All In

10. 1997

Chapter ten

1997

Sam

W alking into my dark apartment, it’s as if there is a lead weight holding a vice grip on my life. I still don’t have a job, and my rent is due in two weeks. And the $57 in my checking account is not enough to cover it. I yank the tie from around my neck since it feels like it’s choking me to death, and I whip it on the floor. Neatness? Who cares?

It feels like a Heineken is in order after the interview I endured. It was for a manager’s position at a grocery store. A job for a middle-aged man, in a loveless marriage, with two bratty teenagers and a beer gut. Definitely not me.

Although, if I keep up this beer habit, my gut won’t be far behind.

The interview went well, so I can’t complain. Do I want to work in a grocery store? Absolutely not. Have I found only a few options, and this is one of them?

Yes.

Which is depressing, to say the least.

So, if it’s offered to me, I’ll take it. It pays well, which means I’ll be able to pay my bills.

The lack of viable employment in this town has left me considering whether it’s time to move on and start over in a new state. It’s hard to comprehend that I’m considering that as a life choice. Two years ago, my life plan took a detour I wasn’t expecting. I felt lost for so long after Maria. But after some time, it seemed like I was finally getting a grip on things again. Work was good, I was dating again, more or less, and I had a solid friend group. Then, out of nowhere, last week, I lost my job and saw Maria (and held her in my arms), all in one day.

And my head hasn’t been straight since.

The feel of her skin, the smell of her hair, how she kept and still wears the watch I gave her. That sentiment alone almost made me want to carry her over my shoulder like a caveman and bring her back here to the apartment we were supposed to share.

What almost broke me was when I learned she came to my apartment to try to win me back. But of course, she picked the day I went out with Jennifer. I can’t believe Maria saw us on that porch, and what she witnessed was nothing. I pulled Jennifer into the apartment with no plan in place. At the moment, I thought it was what I wanted. Jennifer is amazing and gorgeous. But kissing her felt … wrong and off.

I wasn’t ready.

So, I sent her home. She understood and was really sweet about it.

But to think that Maria saw the whole thing and then to know the conclusions she had drawn, well, it makes me sick.

Then, to make the dance at Dexter’s more complicated, and like the idiot that I am, I almost kissed her. But reality came crashing back in the way of a preppy rich boyfriend named Nate. Who she left with. Not gonna lie … I’ve been back at Dexter’s every night since, hoping that she returns.

She hasn’t. It’s just been me, Big C, Ricky, and my friend Heineken.

The thought of that unexpected night at Dexter’s sends a pain of uneasiness straight to my gut. There’s this knowing feeling I have that Maria isn’t being honest with me. I’ve known her long enough. Something’s off. I just don’t know what.

I forcefully unbutton the top collar of my dress shirt, open the fridge, and grab a beer. Future beer gut? I’ll worry about that later. And yes, I understand that I’m drinking in the middle of the afternoon. Don’t judge.

Honestly, I need to get this beer problem under control .

As I sit down in my favorite chair and settle in, I realize I haven’t got the mail yet. A loud moan escapes my lips because I know the only thing waiting for me is bills. Bills I can’t pay. But I also can’t ignore them, so I sit my beer down, hoist myself up, grab the mailbox key, and head back downstairs to the main floor. I insert the key into the mailbox labeled 2B and open it.

Okay, so maybe it’s been a few days since I got the mail. A massive stack of long white envelopes and ads comes cascading out of my box and onto the dirty lobby floor.

“Son of a—” I mumble under my breath as I bend down to pick up the mess I made. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a pair of purple-painted toenails peeking out of black heels step on the envelope that was in my hand, preventing me from grabbing it.

“Hey Sam,” a female voice purrs.

As if this day couldn’t get any worse. It’s Cara. My neighbor, who lives right above me, has let me know frequently that I am welcome to visit her apartment anytime I want.

Not interested. Which she’s been told, on repeat, yet here she is.

Pinching my lips together, I glance up at her, careful not to look at her legs, which I know she will notice since her skirt is extremely short. I’ll admit, Cara is hot. I may not be interested, but I’m not blind. “Hey, Cara,” I mutter.

