Page 97 of All In
But with each step I take, my heart hurts more.
Something doesn’t feel right. A sinking sensation floods over me as I press my hand against my chest, as though it's caving in on itself.
If Cara is my future, then why does everything feel so wrong?
Chapter thirty-five
Early 2020
Maria
Ireach over to the end table, the scent of the wine wafting towards me as I take a sip from the glass. The red Merlot burns slightly on the way down. Unlike the glass of Pinot I had right before this.
It’s a typical Saturday night for me. On the couch, legs covered in my favorite fleece-lined blue fuzzy blanket, and I’m catching up on some shows I recorded during the week. On the TV for tonight’s viewing pleasure,This Is Us.
Brielle is out with her boyfriend Tony, and Mason is at his buddy’s house. And here I sit, hanging out with the fictional Pearson family, wishing Jack Pearson was my husband and not Rebecca’s.
“I need a man like Jack.” Maybe sending this out into the cosmos will make it happen.
From my lips to God’s ears.
My dream scenario plays out in my head. He would be here sitting next to me, with some scotch. Nestled under the blanket together, our bodies intertwined, radiating heat and closeness. His arm would be slung over the back of the couch as I rest my head on his chest. We would wait until the end of the show and start making out like teenagers.
My head hits the back of the couch, and I remember I had that once. With Sam. I try to rid the thoughts from my brain because I need to forget. Anytime I fantasize about what my life would be like with a loving and caring husband, the man in my thoughts is always Sam.
But he is with Cara, and I haven’t talked to him since that day in his car a year and a half ago.
It still hurts.
After that day, seeing him occasionally in that stupid parking lot weighed on me. As hard as both of us tried to prevent a run-in, we would see each other now and then. Our schedules lining up to arrive or leave at the same time. He would ignore me, or sometimes, I would get a small wave with a sad, forced smile. I never waved back.
Other times, I would hide in my car and watch him. I would see him walking into work, talking and laughing on the phone. Probably with Cara. Sometimes, I wouldn’t see him for a month or two, and I could feel myself getting better. Then BAM! There he’d be, and the pain would come bubbling to the surface again.
Richelle wanted to key his car or slash is tires. I had to reign her in more times than I can count.
I couldn’t take it anymore, so after a year, I put in for a transfer to the office clear across town. Because of my seniority, they granted my request without asking any questions. It devastated Richelle, but she understood.
I thought that not seeing him would help ease the pain of losing him … again. It did, but only slightly. And that’s because I found Cara’s Instagram. Her account is public. I think the woman loves the attention. And because I enjoy torturing myself, I constantly look at it. Her feed is full of pictures of her posing in the mirror at the gym, sweaty after a workout. Or modeling short little dresses in front of a full-length mirror in her bedroom. Or after she gets her hair done. Where? You guessed it, in front of a mirror, of course.
Trust me, I’ve looked at Sam’s Instagram as well. He rarely posts. His last photo was one day after our fight in the car. A picture of them, in a dimly lit restaurant. The caption said, “To new beginnings with this amazing woman.”
If he was trying to make a point, he succeeded.
However, he has never unfollowed me. Which is interesting. Not that he would see much since I never post. My life to too boring.
The last picture of the two of them in Cara’s feed pops into my head. They were on a beach together with her svelte, toned body in a red bikini, kissing him on the cheek as he holds his phone out for the selfie. His six-pack abs, big beaming smile, and clear happiness were on full display.
I grimace at the thought and finish the last of the wine in my glass, shaking it in the air, getting every drop. I sit it down with semi-aggression, let out a small burp, and pull my concentration back to my show.
It’s a sweet episode. Kate and Toby are trying to adopt. I’m happy for them. Especially now since they have finally got into a routine of raising their blind son. A new baby would be good for them. They are such a solid couple…
“God, Maria, snap out of it!” I need to get a grip on myself. I’m thinking about Kate and Toby as they are real people and my friends. These fictional characters hold a stronger place in my heart than any real person.
“I’m so stinking lonely.”
Truthfully, since my divorce, then the whole supposed Sam reconnection, I haven’t been me. I can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction in myself on both occasions, though. I took a stand, advocating for myself and what I needed. Pride fills my heart every time I think about it.
But also, life has become so mundane. I’m forty-five years old, and all my life consists of is my kids (whom I adore), my job, and my Saturday night dates with the TV and a good cabernet.
