All In

31. March 2017

Chapter thirty-one

March 2017

The Parking Lot

Maria

“ B rielle, I don’t know where you left your math book.” I internally moan as I look both ways at the intersection I’m stopped at. “You’re thirteen. And old enough to keep track of this stuff yourself.” I see the coast is clear, so I make the turn onto the street my building is on.

“I’m going to get in trouble if I can’t find it.” She poses this to me as if it’s a threat. It’s not.

Teenagers are so fun.

“Did you check the dining room table?” I offer as some sort of solution. Knowing full well it’s not there since I ate breakfast at the table this morning. I pull my car into my usual spot and turn off the ignition. She grumbles into my ear, and I can practically hear her eye roll as I turn around to grab my lunch bag from the back seat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the same black car parked under an enormous tree across the lot. He gets here early sometimes, but then I won’t see his car for a few days. The tree branches cast a shadow, obscuring my view of his face, but a sense of being watched always hangs over me. I wonder where he works. At the hospital next door, or maybe in my building .

God, I hope he’s not some pervert. I gotta admit, my trust issues with men are currently at an all time low.

Plus, I wish I had someone waiting at home to tell this stuff to. Even though Nate was … well … Nate, it was nice to have a sounding board. Now, I have no one.

I asked Richelle about this guy a few weeks back, but she didn’t seem fazed.

“Oh, I’ve noticed him. I’m sure he’s harmless,” she shrugged when I asked her. But something seems almost familiar about his silhouette. I don’t know what it is, and I can’t seem to put my finger on it. Like, I know him somehow.

I shake the thought from my head, avert my eyes from the mystery man, and step out of the car. The phone is still up to my ear. I can hear Brielle lifting things, and it sounds like she’s rummaging through her bed, on the hunt for the math book. I heave my backpack from the back seat and there, staring back at me, is her book.

Son of a….

With my body tense and full of frustration, I break the news to my daughter. “Brielle, it’s in the car.”

“WHAT! Why is it in the car?”

The winter air bites at my back as I bend over to pick up the book, staring at it, wondering if I should take it to her at lunch or force her to reap the consequences at school. I toss it back in the seat.

“I don’t know, B. It’s not my book.” I only use her nickname when I’m irritated with her. Which, since she turned thirteen, is a lot. I’m standing outside my car now, my puffer coat doing nothing to protect me from the cold winter air swirling around me. “Maybe you will remember next time. I can’t bring it to you since I’m at work.”

“Fine,” she huffs out. “I guess I’m going to get detention then.”

“I guess so.” She doesn’t respond. There’s only silence. “Alright, sweetie, I gotta go or I’m going to be late. I’ll see you at home.”

“Bye, Mom.” The line goes dead. I shake my head, thinking about where my life is now raising teenagers. It’s different, that’s for sure. I throw my phone into my purse, quickly gather my things, and lock the door .

As I make my way to the employee entrance, the sound of a car door shutting startles me from behind.

CRAP! Is it the tree shadow creeper man?

“Oh, my God,” I mutter to myself.

The sound of crunching feet on pavement, only steps behind me, spurs me to quicken up my pace.

“Maria!”

I stop dead, my feet frozen in place. Because I know that voice. I would know it anywhere.

No wonder the tree man’s silhouette felt familiar.

It was Sam.

I turn slowly because he has caught up to me now. When I do, I’m met with my past and what was supposed to be my future. Our eyes collide, and suddenly, Brielle’s math crisis is in the rearview mirror because the only thing I see right now is Sam.

The skin around his eyes shows signs of aging, but the longing remains unchanged. His stare would always send warmth throughout my whole body. Which is still the case because I feel like I need to peel this coat off.

Did the temperature rise in the last five minutes?

He has a few days’ worth of stubble growing, which totally works for me. Maturity has reached his hair and beard because it’s scattered with gray strands. Let’s just say the years have been kind to him because he is rocking this whole salt-and-pepper dad vibe.

“Hi.” His voice shakes with nerves, and he gives me a soft wave while clearing his throat. “Hey,” he says again.

I’m completely dumbfounded, and it seems my ability to speak has gone out the window. I haven’t seen Sam since Brielle was a baby and we spent that day in the park. And I haven’t heard from him since his last email after his ex-wife’s tragic death. A very curt and final email.

As I blink in disbelief, a wave of shock washes over me.

Questions swirl in my head like a tornado. What is he doing here? Does he work here ?

I should probably say hi instead of standing here staring at him. “Hi, Sam.” We both let out a nervous laugh and go in for a hug. Despite my open-armed approach, it becomes clear that he only wanted a handshake as his palm was outstretched.