She stoops to help me pick up the mail mess on the floor, bending over so that her cleavage, which is hanging out of her crop top, is in my face. She’s desperately trying to make eye contact with me, which I purposely ignore. “I got it. Thanks.” We both stand as she whips her long, sleek black hair behind her shoulder and hands me the mail she picked up. She rests her other hand on my forearm. God, I can’t stand overtly forward women who can’t take a hint.

“So, do you have any plans for this afternoon? I’m free. If you would like to get lunch or a drink, maybe.” She takes a step closer and is batting her fake eyelashes at me. As if that will do the trick.

It won’t.

“Can’t, Cara. I’m busy,” I reply while turning to walk away and shifting through the pile of mail in my hand .

She follows me as I take the steps to my floor, her heels clanking on the concrete behind me. “Busy doing what? I heard you lost your job. Come on, Sam, it’s just a drink. As friends.”

Yeah, right.

I don’t answer her as I turn toward the hallway that leads to my apartment and walk to my door. Her cheap perfume is filling the air in the hall, which means she didn’t continue up the stairs to her place. Why can’t this woman take a hint? I intentionally ignore her, hoping the silent treatment will do the trick as I rifle through the pile in my hand.

Phone bill.

Electric bill.

Visa bill. (We sit that one aside for now.)

Cable bill. (Going to be canceling that soon.)

OH, MY GOD!

Only feet from my front door, I come to a sudden halt and zero in on the white envelope in my hand. It’s addressed to me, written in Maria’s delicate handwriting.

She wrote me a letter.

When did she send this? I zero in on the post stamp, and it’s dated three days prior. Holy crap. That means she wrote this the very next day after seeing me at the bar. Which also means, if I wasn’t so forgetful about getting my mail, I could have read this three days ago.

That same euphoric feeling I would get when we dated and wrote to each other frequently bubbles up. Letters that were full of love and feelings. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and my hands immediately feel clammy. I can’t contain my excitement. I have to share this with someone, and Cara is the only person around. “This is from Maria!” I turn and exclaim with wide eyes, bursting with enthusiasm.

Her nose crinkles as her lips curl upward. “Who is Maria?” she asks, popping her hip out and resting her hand on it .

“My ex,” I say, staring at the letter. “I can’t talk, Cara.” The words spill out of my mouth as I turn and fumble with my keys to open my door. Eager to get inside and tear this open.

“So, what about lun—” I slam the door in Cara’s face. Now maybe she will take the hint.

I throw the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter as I walk to the couch and tear open the envelope. My stomach churns with each step. I sit down and try to compose myself. A thousand questions are swirling around in my head as to what she could say. I peer at the folded letter, her written words in ink peeking through the blue-lined paper. I have no idea what meaning will be behind them.

With my heart full of both fear and hope, I unfold it and read.

Oct. 4, 1997

Dear Sam,

I really hope this is still your address. I know it’s been two years since we communicated this way, so you could have moved. God, I hope not. If this isn’t Sam, throw this away, because this is private and none of your business.

Sam, if this is you, and you got this far, please keep reading because I have a lot to say. And apologize for.

Last night at Dexter’s was surreal, wasn’t it? I’m not going to pretend that being with you again didn’t affect me. It did. More than I anticipated. Then again, you always had a certain way about you when it came to me.

After Nate and I left, I pretended to not feel well, and I went home. I needed to think. About everything. I decided that I owed you the truth. You deserve it. The truth about why I broke up with you. So, I hope you are sitting down, because I think you are going to be surprised.

Here it goes.

I never loved Chad. He harassed and bullied me into dating him. He was emotionally and physically abusive to me. I was miserable and alone the whole time we were together. And I hated every second of it.

Take a minute, sit this letter down and breathe.

She’s right, I need a minute. I can’t help but notice that she has an uncanny ability to understand my needs. No one knows me better than Maria. Her voice in my head is so clear as I read her words, it’s as if she’s sitting right next to me.

I do what she says and sit the letter on the cushion beside me. Leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees, I run my fingers through my hair. Whenever I think back to that day two years ago, all I can remember is the overwhelming anger I felt towards her. How each time I thought about them together, romantically, I almost punched a wall because I thought she wanted it. Now I know the truth. She was miserable.

The desire to punch a wall again is back, but I can’t lose focus because I need more details.

I pick up the letter, hoping to get those answers.

Are you back?

I’m sure what you just read was a shock. So let me explain, from the beginning, what happened.

