My Older Husband and My Younger Husband

Three years of marriage to Harvey Wen, and we were still as polite as strangers. He was gentle and considerate, always showering me with gifts and money, a man who never seemed to get angry.
Until he suddenly reverted to his eighteen-year-old self.
He demanded a divorce, threatening to jump off a building if I didnt agree. I reluctantly gave in. In his glee, he ran off to an all-night internet cafe, dyed his hair blond, and adorned his ears with half a dozen piercings. He even slapped temporary tattoos of dragons and tigers on his arms. It was only then that I realized the old Harvey had been a bit of a punk.
On the day we were supposed to finalize the divorce, a man who looked exactly like Harvey appeared in our home. The adult version was back.
I looked from the big one to the small one, a long-forgotten silence falling over me.
So are we getting this divorce or not?

1.
What do you do when your gentle, wealthy husband suddenly turns eighteen and becomes a raging rebel?
I stood in the middle of our living room, completely at a loss, staring at the hostile boy who was supposed to be Harvey. He was holding a kitchen knife, his face a mask of panic.
"There's no way I'm married! Especially not to someone like you!"
A bitter taste filled my mouth. "Harvey honey, could you please put the knife down?"
"No way! You'll just try to hug me and kiss me again, you pervert!"
I flushed with embarrassment. A few moments ago, Id just stepped out of the shower, barely dressed, and had wrapped my arms around him from behind, planting a kiss on his neck.
His reaction was explosive. A deep blush had spread from his cheeks all the way down his neck as hed screamed, calling me a seductress. When Id tried to explain that I was his wife, hed been stunned into disbelief. Id moved closer to figure out what was going on, and hed grabbed the fruit knife, holding it out as if I were about to defile him.
"Harvey, I won't kiss you," I said, trying to sound calm. "Don't you want to know why you've time-traveled ten years into the future?"
He frowned, but his guard didn't drop. He finally lowered the knife, his eyes averted. "Just don't walk around dressed like that in front of me. I'm not your husband."
I glanced down at myself. I was wearing a perfectly normal lace slip dress. A little form-fitting, perhaps, and the neckline was admittedly eye-catching. The twenty-eight-year-old Harvey always lost control when I wore it. It was one of the few times he ever showed any real passion. Today was supposed to be one of those nights, which was why I'd been so forward.
I quickly grabbed a robe. This younger Harvey obviously wasn't ready for that kind of fun.
The atmosphere was thick with awkwardness. His frustration was a palpable force in the room.
"You stay here," he finally said. "We're getting a divorce tomorrow."
"No," I replied without thinking. Harvey and I had met on a blind date. While there wasn't much passion, our three years of marriage had been respectful and calm. Besides, ours was a business alliance. This marriage was about more than just the two of us; it was about two corporations.
But the boy in front of me couldnt possibly understand that. And even if he could, he wouldn't care.
"Woman! I don't care what you're scheming, we're getting a divorce!" he declared. "My life is the untamed wilderness! It cannot be chained! I want freedom!"
I stared at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"
"My dad set this up, didn't he?" he demanded. "That old bastard loves to control my life."
"No, it was your mom." It had been his mother who had approached my family about the match.
He snorted. "I knew it!"
He stormed into the walk-in closet and started rummaging through the clothes, his face wrinkling in disgust at the racks of black, white, and gray suits. "What is this trash? Don't tell me you bought this for me."
"You bought it yourself," I said, exasperated.
He muttered under his breath, "My taste can't be this bad."