“Oh, okay.” He jolts back with surprise, then wraps one arm around my shoulder. My bag and purse are slung over the other. I don’t know where to put my hands, so I give him a quick double pat on the back. The whole thing lasts only seconds. We pull apart and take a step backward, both of us studying the ground, not wanting to make eye contact.

Most uncomfortable almost-hug ever.

There was a time when hugging Sam felt natural and easy. We would fit like a glove and melt into each other. The world, our emotions, or problems could never penetrate the bubble we would create in each other’s arms. I miss his arms around me. But that hug? That hug was full of unshared history and awkwardness.

God, I hate that we went from what we were to … this.

His hot breath floats in the cold air as he exhales. He forcefully slides his hands into the warmth of his coat pockets. “How have you been?”

I bob my head as if it’s a toy. “Good. Great, actually. And you?”

He kicks a piece of gravel with his shoe. “Good.”

Silence hangs in the air for a beat or two, and I turn to face the car under the tree. It’s empty.

I have to know, so I jut my thumb toward the empty car. “So, are you the guy that’s been hanging out in your car for the last few months?”

He holds his hands up in surrender and laughs. “Guilty.”

“Well, at least I know you’re not some creeper.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

The sound of our laughter cuts through the tension, instantly lightening the mood.

But I need to know if my sixth sense about being watched was accurate. A slow smile builds. “Have you been watching me?”

He lifts his left shoulder and gives me a slight grin. “Guilty again. ”

I shake my head, a smile playing at the corners of my lips. I should be mad that he didn’t approach me sooner. Or that he stalked me for months. But oddly enough, I’m not. It’s kinda heartwarming and comforting to know that he has been this close.

Caught up in the moment, he can’t help but join in with laughter, helping to ease some of the awkwardness. “I’m glad you’re not mad.”

“No, I’m not mad.” It’s impossible for me to resist smiling when I look at him.

“Good.”

“I am wondering why you didn’t say hi sooner, though?”

He peers off into the distance, collecting his thoughts. “I wasn’t sure if I was ready. Or if you would want me to.” As his focus returns to me, a faint smile forms on his face. “But my lack of self-control won out.”

“Oh.” The heat rises in my cheeks, which I’m sure is now a nice shade of pink. “Sam, I will always want to talk to you.”

His brown eyes pierce mine with so much intensity that I can’t help but feel vulnerable. We stand in silence for a second or two, the tension between us palpable, until he finally breaks it with a nervous throat clearing. “Um … so, how are your kids? Brielle and Mason?”

My toy bobble head returns. “Good. Great, actually. Getting big.”

“Crazy how that happens, huh?”

“And how is Mikey?” I want to add ‘since his mom’s death,’ but I stop myself.

“He’s good. I mean, the move has been really great for him. Living in Georgia became”—he stops, gathering his thoughts—“too hard.”

“Too many memories?”

Sam tears his eyes away from me, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. “Something like that,” he whispers. As soon as he says those three words, he furrows his brows and his shoulders tighten, revealing his unease. Every word carries a weighty significance and a hint of sorrow.

I hope one day, he will share with me the untold story that has been haunting him. I mean, if we continue to talk after today .

“I was sorry to hear about you and Nate,” he says, directing the conversation back to me, each word sounding forced and unnatural. There’s no doubt in my mind that he loathed Nate. Our emails from back then showed as much. But his sympathy is sweet, even though I know he’s just saying it out of kindness.

A playful grin spreads across my face. “No, you weren’t.”

He breaks into laughter. “You’re right. I’m not.” Our eyes meet, and a spark of connection passes between us. “He wasn’t good enough for you.”

Sam’s right. Nate wasn’t good enough for me. Of course, Nate wouldn’t agree with that. According to him, I should have woken up every morning, thanking my lucky stars that I was his wife. But all I have ever wanted was to wake up with the prize of a man standing in front of me.

The worst decision I ever made. Letting Sam go.

I can’t decide if I should tell him that Nate cheated on me. Maybe he would feel like it’s karma.

It probably was.

And besides, now is not the time.

Immediately, I am catapulted to that fateful day when I was standing in front of him, just like we are now, and I handed him the Dear John letter. Looking back, I can’t believe I was that stupid. There is nothing I want more than to rewind, go back in time, and warn that terrified girl. My heart aches to scream at her, to plead with her not to let Sam go, to prioritize her own well-being, and to caution her about what’s coming.

But I can’t.

Before I word vomit all of this out of my head, I decide we need a swift subject change. Because like everything Sam and me, we always veer off course into the realm of guilt, shame, and shared history. I can’t do that this morning.

“So, do you work here?” I flick my thumb at the hospital behind me.

