14. October 2002
Chapter fourteen
October 2002
Sam
“ L et’s get married!”
Erica’s fork stops mid-bite as she looks at me, stunned at my outburst in the middle of this run-down BBQ joint in downtown Atlanta. Her fork hovers for a brief second before returning to her plate.
“I’m sorry … what?” she asks, confused by my—oh, I don’t know what you call it—a semi-proposal? She stares at me, blinking as the chatter of other diners fills the air.
“You heard me. Let’s get married,” I reiterate because I am dead serious.
And look, I know this sounds confusing. It was just over a year ago when Maria, for the third time, shattered me completely. As I left her house that night—the night before her wedding—a newfound determination filled my heart.
It was twofold.
Never let Maria affect me again and get over her as fast as possible by any means necessary.
Start a new life in Georgia.
It turns out number two was a lot easier .
I spent the day of Maria’s wedding stone cold drunk. My plan was to black out and not remember the whole day. I was pretty successful.
Then, one week later, I had my whole life packed up in about ten different boxes, shoved into my car. I didn’t renew the lease on my apartment and left the furniture. The car was so packed that I couldn’t see out the rearview window. A twelve-hour drive later, I was in Georgia. Determined to start fresh and ready to move on.
Jasmine and Big C were kind enough to let me stay in their spare room above the garage till I got on my feet. I went to bed every night feeling stronger with a renewed sense of purpose … but also with Maria’s ring and letters tucked away under the bed.
I said I felt stronger. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t still weak.
Removing Maria out of my thoughts and heart was the hardest thing I have ever done. Thankfully, my PhD program provided a constant stream of work, keeping my mind occupied. Ricky, on occasion, would try to give me updates on her, but I told him I didn’t want to hear it. I needed a clean break. And that is what I was doing here in Georgia. I put five states plus six hundred and eighty-five miles between us.
Was it hard? Yes. Was it necessary? Definitely yes.
Then, one night about four months ago, at a local brewery, I bumped into one of the most outrageous and sexy women I have ever met. The one sitting across from me right now, mouth hanging open from my declaration.
Erica.
We were both there with friends, touring the micro-brewery. During the whole tour, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. Don’t ask me how to make beer. I have no clue. But I can tell you what Erica was wearing that day. Denim shorts frayed on the ends, a skintight red tank top, and Doc Martens. She was tan, irresistible, and took my breath away. After the tour, I made sure to sit by her at the tasting table. We connected instantly, and the conversation continued at the bar, then at her place. It was the first time since Maria that I looked at a woman with lust and desire. This goes way beyond attraction.
And it felt amazing. Almost like a drug .
And let me tell you, she is the anti-Maria. Exactly what I need in my life right now. Maria is soft, whereas Erica is rough and hard. Maria is a planner and overthinker. Erica is spontaneous and borderline dangerous. Maria has green eyes, she’s tall, with long blonde hair. Erica’s eyes are almost black. She is shorter, with a dark brown pixie cut, which sometimes is purple.
And she has her faults. Mainly, too much alcohol. Okay … a lot of alcohol. Her third beer is resting right in front of her, almost empty.
Her adventurous side is the reason I have blurted this out right here in the middle of this restaurant. I fell hard and fast for Erica. Mostly because of what she brings to my life. A life so different from the one I had in Ohio.
Do I love her? I think so. Yes. Yes, I love her.
The love I feel (or think I feel) for Erica is new and fresh. It’s like reckless abandonment. We have so much fun together, it’s ridiculous. Granted, most of that fun is attached to alcohol and the bustling energy of our favorite bar in town, Morning Ale.
But this desire to start from scratch and begin a whole new life is pulling me toward Erica. And by pull, apparently, I mean asking her to marry me.
Add given what happened on 9/11, it feels like the entire world is changing. So, I might as well change with it.
Plus, Maria decided to drive a wedge between us via a wedding ring. So, why shouldn’t I do the same?
“Look, I know it sounds crazy,” I continue. “But we connected so quickly.”
“Is that what that day in the brewery was?” she asks, raising her eyebrow, her question dripping in sarcasm.
That first meeting was … something. Electric sounds like a good word.
I reach for her from across the table. Her dainty hand with chipped black-painted fingernails intertwine with mine as soon as we touch.
“I love you, Erica. And I feel like there isn’t a reason to wait. We’ve talked about it.” She nods her head in agreement. Heck, we talked about spending our lives together and what adventures we could have after only one week together. (How a wild life will fit into my career path as a psychologist? No clue. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. )
I press on because she is chewing on her bottom lip. This is something she does when she has some kind of hair-brained idea that normally ends with us hungover the next day. “I am at your place almost every day, anyway. We spend pretty much every waking moment together. We have so much fun, it should be illegal.” She laughs at this one.
I pull her hand up to my lips and kiss her knuckles as I stare into her eyes. Both of us letting the enormity of the moment sink in. “I don’t have a ring.”
“I don’t need one,” she counters, her lips ticking up into a sly smile.