2.
He finally settled on a pink button-down shirtone I had bought for him, which had hung unworn in his closet ever since. I was surprised to find it appealed to his younger selfs aesthetic.
After changing, he made a beeline for the door. I blocked his path. "Where are you going? It's late."
He scowled. "Woman, mind your own business."
"You have an important meeting tomorrow. You need to get some rest." I placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, his face flushing. "What are you doing so close to me?"
I dropped my hand, sighing. "You really can't go." I didn't know how long this would last, but his company couldn't afford any disruptions.
He brushed off his shoulder as if my touch had contaminated him. "You're so annoying! I'm not your husband, why do you get to tell me what to do? I don't care if the company goes bankrupt."
He puffed out his chest. "You have to divorce me! And don't try any tricks. I have someone I like, and she's not a shameless flirt like you."
"I'm sorry, but that's not your decision to make," I said, my face a blank mask, though I could feel a slow burn of anger rising within me. Even a saint would lose their temper after being treated like this. I knew he was just a kid, not the gentle, considerate man I was used to, but still.
That's when he picked up the knife again and held it to his crotch.
"If you don't agree to a divorce, I'll castrate myself! You'll be a widow for the rest of your life!"
I was speechless. Honestly, it wasn't much of a threat.
"Oh," I said with a shrug. "Go ahead."
He gasped, looking at me with disbelief. "You're completely shameless! You'd do anything to be with me."
I really wanted to know what was going on in that teenage brain of his.
He threw the knife down. Just when I thought he'd given up, he bolted for the balcony, hoisted himself up, and sat on the railing.
"What are you doing?"
His body teetered precariously. "If you don't agree to a divorce, I'll jump!" he shrieked.
His self-mutilation, I could ignore. His life, I could not.
I pressed my fingers to my forehead. "Fine," I sighed. "I agree."
Maybe the real Harvey had always hated this marriage. He was always kind to me, but it was a polite, distant kindness. A performance of a husband's duty. The eighteen-year-old could at least voice his own desires. The twenty-eight-year-old couldn't. He would accept things he clearly disliked with a placid smile.
Hearing my agreement, he leaped down from the railing, nearly twisting his ankle.
"I'm going to the internet cafe," he announced triumphantly. "Don't tell my dad."
The door slammed shut behind him. I stood there for a long time before slowly crawling into bed. I had just laid down when his mother called.
"Elara, is Harvey there? I've been calling him, but he's not picking up."
"Uh, he had to step out for something," I lied automatically.
"Your grandmother's birthday is the day after tomorrow. She wants to celebrate at the Ocean Palace. Can you ask Harvey if that's alright?"
"Of course."
We chatted for a few more minutes before hanging up. Harvey's grandmother, despite her age, had always been a trendsetter. The Ocean Palace was an aquarium Harvey had opened for me, a tribute to how we first met. On our blind date, we had no idea what to do, so we went fishing. We spent the entire day without a single bite, returning empty-handed with our buckets and rods. We didn't say a word to each other the entire way back.
After we got together, he opened the aquarium.
So I could fish to my heart's content, he'd said.

