5. Leah
CHAPTER 5
Leah
T he last time I went on a date, George W. Bush was president, flip phones were cutting-edge, and my idea of dressing up was a wrap dress and heels. Now, I was standing in front of my mirror, debating whether my slacks were too casual or my blouse was too dressy, and wondering why the hell I was doing this to myself.
Alana had come over an hour earlier to help, which was her mostly sipping a glass of wine and making unhelpful suggestions like, ‘ Wear the red dress—it screams fuck me !’ That dress was currently stuffed in the back of my closet.
Instead, I’d settled on dark jeans, ankle boots, and a pale blue blouse that I thought made my eyes look less tired. I wasn’t trying to be glamorous—I just wanted to look like me. Well, an improved version of me.
Marco texted me when he was outside my apartment. I looked out of the window and saw a silver Audi. I grabbed my bag and took one last deep breath before walking out to meet him.
By the time I got to him, he was standing by the passenger door. He was dressed casually—dark slacks, a navy button-down rolled up at the sleeves—and I’d bet my law practice he didn’t change his clothes five times as I had.
“Hi.” I suddenly felt awkward.
“You look beautiful.” He opened the car door for me.
No one had ever opened the car door for me! Ten points to Marco Cabrera.
So, Leah, I asked myself, how many points to let him fuck you?
Should’ve worn the red dress , I heard Alana say in my head.
“So do you.” I slid into the seat. My voice sounded way steadier than I felt.
The first few minutes in the car were quiet. We were not uncomfortable, not exactly, but cautious, like two people trying to figure out how this worked.
I’d been on a few dates after the divorce. I got the apps and swiped right and left. If memory served me right, those first (and only) dates felt like job interviews. But I didn’t know those men at all. Marco and I had danced and been in each other’s personal space.
“How was your Saturday?” I asked because the silence was driving me up the wall.
“Quiet,” he replied. “I see my girls on Sunday for lunch.”
“Every week?” I was jealous, and I realized how lucky he was that his children liked him. Mine didn’t. I pushed that thought away. I was moving forward, and there was nothing more I could do to appease my children. If they couldn’t appreciate that I’d left my career to raise them because Kevin was too busy being the fancy lawyer—that I left him because he cheated on me, which had not been acceptable, there wasn’t much more to do. I hoped that if someone cheated on Presley or treated her with disrespect, she’d have the courage to walk away from him because she’d seen me do it. Maybe she’d see me as a role model to emulate. It was a pipe dream. They had taken their father’s side in the divorce, and that was that.
“How often do you see your kids?” Marco asked what he assumed was a natural question.
If I told him my kids didn’t like me, would he think less of me? Would he see me as defective? I certainly did.
“Ah…it’s complicated.”
He glanced at me. “You want to talk about it?”
Did I? I wasn’t sure.
“Davis is twenty-four. He just passed the bar. He’s clerking for Judge Whitmore.”
Marco nodded. “Isn’t he the judge who overturned that gun case?”
“Yes.” Judge Whitmore was a big deal, and he was friends with Kevin. Everyone was friends with Kevin. He’d asked the judge for a favor, and in return for the clerkship, Davis had dumped my ass. Davis’s girlfriend Olivia, who was also a lawyer, had been hired as an associate in Kevin’s law firm. She saw Kevin as her key to success as a corporate lawyer.
“Presley is twenty-two and is in her first year of law school at Emory.”
My daughter loved her father and believed he could do no wrong. Sure, she’d been angry when she found out about Candy, the physical trainer he was banging, but she got angrier when she learned that I wasn’t going to forgive and forget. She blamed me for breaking up the family. But then, unlike me, who never bad-mouthed Kevin to his children, my ex had gone out of his way to convince our kids to feel that I was an unreasonable, fat cow who should be honored that he still wanted me. Apparently, I was being childish, selfish, and arrogant for walking away from him.
“Law school must keep her busy.”
I looked out of the window. “Yeah, it takes a minute to adjust to the rigorous academic demands of the program.”
“Leah, I know you’re a lawyer, too. I looked you up.”
I turned and laughed softly. “I looked you up, too.”
“Good, then I don’t need to talk about myself,” he said in good humor.
When he finally turned off the main road and onto a quieter street, I frowned slightly. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he said, a hint of mystery in his voice.
A few minutes later, we pulled into a small parking lot in front of a historic brick building. It was lit with soft, warm lights, and the sign outside read: Atlanta Botanical Garden—Night Garden Tour.
I blinked, turning to him. “The Botanical Garden?”
He smiled, his expression almost sheepish. “Yeah. I know it’s a little unconventional, but I thought it might be nice. Something different.”
That was an understatement. Most men I’d dated in the past thought special meant reservations at a steakhouse where we’d go Dutch. This was unexpected and warmed my heart.
