homes half
the size of the one I grew up
in sell for more than a million
dollars. During our first year
together, Max invited me to
visit his family during the uni
holidays. I told him I couldn’t
afford the plane ticket. “Don’t
worry,” he said, and kissed me
on the forehead.I LOVED
NANCY^
INSTANTLY
She was a different kind of
woman than the ones I had
always known. She dressed
for comfort in linen pants and
shoes with cushion-y soles.
She dyed her hair herself – a
jarring contrast to my mum,
who could scrape together the
money for the hair salon no
matter how tight things were.
I admired Nancy’s total lack
of vanity, her career ambition
and how, when I came to her
for advice, she talked about
solutions. We would take long
walks together, watch dumb
rom-coms and have heartfelt
conversations at the kitchen
table. I told her all about my
childhood and the dad I had
only met once, and she shared
stories about her past, things
even Max didn’t know.
Nancy had only sons,
and soon she started callingHOW TO LEAVE
me her adopted daughter. I
thought of her as family, too.
Her home was the definition
of stable, where my childhood
had often been chaotic – a
world where I couldn’t count
on money or even practical
stuff like getting a ride to
school. Nancy picked me up
at the hospital once after an
operation, and called every
time I had some little success
at university. My mum often
couldn’t afford plane tickets
for me to visit her, so Max’s
family usually won out during
the holidays. And even though
we love each other, my mum
and I always had more of a
sister dynamic than a mother
and daughter one.
I didn’t mean to paint
myself as a dirt-poor kid from
nowhere, but that’s how Max
and Nancy viewed me... and
I let them. Why else would
Nancy wave off my protests
and add me to their family
phone plan, or shove rolled-
up $20 notes into my hand
so I would have “cash for the
airport”, or replace my friend’s
old laptop I was using with
a new MacBook?EVENTUALLY,
MAX AND I
moved into an apartment
together. Nancy told me not
to worry about the rent, as
she reasoned she’d be paying
for Max’s place anyway. To
assuage my guilt, she started
hiring me for odd jobs at her
business. I could smell the
charity behind it, and my
thorny mix of gratitude and
frustration only grew. I would
wake up, do work for Nancy,
go to class, work an eight-
hour waitressing shift, and
come home at 11pm to Max
hanging out with his friends.
He had everything I wanted- time to be a good student,
Julie Buntin discovers what happens
when your love for him fades, but
your love for his family doesn’t...