3.
Harvey didn't come home all night.
His assistant called me in a panic. "Mrs. Wen, do you know where Mr. Wen is? I can't find him, and the board meeting is about to start."
I had sent Harvey a dozen texts, with no reply.
I took a deep breath. "I'll handle it. You all just wait for my signal."
The day was a blur of meetings and damage control. Still no word from Harvey.
Frustrated, I dropped my briefcase and started searching the internet cafes in our neighborhood, going from one to the next. I never thought I'd be playing the role of a worried mother so soon into my marriage.
When I finally found him, I almost didn't recognize him. His hair was bleached a shocking yellow, a silver chain hanging around his neck. His exposed arms were covered in tattoos. My heart leaped into my throat, terrified he had actually gotten inked. But then I realized there was no way he could have gotten that much work done so quickly. They had to be temporary.
He was glued to the screen, mouse clicking furiously. I recognized the gamehe was playing a first-person shooter.
I reached over and pulled off his headphones. He whipped his head around, his face a mask of annoyance. "What the hell? Why did you follow me here?"
Everyone in the vicinity turned to stare.
"Why didn't you answer your phone?" I asked, my voice cold.
"Why should I? You're not still trying to get back with me, are you? Because it's not happening. I'm not him. I'm never getting married. I don't believe in it."
His words struck me. I remembered that before me, Harvey had never been in a serious relationship, aside from a laughable middle school "romance." But hadn't he just told me yesterday that he had someone he liked?
"Come home with me. We need to talk about a few things concerning your career." This wasn't working. His lack of cooperation was becoming a serious problem.
His rebellious streak flared. "No way. I'm not going. What are you gonna do, hit me?"
So I slapped him across the face. Before he could react, I grabbed his ear and twisted.
He yelped in pain. "You crazy woman! You witch!"
I was usually so calm, so composed. But I had reached my breaking point. I treated him like I would my younger brother. I kicked him in the ass, and he went sprawling to the floor. His insults quickly turned to pleas for mercy.
"Grandma! This is domestic abuse!" he wailed, then added a pathetic threat. "If I wasn't against hitting women, I would have beaten you to a pulp by now!"
I slapped him again.
He clutched his face, stunned. "How did I end up with such a violent wife?"
The cafe owner came over to intervene. "Hey, ma'am, take it easy. It's normal for kids to want to play games."
"I'm not his mother," I said calmly. "I'm his wife."
The owner looked from me to Harvey, then whispered, "Ah, a sugar mama, huh?"
Harvey overheard. "Who are you calling a sugar baby?!" he shrieked. "Your whole family are sugar babies!"
Despite his ridiculous getup, he was still handsome. He couldn't win a fight against me, so he started arguing with the owner instead. "Open your eyes! Do I look like I need her money? Do I look poor to you? You don't think we're a good match?"
I grabbed his arm and dragged him out of there, dying of embarrassment.
Once outside, he shoved me away. "Get off me! You're so annoying!" He was like a bantam roosterall squawk and no bite.
"Don't you want to get a divorce? Let's go home and discuss the terms."
He frowned. "What's there to discuss? We just sign the papers."
"If you want to walk away with nothing, not a single penny, then sure."
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fine. I'll go back with you." He wasn't about to be called a kept man.

4.
On the way home, I couldn't help but lecture him. "You need to come up with a plan. Tell everyone you have amnesia. Your assistant will help you with work. And stay out of the internet cafes." I glanced at the fake tattoos on his arm, a headache starting to form.
"I don't want to," he said stubbornly.
"..."
I took a deep breath. This kid was a walking rebellion.
"Do you have any idea how much the twenty-eight-year-old you has sacrificed for his career?"
"What's that got to do with me?" he said, unconcerned. "I'm not him. Stop using me as his replacement. I am who I am, a different kind of firework."
His cheesy line made my toes curl. This was going to be impossible. The twenty-eight-year-old Harvey was obedient to a fault; the eighteen-year-old was his polar opposite. How could ten years make such a difference?
When we got home, I parked the car. He stormed off without a second glance, not even waiting for me. I trailed behind him, but then he suddenly slowed down, and I easily caught up.
He glanced at my high heels. "You walk so slow."
"..."
Patience, I told myself. He's just a child.
"So, how are we splitting the assets?" he asked. "I'm so awesome, I must have a lot of money, right?"
He was in for a rude awakening. How much he got depended entirely on how generous I was feeling. If I wanted to be cruel, he'd get nothing. Our prenuptial agreement stated that in the event of a divorce, he would leave with nothing. That was the clause that had won over my parents, convincing them to entrust their daughter to him.
As we reached the door, he poked my shoulder. "Hello? Are you going to answer me? How much do I get?"
The next second, the door swung open from the inside. The housekeeper had been on leave for a month. There was no one home.
My heart started to pound. I looked up and met a pair of familiar eyes.
My jaw dropped. I looked back at the younger Harvey. He was now staring, wide-eyed, at the older one.
The air grew cold. The younger Harvey tensed, his expression guarded.
I was the first to speak. "Honey, you're back?"
The younger one snapped, "Who are you calling honey? I'm not your husband."
The older one's lips curved into a thin smile, his gaze shifting from the boy to me. "She was talking to me. And this is my house. It's perfectly normal for me to be here."
I felt another wave of awkwardness. "Let's just... go inside," I said, trying to sound casual.
Once inside, the question returned, more pressing than ever. Are we getting this divorce or not?
I looked from my young husband to my old one, and back again.

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