16. Summer 2004
Chapter sixteen
Summer 2004
Sam
“ A re you ready for this?” Erica asks, her voice filled with readiness as I lift the trunk open and retrieve our two suitcases, setting them down on the ground before slamming it closed.
“I guess so,” I reply nonchalantly with a shrug as I study the house I grew up in. I grab both bags. It still looks the same, just more dated. My mom tries her best to keep up with everything, but I can tell that it’s becoming more difficult for her as she gets older. The paint of the light blue cape cod is chipping, and there are more weeds in the flower beds than normal. I make a mental note to help her with some things while I’m here.
Taking a quick sip from her water bottle, Erica joins me in walking toward the front door. She nudges me in the side. “Oh, come on! It won’t be as bad as you think.” My eyes briefly meet hers, and she responds with a sly wink.
Erica is under the impression that I don’t want to take a vacation. And that’s because I lead her to believe that. She is the one who pushed for the trip home. I would have preferred to go camping and relax on a hike during the day and Erica in my arms at night .
Nevertheless, she insisted on meeting my mom, curious to see where I grew up and get a glimpse of my childhood. Her eagerness to learn about my life before we met is evident.
After we were married almost two years ago, I told her about Maria. Of course, there was some jealousy, which was to be expected. But oddly enough, ever since we decided to take this trip, her curiosity about my past life with Maria has been growing. Which is unusual since Erica is always so self-assured. The woman exudes confidence in spades, which is so sexy. But this is different. There seems to be no end to her questions about Maria.
And to be brutally honest, I wasn’t keen on coming home for a week this summer. This town, this place, is filled to the brim with countless memories … all of them tied to my past relationship. Thanks to Ricky’s updates (which I started listening to … don’t judge), I know she still lives here. Still married and now with a kid, no less. Nate’s kid.
And how does Ricky know this information? I have no clue. He is worse than a bitty old church lady with gossip. More than likely, it’s from mutual old high school friends, who I’m sure he still parties with. But I don’t ask. Mostly because I don’t want to look too interested (even though I am) and give myself away. Besides, it’s better that I don’t know.
And something else about Erica that has changed. Her drinking. I stopped completely (other than some whiskey shared with Big C) because it was interfering with my PhD work, and I can’t let that happen. I’ve worked too hard for this to let hangovers and partying get in the way. Plus, I’m thirty years old. There comes a time when it needs to stop.
But Erica has compensated for my lack of the bottle. In the past, we would only drink when we were together and out with friends. But now, I’ll see her occasionally slipping something into her coffee in the morning. When we grocery shop, she always has some form of alcohol in the shopping cart. And, for example, like right now, I’m pretty sure the bottle she just took a swig out of isn’t full of water. It’s tucked away in her bag, and she pulled it out when we had about an hour left on the road.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her. But I’m worried .
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I want to know what’s in that bottle. We have made our way up to the step that leads to the front door. “Hey hon, do you mind if I take a swig of your water before we go in? I have cotton mouth.” I extend my hand out, willing her to give it to me, hoping I’m not drawing the wrong conclusion about my wife.
That she is a functioning alcoholic.
“What?! No way! Keep your germs to yourself, mister.” She chortles.
“So, I can kiss you and touch you, but I can’t drink after you?” I raise my eyebrow, confused yet understanding what’s going on.
She nudges me. “Stop stalling and walk inside to see your mom. I can’t wait to meet her!” She tucks the bottle away in her purse while also grabbing a pack of gum. I watch her as she unwraps a piece and pops it in her mouth, trying to mask the smell that I know is already there. “Here,” she passes me that pack, “this will help your cotton mouth.”
I grab a piece and give her a tight smile. “Thanks.” She thinks I don’t notice the small yet nervous side eye glance she gives me as she smooths down her shirt.
“Gosh, I’m so nervous,” she says, her voice trembling slightly as she lets out a small breath. I grab her hand and open the door to my past, knowing full well why she’s nervous.
And it’s not because she is meeting my mom.
After the awkward mom-meet-my-wife-of-two-years introduction, we settled in. Now Erica is taking a nap. Gearing up, more than likely, for our planned night out at Dexter’s meeting with Ricky and some friends. I’m sure she’s tired from the drive. Plus, the three glasses of wine she had at dinner.