With a playful grin, I run my thumb gently across her left ring finger, noticing the soft feel of her skin. As I stare at her hand, I find it difficult to make eye contact when I finally gather the nerve to ask. So, I don’t. “What do you say? Erica Richards, will you be my wife?”
This isn’t who I planned on asking. This isn’t who I wanted to spend my life with.
But life had other plans. And I want—no, I need—a different life. And I could have that with Erica.
I raise my gaze to meet hers, holding my breath as I do.
“Yes, Sam. I will absolutely marry you.”
See, here’s the thing with Erica. Once she gets something in her head, she wants to act on it. ASAP.
Which means we got married the next week. On a Tuesday, no less.
Total insanity.
Big C and Jasmine were there as our witnesses. It was at the historic courthouse in downtown Atlanta. Not my first choice, but, hey. This is new to me.
My mom wasn’t happy about it all, and honestly, I have barely spoken to her about it. Truthfully, I don’t want to hear what I know she is going to say. And I know she’ll be right .
Since nothing about this whole marriage is traditional, Erica wore black pants with the skintight black lace top that I love. I wore my best khakis with a button-down black shirt.
Yep, we got married wearing black. Total insanity. Erica reminded me that it’s not the color of the clothes but the meaning behind the day. She’s right.
The night I asked her to marry me, I went back to Big C’s and broke the news. He was … well … let’s say that he was skeptical.
“Sam, are you freaking kidding me right now? What are you thinking?” he exclaimed as we stood in his kitchen drinking whiskey.
“It’s spontaneous, I know.”
“Spontaneous? It’s stupid. You’ve only been dating for like what … three months?”
“Four.”
“Well, then. That makes everything better,” he scoffed.
“Okay, mom.” His lips curled into a brief grin as he shrugged off the slight dig at his genuine concern for me.
“That’s the other thing,” he continued with his lecture. “What about your mom?”
“I know, I know.” I hang my head in shame. “Mom is livid about this whole thing.”
He gave me a knowing look.
We stood there in silence for quite a while. I knew he wouldn’t take this well. He hasn’t been a huge fan of Erica’s since we met. He says that she brings out the worst in me. I know he’s right. But at that moment, in his kitchen, I didn’t care.
He turned his attention back to me, his brow furrowed with concern. “Sam, does this …” He stopped and looked down at his glass and let out a long breath. “Does this have to do with Maria? She got married, so now you have to. Be honest.”
“What! No!” I yelled as I threw my hands in the air. “I know you think this is just a rebound. ”
“Heck, yeah, I do.” He took a sip of his drink, wincing as it went down. “The first beautiful woman to bat her eyelashes at you now that Maria is out of the picture once and for all, and BAM! You want to marry her.” He shook his head, gripping his glass. “This is so ridiculous.”
“I really care about Erica. I need this, C. I need to start a new life. Erica makes me happy. She makes me feel alive for the first time since I got The Chad letter from—”
“God! Would you stop calling it that!”
I ignored him. “For the past seven years, it’s like time has stood still. I’m stuck back in ’95 and the day Maria destroyed me … I’m trapped in that moment in time. So, I need …” I stopped to collect my thoughts. Whatever the reason, getting my best friend’s approval was crucial. “You and Jasmine have been wonderful to me. But I need to move on.” And he knew this. His sole purpose in pressuring me to move here was so that I could start over and forget Maria once and for all. That night in our shed, she made her choice. Without a doubt, her future is mapped out and meticulously planned.
Awesome. Good for Maria. But now it’s time I make some life decisions of my own.
Albeit it, crazy ones, but still.
I needed to start living my life and move on from the past.
He continued to stare straight ahead, rolling his rocks glass in his hand. He finally spoke up. “Is this your way of asking me to be your best man because, if so, you suck at it?” A wave of laughter passed between us, instantly easing the tension. He didn’t agree with this decision, but he will be there to support me.
Erica’s arm snaking around my bare chest pulls me from the memory. Her touch, heck, her whole body, makes my skin feel hot with need. We are lying in the king size bed of this small hotel’s honeymoon suite. A thin white sheet covering our bodies. The ugly floral comforter is in a heap on the floor, along with our black non-traditional wedding attire and our two champagne glasses. The room reeks of alcohol, with three empty bottles of bubbly and wine resting on the table in the corner. As I run my fingertips up and down her arm, a low moan escapes her lips. “God, that feels good,” she whispers, sounding content. The rise and fall of her chest is slow and steady, a clear sign of how relaxed she is.
“Are you happy?” I ask as I take in the smell of her hair. It’s musky. Erica has never been one for anything “girly.” Another contrast with Maria.
Don’t think about your ex while your new wife is in bed with you on your wedding night. You idiot.
Turning towards me, her eyes are brimming with desire, while her messy hair and smeared makeup are proof of what we just did. “Yes, so happy.”
I plant a passionate kiss on her swollen lips as I turn her onto her back and climb on top of her. I rest my elbows on each side of her head, caging her in with my arms. Our lips break apart as I stroke her forehead with my thumb. We lock eyes, and time seems to stand still. Finally, she tilts her head to kiss me, and the world fades away again. And again. And again.
I get lost in my new life.
And my need to move on.