JADE FOREMAN: What it’s like to fall in love at 27 with a woman some people assume is my mother

My wife Miki and I had just enjoyed a meal at a restaurant. When the bill was placed on our table, I reached for my purse and the waiter said: “That’s nice, ­looking after your mum.”

“Yes, so sweet of you,” said Miki, turning to me with a grin. “Caring for your dear old mother.”

I stifled a laugh.

It certainly wasn’t the first time she had been mistaken for my mum. For while I’m 36, Miki is 56. During our nine years together, we have faced constant remarks about our 20-year age gap.

She’ll react one of two ways, either by going along with it for a joke, or by announcing: “I’m her wife actually”, leaving the poor person red-faced and squirming.

These days people are used to seeing heterosexual age-gap relationships, whether it’s Leonardo DiCaprio, 50, with his array of much younger girlfriends, or Madonna, 66, who’s dating a man of 28. So while they may inspire some ­comments when we ­encounter them in day-to-day life, they’re often given a free pass.

But famous lesbian age-gap couples are few and far between — the only one I can think of is Hollywood actresses Holland Taylor, 81, and Sarah Paulson, 49 — and therefore same-sex couples like us are subjected to far more scrutiny.

I was a 27-year-old waitress in a pub when I met Miki, then 47, who was the cook. From the moment I spoke to this confident older woman who made ­wonderful dishes of food, it felt so easy. We struck up a friendship and got in the habit of taking our dogs for walks together.

At the time, I was engaged to a man and we had two young children. Not once ­during our ten years together, or indeed my life, had I looked at women from a romantic stance. Miki was fun and we had great banter together. But it wasn’t until she told me that she might be moving away that I realised my true feelings.

The thought of not being with her any more filled me with panic. At first I was confused and surprised by my reaction; I clearly cared for her more than I realised - and I needed to tell her. Though I felt guilty about potentially hurting my ­partner, I couldn’t ignore the strong ­feelings I had discovered.

So during one of our dog walks, I ­confessed my true feelings.

“How I feel right now is so overpowering that I’m wondering if this could be more than just friendship,” I told Miki. “The thought of you not being around is ­sending me into meltdown.”

“I think I feel the same way,” Miki smiled.

But while she had known she was a ­lesbian since she was 17, she had never imagined falling for someone two decades younger than her. She worried about how our relationship might be ­perceived, the fact I had a young family, and how her ­daughter — a year older than me — might feel.

But though the thought of ­moving forwards with Miki after my fiancé and I separated was scary, I had no worries about our ages. I have always had an older mindset than most my age; I ­prefer old school music, dance like an old person and don’t drink alcohol or take drugs.

Meanwhile Miki seems younger than her age, so we end up meeting somewhere in the middle.

Yet many pointed out that Miki was just two years younger than my parents. Friends warned: “It will never work” and “Don’t do it”. They assured me my children, aged two and four at the time, would get stick at school not only for me dating a woman, but a much older one. Their warnings did little to deter me. Out of pure stubbornness, I decided Miki and I would make it work, no matter what anyone thought.

My parents, then 49, had met Miki when they visited the pub where we worked. When I told Dad Miki was my girlfriend, he was sad my previous relationship had ended but seemed unfazed by my new chapter. My mum was also very supportive and any ­reservations she had ­disappeared. It didn’t take long for them to love her, welcoming her into the family. They are now firm friends.

As for Miki’s daughter, now 38, I think at first she worried I was just a fling. But now she understands I’m in it for the long run and we get on well, seeing each other a couple of times a month.

As our relationship progressed, Miki and I started to talk about marriage. She confessed she’d never imagined tying the knot before meeting me. We were out shopping when I spotted an engagement ring I liked. When Miki saw one she liked too, we decided to seize the moment and buy them.

The rings sat in a cupboard for almost a year. Then one evening Miki took me to a pub and led me through to the back room, where all our family and friends were waiting. She got down on one knee and proposed, holding out the ring I’d chosen. I had no doubts about saying yes.

In August 2018, we tied the knot at Hertford Register Office. As I stood in my strapless ­princess-style dress next to Miki in her simple, slimline gown, I felt so proud. I loved that she had chosen to wear a dress, because she knew everyone would expect her to wear a suit. The best part was that after a rocky beginning, trying not to upset anyone and dealing with others’ criticism, our big day had zero drama.

That’s not to say it’s all been plain sailing. Miki started the menopause at 50 and all those hormones have been a challenge. She’ll be the first to admit she’s gone from a bit of a closed book to opening up more about how she’s feeling. It also means I have to practise a little more patience or tell the kids to keep it down because the noise gets too much.

Ironically, just as Miki gets through the other side, I’ll ­probably be starting menopause. We joke this has to be better than us both going through it at the same time! My children are now 13 and 11, and they don’t remember a time without Miki in our lives. Despite my friends’ warnings about how it would affect them, my relationship with Miki doesn’t faze them at all. It’s just how it is.

I felt sorrier for Miki, as she’d already been through the parenting young kids stage with her own daughter, and it was pretty exhausting doing it all again.

But the comments from other people continue. We were at a spa on holiday when a woman ­working there told my daughter to ‘go and sit with your nan in the ­waiting room’.

Miki was unfazed at being ­mistaken for a grandparent in a situation like that. It’s the rudeness aimed towards us as a couple that she — and I — get frustrated with. The looks, the whispered comments, the presumptions.

Our situation seems to give people a confidence to assert their opinion. We’re told they’d never put us together because I’m so young or too attractive, which I think is bizarre. I wouldn’t dream of ­commenting on someone else’s relationship, how one of them is out of the ­other’s league, too young or too old.

Miki has said in the past that she doesn’t understand why I’m with her. But she doesn’t have to understand it, she just needs to accept it. And if we accept it, why should anyone else have a problem?

Being with Miki has made me the happiest I’ve ever been. I used to be a quiet soul who kept myself to myself, and I lost count of the times people told me I never smiled. Now, you’d have a job catching me not smiling.

As for the commentary from others, I try to remember for every rude person we might encounter, we meet someone who fully supports us.

During our first visit to Brighton Pride, not long after we became a couple, a man stopped us in the street and beamed, telling us: ‘You are the most beautiful ­couple I have ever seen’, which really touched us.

As for the future, we know that when I’m 60, Miki will be 80, but we don’t let it loom over us. She now works as a chef in a care home for the elderly, and I work as a carer and home help. We joke about how gutted I am that I can’t afford to retire when she does, because I’ll need to keep working to support us.

For now, we live for each and every day. We like the fact we’re different from everyone else and if others don’t agree with what we have, that’s on them.

* As told to Julia Sidwell

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