Now, it’s just my mom and me sitting in the living room catching up. “Well, she’s lovely, Sam,” my mom says as she takes a sip of her hot tea, the steam rising from the cup as she drinks. I notice the hint of doubt in her tone and something else. Is it indifference ?
“Thanks, Mom, she’s pretty amazing,” I reply, glancing up toward the steps as if I can see her through the walls. “So, you like her?” I inquire, praying that her reply will be what I need it to be. Our quick wedding didn’t sit well with my mom. To be fair, she didn’t talk to me for a week after, and we never discussed it. In hindsight, I regret not including her. It would have been better if we had waited a few more days for my mom to arrange her work schedule and join us in Georgia. But I knew that if I waited, even only a day or two, I would have backed out. And at the time, I needed to marry Erica. Sooner rather than later. Looking back, I see the selfishness in my decision.
“She’s different,” Mom replies while resting her cup down on the coffee table.
I know what she’s saying without her saying it. “Different from what? Or, should I say, who?”
“Oh, Sam, stop. You know what I mean. She showed up to meet her mother-in-law for the first time in that outfit. She’s not who I would have expected you to be attracted to, that’s all.”
I knew my very conservative mom would find an issue with what Erica wore to meet her for the first time. I tried to convince her at the hotel this morning to change. She decided on baggy cargo pants, a cropped skintight Rolling Stones tank top that showcases her belly button piercing, and combat boots. Her pixie cut is currently neon green at the tips, and her makeup is darker than usual.
“There is nothing wrong with what Erica is wearing.” I retort, feeling defensive. Mom suppresses a laugh. We sit in silence for a moment, then I continue. “Mom, before Cara and now Erica, Maria was the sole girl I had been romantically involved with or found myself genuinely interested in.” I know Maria is the ‘who’ my mom is referring to. And I get it. My mom loved Maria. Her decision to end it left my mom devastated, as she had adored her. But right now, I need to defend my wife. “And yes, Erica is not the type of woman I gravitate to, but that’s what makes her so appealing to me. It was time for me to branch out and live a whole new life. Erica gave me that.”
My mom releases a deep, exasperated sigh and, with a gentle touch, places her hand on my forearm. “Sam, honey, if you say she is a good person, then I believe you. I trust your judgement, and I’m sure we will become friends.” Hearing her say this brings an immediate sense of relief, causing my tight shoulders to loosen and relax. My mom’s approval means everything.
She pats my arm before quickly retracting it to grab her tea again. “Do you plan on catching up with Maria while you’re back?”
“Mom, come on. Why would I do that?” Not that I haven’t fantasized about running into her while I’m home, but I’ll keep that thought to myself.
Mom shrugs. “I just thought maybe for old times’ sake. Friends catching up. I mean, it can’t hurt to say hi. You guys were a big part of each other’s lives.” She sips her tea, as if her suggestion is completely innocent.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t help but give in to my curiosity. “Why are you asking me this? Have you seen her? Have you talked to her?”
“Well,” she sits her cup down again and stands to retrieve her purse. She reaches in, pulls out a Post-it note, and hands it to me. “It turns out her mom and I are a part of the same book club, so we have been hanging out more lately. She gave me Maria’s email address. Her and I have been emailing on occasion and—”
“Wait, hold on.” I raise my hands in protest. “You have been communicating with my ex?” How is this happening? Somehow, I knew coming home would thrust Maria back into my orbit. Little did I know that it would be via my mom.
I stare down at the Post-it note still in my mom’s hand.
Against my better judgement, I take it and read. [email protected].
“I mean, only a few emails back and forth.” She pauses as I stare at the address, the meaning behind it loud and clear. The Point, our spot in Pittsburgh. 90, the year we started dating.
“I think you should email her and meet up when you’re here,” my mom says, pointing to the yellow square piece of paper.
“Mom, I’m married.” I bite back. “And so is she.”
“Geez, Sam, don’t say it like that. I don’t mean for that reason.” Thank God. I didn’t think Mom meant it that way, but still. “Look, you never got closure. I know you still love her. You two need to hash some things out in order to move on. ”
“I have moved on.”
She tilts her head in disbelief. “Have you? Because I know you, Sam. When you try to avoid hurt, you run to something that is the opposite of the thing you are missing. Do you remember when dad left?”
