Dasvidaniya, My Dear

Once the Russian mentioned the oligarchs, I knew our relationship was doomed. We were sitting and having lunch (after our first date, it was always lunch) when she explained that her ex-husband (the second ex-husband) moved back to Moscow because of financial opportunities that opened up when Putin took control. “Oh, with the oligarchs,” I joked. “Yes,” she replied, “he does business with all of them.”

At first, it was exotic and exciting to date someone whose culture and upbringing were diametrically different from mine. I connected with the Russian on her fourth day on the dating site. Our fast connection was like picking up a backwoods Soviet farm girl who just got off the bus in the big city. Except we were both divorced single parents, with her son having just graduated from college and in the process of sending out resumés.

There were early warning signs – everything had to be based around the Russian’s schedule, because she worked retail and seldom had a weekend off from her job. Our dates had to be on weekdays in the daytime, she insisted, so she would not be too exhausted to wake up early the next morning when she worked. “I will never ask you to choose between and your kids,” she promised, ominously. Still, I found her mysterious, attractive, and worldly, and that was enough.