“I do. Since we’ve moved back. Almost two years now.”

“And you work as a psychologist?” I bounce up on my toes, anticipating his answer.

He glances down at the ground and nods in agreement, not wanting to brag on himself. “Mm-hmm. ”

A surge of pride courses through me, causing my face to beam with happiness. “I am so proud of you, Sam.”

His cheeks turn a rosy shade, and there’s a sense of joy knowing that I caused it. “Thanks. I owe it all to you.”

“Stop it. I just nudged you. You did the work. You deserve the credit.”

My phone buzzes in my purse, and I know it’s Richelle wondering where I am. Or knowing her, wondering who I’m talking to because she is probably watching me from the breakroom window. I glance at my watch to see the time and to get an idea of how late I’m going to be. I can feel Sam’s stare tracking my movements.

As I move my hand downwards, Sam’s fingers curl around my wrist, pulling my hand towards him. I step closer as he carefully examines my watch. In a tender reminder of our past, he runs his thumb under the watchband, the sensation instantly bringing me back to that dance floor at Dexter’s eons ago. The gentle caress causes goose bumps to erupt on my arm. I gasp in surprise as this brief meet-up takes an unexpected twist. As it always does.

“You still have it?” he asks, his eyes glued to the watch.

A pit forms in my stomach. “Y-yes.”

“Why?” His brows pinch together, and his eyes are full of intensity as he studies me.

“You know why.” Somehow, and I can’t pinpoint when, it’s not just me who has inched closer. My racing heartbeat fills my ears, and I can’t help but wonder if he can hear it, too. He looks down at my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. His touch lingers on my skin.

Sam takes a deliberate step back, trying to create some distance between himself and me. And I hate it. “I better let you get into work.”

I give a slight nod of agreement because he’s right; I need to get in there and start my day. This whole little emotionally charged reunion has already made me late. So, why does being out here with him seem so much more important? As if this is a start. Of what, I don’t know.

But a start.

He opens his mouth to say something, then stops. I tilt my head in curiosity, silently begging him to say whatever it is. He rubs the back of his neck and finally speaks. “Before you go inside, can I get your number?” My head jerks in shock at his suggestion. This seems to catch him off guard as a skeptical expression skates across his face. “I mean, only if you want to.”

And just to show him how much I want to, I start rummaging through my massive purse to find my phone. I tap on the unlock code, feeling the smooth glass beneath my fingertips, and hand it to him. “Here. Type in your number.”

“You sure?” With hesitancy, he takes my phone from my hand, our fingers brushing slightly. It feels like fire, a burning sensation that leaves me breathless and in agony.

Why does every touch from him feel like this? Even after all this time.

“Of course,” I say.

He exhales in relief, and I watch his fingers type in his number, a grin etched on his face. His hands look like they always did. Still strong but older and more weathered. The same, but better. Memories of how they felt when he would touch me flood my brain.

“Here.” He hands it back to me, snapping me back to the here and now. I attempt to compose myself as I type out a quick text and then add him to my contacts. His phone dings from his back pocket.

“Is it too much to ask for a hug redo? That last one … well … we can do better.” This entire exchange is taking me back to the park when Brielle was a baby. I’m hoping this hug redo tops that one. He knows he doesn’t have to ask twice, but it’s sweet that he does. We can do better. We always have.

With a grin, I set my bags down, extend my arms, and we both dissolve into nervous laughter, the sound filling the cold air around us. In one swift motion, he seizes my forearm and draws me toward him, holding me close. His hands tightly clasp my back, the pressure of his fingers sending shivers down my spine. My hands wrap around his shoulders, then his neck, and I can’t stop pulling him tighter, holding onto him with purpose.

God, he feels so good.

His nose nuzzles into my hair, and the warmth of his breath skates against my skin as he exhales, warming me from the cold. He smells my hair, like he always used to, and a soft moan escapes his lips. This only spurs me on as my face brushes against his neck, and I inhale deeply, taking in his familiar, comforting smell. His hand glides up to my head with a gentle touch as he weaves his fingers into my hair. Then his calloused finger traces a path down my neck, sending a tingling sensation through my body.

Nope, not awkward anymore, because the one man I do trust, more than anyone, is back in my arms again.

I have no idea how long we have been standing here, holding one another, but it’s obvious neither of us wants to be the first to let go. And I really wish I wasn’t wearing this massive coat. It’s too much clothing because I feel like I can’t get close enough to him.