You remember when I got that job at the warehouse, right? What am I saying? Of course you do. I told you the news, and we went to the mall to buy me some work clothes, then to Olive Garden for dinner and, of course, their breadsticks. You looked so handsome that night.

Anyway, Chad, who was thirty-two years old … wait, did I ever tell you that? I don’t think I did. I remember when he asked me in my interview why I wanted the job. I told him the truth, because you and I were starting a life together. He looked almost angry at my answer, which confused me because I just met the guy. Remember how he offered me the job on the spot? Well, I found out later through my workmates that never happens. Normally, the interview process is long. And don’t even get me started on how much he was paying me. Way more than I deserved. I thought this was a blessing for us. I was so excited that I didn’t see at the time what he was doing. God, I was so na?ve. I knew you were leery of the work environment. And at the time, I felt safe. Until I wasn’t.

I hope you’re ready for this next part .

Almost immediately after starting, he asked me out and I refused. And that’s when the harassment started. He was relentless and a pervert. I didn’t say anything to you because I needed the job and I thought I could handle it. But it took a toll on me. I’m sure you noticed that I was distant. I was trying hard to not show it, but no one knows me better than you. When you would ask me if I was okay, I should have told you. But I was so scared.

About six weeks after I was hired, Chad scheduled me an afternoon shift. I never worked in the afternoons, but he assured me that there was no one to cover the shift. It wasn’t until everyone left for the night that he cornered me in the break room and forced me to kiss him while pawing my whole body. I shoved him away and threatened to quit. He laughed at me and told me that if I didn’t date him, he would fire me. I ran out of the breakroom, to my car, and then home to call you and tell you what was happening. I was shaking the whole car ride home. I even pulled over and threw up. At the time, I thought I was never going to go back.

Once I got home, I walked through the door to find my mom and dad fighting. That’s when I found out that he lost everything gambling in Vegas. He lost his job right before that and he never told my mom. Instead, he lied and told her he had to go to Vegas for a work conference. He thought that he could help us financially by winning big. So stupid. The opposite happened. It’s all gone. And this included not just my college tuition, but their entire life savings. All of it was gone, Sam. They almost lost the house. We were broke. And not just broke, but wildly in debt. My mom wasn’t working, so we had no money coming in. Except mine. And we both know how long it takes my dad to find work.

I felt so trapped. And you know me, Sam. You know I wasn’t about to abandon them. I felt like I had no choice. Even though I did.

I didn’t dare tell my parents, or you, what happened with Chad. In the blink of an eye, my life changed. In that moment, in my living room, after being assaulted by my boss, I had lost you. And you didn’t know it yet. The next day I went to work and lied to Chad. I told him after thinking about it, dating him was what I wanted and needed. Little did he know that there was no want. Only need. I needed the job.

I was so stupid for not telling you. But I was ashamed. I felt guilty, like maybe I was leading him on somehow and I didn’t want you to think that. And if I said something, I knew I would have to quit, and all I wanted was to save money for our life together. I could have gone to HR, but one of my workmates said that was pointless. Plus, he was my boss. He had all the power. And he made sure that I knew it.

Honestly, I thought he would take the hint and forget about it. But I was wrong. I am profoundly sorry for hurting you. There will never be enough apologies in the world to cover my remorse. Sometimes the guilt I feel is so overpowering, it’s hard to breathe.

But I need you to know that I was miserable. You’re probably wondering how I could do it. How could I be with Chad if I hated the whole situation so much? I don’t know how I did it. I was numb and dumb. I only knew that I had to put my parents first. I had to choose. You or my parents. It was an impossible choice.

Chad knew about you and me. He demanded I break up with you immediately. So, I did. I wanted so badly to see you on the sly, hoping it all would blow over. But that would have been cheating. And I loved and respected you too much to do that.

And you were right. He was there that night. He sat next to me and told me what to write in that letter. Those words you read that day were his, not mine.

Then, after that went down, he rarely left my side. He told me what to wear, who I could see and talk to, what I could eat. And with him being my boss, he controlled my schedule and my income. He owned me. And he told me as much. The final straw was six months later when he found your watch and then his fist found my face. That’s all I’m going to say about that part. I don’t want to talk about it. Sorry. I left the same day and he was served a protection order. I never felt braver in my whole life.

I am so ashamed of myself. I should have told you what happened. I should have stood up for myself. I should have seen the danger. I have a lot of regrets. The biggest being you.