I nod because I do remember. My dad left us for another woman and family when I was thirteen. I loved playing football with him. That was our thing. So, when he left, I took down every football poster from my room and trashed them. I gave my football (the one Dad got me as a gift) away to my cousin and then quit the team. Instead, I dove headfirst into baseball. Why? Because my dad hated baseball. Therefore, it was my new favorite. But deep inside, I didn’t love it. It just wasn’t football. And it was a distraction from the hurt.
Is that what I’m doing now?
I shake that thought from my mind. “I remember,” I whisper, my head now flooded with memories I had buried.
“Look,” my mom inches closer to me on the couch. “All I’m saying is, get together with her and talk. Hash out everything. It’s the only way you can move on in a life with Erica and finally release Maria from your heart. You owe Erica that, don’t you think?”
She’s right, I do.
“Ahem!”
I freeze. My mom and I both turn in unison, toward the direction of the stairs, and there stands my wife.
Dexter’s was a blast, as usual. If Erica heard any of my and my mom’s conversation, she didn’t lead on. It was fun to catch up with old friends, hang out with Ricky, and let loose. And of course, it was really fun for Erica. As nights go with her lately, she’s passed out. I practically carried her up the stairs to my childhood bedroom. Thank goodness, my mom was asleep and heard nothing, since Erica is always loud when she is drunk. By the time I had her on the bed, she was out cold .
Now I’m lying here staring up at the ceiling, at four in the morning, wondering if I should do the one thing I know I shouldn’t do.
And that’s email Maria.
I can’t help but replay my mom’s conversation in my head. She’s right, I run away when I’m hurt or scared. You would think that my schooling would have clued me into my own tendencies. But no. It took the one person who knows me the best, other than Maria, to see this in myself. My mom is right. I need to talk to Maria. And this has nothing to do with seeing her again.
Nope, not that at all.
But I have so much to say to her. With the decision made, I ease myself out of the bed, careful not to wake Erica. Not that she is going to stir. She will probably wake up in the morning still a little drunk and hung over. The worst way to wake up.
On light feet, I make my way downstairs to the office where my mom keeps her computer. I flip on the power switch and sit and wait for it to turn on. Meanwhile, my head is stirring with what to say in this email. The room is eerily quiet. The hum of the computer and the air conditioner kicking on are only adding to my eagerness.
Finally, the home screen comes into focus, and I dial into the internet. As that happens, I wipe my hands down my pajama pants. They are sweating with nerves and anxiety.
As I wait, I grab the Post-it note. Before we left for Dexter’s, I placed the note on the desk. Subconsciously knowing what I was going to do.
Once everything’s connected and ready to go, I sign into my AOL account. With my head feeling hot, I click on the ‘write’ button for a new email. The blank email template stares back at me. I wait for a beat or two and then I type.
Date: July 2, 2004 04:40 am
From: [email protected]
Subject: Hey!
Hey there !
It’s me, Sam. You’re probably wondering why you’re getting an email from me or how I got your address. Well, it was from my mom. I’m in town for the next week and I was wondering if maybe we could meet. Just to say hey and catch up. Only if you want. No pressure. Just reply and let me know.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Yours,
Sam
That brief email took me a half hour to compose. I kept typing, then reading, then backspacing, then retyping. I stare at the screen, happy with my words and hit send.
There, it’s done.
I get up and walk away to use the restroom and get a glass of water before shutting down the computer. As I sit my glass in the sink and leave the kitchen, I hear three words coming from the office.
“You’ve got mail.”
There’s no way.
What is she doing up at this hour? She has a baby, you idiot.
I race back into the office and practically fall back into the chair. The wheels slide across the plastic carpet covering. I adjust myself, and staring back at me is a new email from Maria. Without a second to think, I click on it, the anticipation killing me.
Date: July 2, 2004 05:01 am
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: Hey!
Hi Sam!
I have to admit, seeing your email was a shock. And yes, I can meet with you, but the only time I can is today, actually. We are going out of town in two days .
Would that work for you? I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m taking Brielle for a walk in the park at one. She has a hard time napping, so this has been our routine.
Let me know if that works for you. I usually go to rose garden at Mill Creek Park.
Talk to you soon,
Love,
Maria
I can’t stop the huge grin that stretches across my face because this time is perfect. My mom wants to take Erica shopping and out to lunch so they can spend some more time together and get to know each other.
Without time to think or second-guess whether this is a good idea, I compose my response.