This is the first time we have embraced like this since that day in the shed before my wedding, and it feels like no time has passed. Yes, we hugged in the park, but it was quick. Like how you hug an old friend whom you haven’t seen in a while. But this hug … this hug feels like it’s full of promise and hope. As we immerse ourselves in the moment, the sounds of the world fade into silence. Our history feels ancient and non-existent. We stand there, locked in an intense embrace, so tight it feels like the last time.

I don’t want this to be the last time.

After a final squeeze, the weight of Sam’s arms drops, and they fall to his sides as he steps back, catching his breath.

I clear my throat to get my breathing under control because that … that was … everything. “Better?” I choke on the question, my voice now hoarse.

A soft hum escapes from him. “Much.”

I pick up my bags and take steps backward, still facing him. “I’ll talk to you soon, Sam. It was nice seeing you again.”

Neither of us wanting to turn away from each other, we are both walking backward in sync. “I’ll text you.” He smiles, and it sounds like a promise. I hope it is .

Making it to the entrance of my building, I wave, turn, and tap my badge to unlock the door. I step inside and look back. His eyes remain locked on mine. “One more thing,” he hollers out.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve missed you.”

It’s an admission I wasn’t expecting. But also, one I didn’t know I needed to hear.

I rest my head on the door as I hold it open and take him in, standing so close to me, thrust back into my world unexpectedly. “I’ve missed you, too.” Because I have. So much.

He gives a small wave as the door shuts, the sound echoing in the hall, and I can finally breathe. I collapse against the cool door, and within seconds, Richelle is at my side.

She curses, then asks, “Who in the heck was that gorgeous man?” her tone full of curiosity.

I continue to stand there, staring at the floor, trying to get my bearings.

“He’s—” I stop to consider my answer. “He’s a start.”

Sam

Is it too soon to text? Probably. But I’m going to do it, anyway.

As I walk to my building, my body still buzzing from the best hug of my life, I grab my phone from my back pocket and add Maria’s number to my contacts. I hit the message button and type.

Me: I hope you don’t get into too much trouble for being late.

Do I want to do this? My finger hovers over the send button as a yearning builds. Without a doubt, I want to do this.

Send.

I shove my phone back into my pocket, since I’m sure she won’t answer right away. Who knows, maybe her work doesn’t allow her to have her phone with her.

As I enter my building, keyboards clicking, phones ringing, and the usual morning chatter fills the air as I greet the staff. When I round the corner to my office, my phone dings.

A sudden feeling of euphoria rushes through me, making me feel like a teenager again. I throw my bag onto my desk, its weight causing a thud that echoes through the room as I pull out my phone. However, this text is not what I expected.

Cara: I hope you have a great day at work. Can’t wait for tonight. I’ve missed you these last few weeks.

Rubbing a hand down my face, I feel the rough texture of stubble against my palm and sink down into the comfort of my office chair.

Cara.

Cara and I reconnected after my dating app debacle and is the woman I have been seeing. She moved back home, and since then, we have gone out a few times, keeping things between us lighthearted, fun, and friendly.

Then I saw Maria.

And everything changed.

Cara, at one time in my life, meant a lot to me. I would venture to say that I loved her. We dated twice and had a lot in common, and we still do. Our friendship and relationship were always easy, uncomplicated, and freeing. So, when we started texting, then started hanging out, I thought that this is the direction my life should be going. We aren’t official, but could be.

Then I hugged Maria .

I quickly type out a text. I don’t want to cancel on Cara just because of this encounter with Maria. That wouldn’t be fair. And Maria and I … well … we aren’t anything at the moment. All we have is an intense history, a recent five-minute (albeit emotionally charged) conversation, and each other’s phone numbers. That’s it.

Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have asked her for her number. So dumb. Why did I do that?

I finish out the text, not wanting to overthink this.

Me: Thanks! You too. And tonight should be fun.

I heave my phone onto my desk, and it hits with a thud, the landing echoing in the room. A sudden wave of guilt washes over me. Because tonight will be fun. It always is with Cara. But, I don’t know if I want it to be fun. And I know why.

Because I just held Maria in my arms. If I hadn’t let go, I’m pretty sure I would have kissed her. That’s what she does to me. I also know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would have let me.

As I try to shake thoughts of kissing Maria out of my mind, I sit down and log onto my computer, the keys clicking beneath my fingertips, getting me into the right frame of mind. While going through my patients’ charts for the day, my phone pings, interrupting my concentration. I raise my eyes from the screen and fix my stare on my phone. The thought of picking it up fills me with apprehension, as if my world has instantly become complicated.

Which woman will it be?

Which woman do I want it to be?

With a mix of excitement and anxiety, I turn my phone over, my head hot and dizzy.

Maria: I got wrote up. But it was worth it. heart emoji

I smile.

Then quickly frown.

What am I going to do?