“I hope you’ll like it,” he added.
“I’m sure I will,” I said confidently. No one had done something so sweet for me—and that included Kevin.
We walked through the entrance, where a cheerful guide handed us a map and pointed us toward the illuminated paths. The garden was glowing under colorful lights that highlighted the towering trees, the winding paths, and the carefully curated flower beds. Lanterns hung from branches, and the soft sounds of nature blended with the drip-drip of water features.
“This is...stunning.” I spun around to see what was around me. “Do you come here often?”
“I’ve never been here before,” Marco admitted, his hands in his pockets as we strolled along the path. “Camille and I always talked about going, but we never made it. I thought...” he hesitated, his voice trailing off for a moment before he continued, “I thought maybe it was time to make a new memory.”
Whenever he spoke about his wife, I could feel his pain. This man wasn’t over the grief. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
I enjoyed being with Marco because the serious moments blended effortlessly with the fun, never feeling overwhelming. This, I thought, must be what a real grown-up relationship—where both people acted like adults—felt like. I’d never had this. Life with Kevin had been—which I could see now—all about him controlling me. I had allowed it. I hadn’t even known it was happening.
I refused to let Kevin ruin this beautiful evening I was having with an equally beautiful man, so I purposefully emptied my mind of the past to live in the moment.
We fell into easy conversation. I thought it would be awkward since I was out of practice. In the past, I fumbled my way through the social choreography of a date—but not with Marco. He was patient. When I put up walls, he took it as an invitation to talk about himself, tacitly asking me to drop some of my guards. As a lawyer, I admired his conversation skills. As a woman, I was flattered. As an insecure divorcee, I was afraid that once he got to know me, he wouldn't want to have anything to do with me.
He talked easily about his family. I could see he adored his girls.
“Isabella is the responsible one. She teaches high school.” We stopped near a fountain lit with pale blue lights. “Sofia is studying engineering at Georgia Tech like her mother.”
“Where did you study?”
“UC Berkeley. I moved to Atlanta after Camille and I decided to get married. Her parents and family are here. Mine are in Puerto Rico.”
From family, we moved on to work. He told me about his company, and I told him about my law practice.
“Why divorce law?”
“I got screwed in my divorce, monetarily, and it was a shock. I gave up my job and career to be a full-time mother and was left with nothing . I didn’t even own a car. It was hard to start from?—”
“Your ex didn’t give you any money?”
I shook my head. “We had a prenup. There are ways around it…well, I know that now. So, I got a job at an old classmate’s law firm. Worked my way up from what felt like minimum wage. I started my practice a year ago. I wanted to help women who can’t afford a fancy law firm, you know? The costs are too high.”
He put a hand on my arm to stop me from walking and turned me to face him. “You’re a remarkable woman.”
I gaped at him. Say what?
“You took something awful that happened to you and turned it into a profession meant to help others. Your family must be proud.” He rolled his eyes when I gave him a look. “Not your ex, obviously.”
He was curious about my relationship with my children. I could tell. Family was important to this man.
“I don’t have much family.” Or any! “My parents passed away years ago. They were older when they had me. I was a surprise baby and also the only.”
He nodded, waiting for me to continue.
“My daughter…Presley blames me for the divorce,” I finally blurted out.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because I asked for the divorce once I found out Kevin was cheating on me.”
“That seems unfair.”
“She thinks I broke up the family.”
“And your son?”
Shame made me drop my eyes to my feet. “My ex…Kevin got him his clerkship. He also hired Davis’s girlfriend as an associate at his law firm.”
“I see.” Marco put a finger under my chin and lifted my face. He locked his eyes with mine.
I stood still, waiting for him to say something…pass judgment.
“Children, sometimes, have more growing up to do than we realize,” he said, surprising me. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it must hurt you.”
I was caught off guard by his simple sincerity. “It does,” I admitted.
“You’re a good person, Leah. I don’t know your kids, but I know you. And if they don’t see that right now, they will someday. I can promise you that.”
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my emotions in check. “Thank you.”
He didn’t judge me. He didn’t blame me like some other friends and acquaintances had, like my children had.
We continued to walk, and our conversation became lighter. We talked about salsa class and laughed about our mutual inability to keep time with the music sometimes.
By the time we reached a small bridge overlooking a pond, I realized I wasn’t even a little bit nervous anymore. We stood in silence, letting the beauty of the gardens take us away.
He stepped just a little closer, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. My heart pounded in my chest, and the air between us charged.
“You ready for dinner?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
We walked back to his car hand-in-hand.
“I made reservations at Desta. It’s an Ethiopian place. Have you been?”
“I’ve never had Ethiopian food.”
“It’s unique.”
So are you, Marco!
“I can’t wait,” I admitted, not just to try a new cuisine but a whole new relationship experience with a man who looked at me like I was enough.