I carefully place the letter back down on the table, needing a few more seconds to grasp what I read. I knew something wasn’t right with how everything went down that day.

Honestly, I don’t know who to be upset with. Maria, for not trusting me enough to tell me and giving us a chance to work as a team and figure out a solution. Or her dad, for being an idiot who always gambled too much and putting her in this position. But more than anything, my heart breaks for the only woman I love. I know one thing for sure: I better never cross paths with Chad. The thought of him laying a hand on her makes my nerve endings stand on edge. I’m fuming right now, and I need to do … something.

Before I continue reading, I walk to my closet and grab the box that contains Maria’s letter. The Chad still sits on top. I walk straight to the kitchen sink, open the junk drawer, fish out a lighter, and I set it on fire. There is no way those man’s thoughts or desires will stay in my life. I watch the paper go up in flames, grateful that I will never read it again.

Once the ashes wash down the drain, I return to the couch and keep reading.

It took me a while to heal from everything. But I knew I needed to see you and explain. So I waited until the bruise was almost healed and I went to your apartment to try to win you back. I saw you with Jennifer and I thought I was too late. Seeing you with her broke me.

After that day, I buried myself in work. I got a job as a waitress and took every shift I could get. It was a nice distraction. Plus, there was school, which helped. And school is where I met Nate. I know you don’t want specifics about him or us, but I feel like I need to tell you some things. Especially after what happened on the dance floor. Nate and I have been together for a few months now. I like him; I do. He’s gorgeous and makes me feel special, but if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t love him. I think I could, though … someday.

Anyway, my dad was in and out of work during this time. Nate’s dad owns a huge manufacturing company. So he offered my dad a job. Nate’s dad took pity on my dad and gave him a really good-paying job that is low risk. My dad is comfortable there, helping with the maintenance on the building. He can work by himself and at his own pace. It’s the kind of job he has always needed and wanted. It’s perfect for him.

My dad getting work didn’t help my parents’ relationship. Get this. They are getting a divorce, Sam! After everything, my dad is leaving my mom. The whole thing makes me so mad!

I really wish you were here to talk to me about this. But I guess a letter will do for now.

After Dexter’s last night, I realized something. How much I miss you and how much I miss talking to you. We didn’t talk much last night, but being with you again was amazing. Was it that way for you? I know that we can’t talk on the phone or see each other in person, but if you’re up for it, I would love to continue to write. Your letters were always one of my favorite things. When we were a couple, you weren’t just my boyfriend; you were also my best friend. And if I’m being honest, I have no friends. Those girls at the bar are Nate’s friends’ girlfriends. God, they are so fake, I can’t stand them honestly.

Can we write, Sam? Can we please be friends again? If I don’t hear from you, I’ll have my answer and I will accept that. Mostly, I wanted to give you the truth. After our time together, I owe you that.

I hope to hear from you soon. You can write to me at my old address. Nate won’t see them if that worries you at all. Take care, Sam.

Love,

Maria

P.S. If this isn’t Sam, shame on you.

This is a lot to take in. Out of nowhere, it feels like Maria has bulldozed herself back into my life. With only an envelope, a stamp, some ink, and lots of words. Words that I’m struggling to process.

She didn’t want to leave me.

Chad abused her.

She’s with preppy guy.

She misses me.

She wants to keep in touch .

The answer to the last question in her letter comes to me fast. I frantically scan the living room for some paper and a pen.

Nothing.

I lift stacks of old bills, feeling the crispness of the paper beneath my fingertips.

No paper.

The handle to my junk drawer almost falls off as I open it with force. Among the pile, I find the lighter, loose batteries, random playing cards not part of a deck, screws, and three pairs of scissors. AH-HAH! A pen! I click it and pray that it works. I scribble on the stack of bills and grin in relief when the blue ink appears.

I turn and head toward my bedroom and beeline straight to my nightstand. The drawer practically falls out of its track as I yank it open. I can’t shake off this sense of urgency because it feels like I’m running out of time. There’s no deadline to write this letter and no point in rushing this. But the desire to communicate with Maria is so strong it’s like I’m running a marathon. And I’m only looking for paper.

Finally, a notebook shows itself at the bottom of my drawer. I grab it, head to my kitchen table, brace myself, and write.