Little by Slowly: a Story of Love and Recovery

by Paul Hina

Sam? You're our best programmer. We need you. You're probably more important to the company than either me or Chris. But it might be better if you take a couple of days off—let things cool down. Chris is going to do the same."

  "And you guys?"

  "Our marriage?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, it's not easy. I'm mad as hell, but I can't say I'm surprised. I guess I half-suspected that something happened that night, but never said anything. I'm not sure I wanted to know. Truth is, Sam, once you've been with someone as long as I've been with Chris, you learn to forgive some things you might never have imagined being able to forgive before. Besides, our lives are too intertwined by the years. If we were to spilt, it would mean months and months of finding out who owns what, and who should get this or that. And I just don't have the energy to start over from nothing. Truth is, I don't know who I am anymore without Chris. And, besides, I know he's truly sorry. I know he regrets it. Sometimes, I guess, when you're with someone and built as much as we've built together, you just learn to take the path of least resistance."

  "So, you stay because it's easier that way."

  "Yes, but it's more complicated than that."

  "Because you have history?"

  "And all that comes with history: families, memories, objects, a business."

  "But you—"

  "And love."

  "You almost forgot that one."

  "I suppose I did," she says, and he can hear the sadness, the sheer tiredness, in her voice, and he wants to say something, anything to make her feel better. But she breaks the silence. "So, you'll be here next Monday?"

  "I'll be there."

  "Good, Sam. Thanks."

  "You're welcome, though I'm not sure I shouldn't be thanking you."

  "Either way. I'll be happy to see you."

  "Okay, Tracy," he says.

  Sam sits there for a minute, still holding his phone, staring out the cafe window. He shuts his laptop, knowing that no work will be done today. No good work anyway. His mind has travelled to distant places.

  He thinks of Chris and Tracy, and how far they've drifted over the years since he knew them as undergraduates. They seemed so in love once. Now, their love seems more familiar than passionate, a stable thing not to disturb. Disturbing the stable water of their combined life would cause too many waves, too much paperwork. Now, they just seem resigned to a life together.

  This is the danger in any domestic partnership. When the only truth you have left is that you're stuck together because of the paperwork, you become reticent to shake things up, to tear everything into pieces. When that happens, you stay together out of fear of the unknown, fear of starting your life over, alone. It's easy to fear a world where you don't have a partner in life, particularly when you're accustomed to having a partner. At least when you have a partner you know that you're in the thing together, share the desperation—the tedium of familiarity. You know, if nothing else, that you have someone to lean on.

  This is why Sam—he's convinced now—stayed with Kelly for so long. The love was limited to her familiarity, their familiar habits, and their familiar drunkenness. But once he left, and shook up his life, he didn't have her to look at to convince himself that the drinking was normal. It would've seemed strange to drink when Kelly wasn't there to share the buzz. And so he didn't.

  And now Jessi is in a similar position. Just as Tracy does, Jessi wants to travel the path of least resistance. It's easier. But with Jessi, leaving a partnership is not as complicated as entering alone into the complete unknown. She would have Sam. Or would she? Perhaps, that's the issue. She said she didn't like uncertainty. And Sam is still an uncertain newness, a person that hasn't built up any trust, and, therefore, has garnered none of her loyalties. He hasn't been a part of her life for any more than a few days. It's difficult for her to trust that he'll be there, particularly when you consider the delicate position that she's in now. If things didn't pan out for her and Sam, she'd almost certainly return to drink.

  That's why Sam has to convince her that she can count on him. He has to let her know that this thing he feels is real, more real than anything he's ever known. He has to tell her that the truth she knows now, the easiness of staying with Michael, is nothing more than an attachment for the sake of paperwork. He has to convince her that Michael gives her nothing but the superficial entanglements of the past. And that only he can give her the most important, true thing out there. Only he can give her love, hope, and a new start—a start without the baggage of the past.

  Sam stands up and puts his laptop in his satchel. He grabs his coffee and heads out the door. He's walking to the train. He's going to see Jessi, and, unlike last night, his impulsiveness will not be denied.

  He knows that what he wants to say to her has to be said, and if it's not said, then he'll never forgive himself if she gets away.

  If she makes the choice to stay with Michael after Sam has put himself out there, it will hurt, but he'll know that he told her exactly how he felt, and that she chose without any question about his intentions.

  Two blocks from Jessi's and he is feeling all those adolescent insecurities of professing love. His mouth is dry. His hands are sweaty. He feels sick with hunger, but is not hungry at all. In other words, he is thoroughly alive inside. His thoughts are popping with what words to say. Countless fantasies—fragments of almost movies—have been play-acted across his mind's stage. These mental rehearsals have covered just about every scenario that might occur, and he has exhausted all the possible outcomes—good and bad.

  When he gets to her block, he stops for a second, leans against a lamp post, and wonders if he's pushing too hard, too soon. Though his instincts tell him that he's pushing too soon, he feels that if he doesn't ask her to choose now, then tomorrow could be too late. He has to let his intentions be known, unequivocally.

  It seems to him that Michael has also realized this, and this is why he returned her engagement ring to her last night. He saw her with Sam and realized that he couldn't play games with their relationship any longer. He probably assumed that giving Jessi back her ring would put an end to any questions she might have had about his level of commitment. Michael seems like the kind of guy who is accustomed to getting what he wants. Sam is not.

  But the future is not reserved for those who have ruled the past. And Sam is fully aware that he is not in complete control of his destiny. Ultimately, Jessi will decide his fate, but only if he presents it to her.

  Still, moving through these impeccably clean and well manicured streets, he is reminded of what he's asking her to leave, and what he'll never be able to give her.

  But these things are superficial. These material things are of little importance when a life spent with love is at stake. He's offering her something more true.

  He can only hope she sees things the way he sees them, and the future seems as clear to her as it does to him.

  When he gets to the gate on the walkway to their house, he tries to open it, but it's locked, and as soon as he rings the buzzer, the gate to the driveway starts to open. He immediately wonders if they have a security camera, if she has seen him already, and is letting him in. But as he moves through the gate's opening in the driveway, he is greeted by Michael's black Jaguar. It's running, and Michael's in it. Had Sam been one minute later, he would've missed Michael altogether.

  Michael gets out of the car.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm looking for Jessi."

  "You were just going to walk in like that?"

  "I thought when the gate opened—"

  "No," Michael says, and then looks at him knowingly. "You're that guy who was with Jessi last night after AA," he says moving away from the car and closer to Sam.

  "Hello?" Jessi says through the intercom, answering the buzzer that Sam pushed just a minute before.

  Michael moves toward the intercom, hits the button. "It's nothing, Jessica. Just me. Go back to bed," he says, never taking his eyes off Sam.

/>   "Why'd you say that? I told you I was here to see her."

  "She's tired. And you've shown up uninvited."

  "Hey, what's your problem?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Why don't you let her tell me she's tired?"

  "Because she's too nice to tell you to get lost. That's why."

  "Maybe she's too tired to tell you to get lost."

  "What in the hell are you talking about?"

  Jessi's face appears in one of the front windows. Sam can see a flash of panic run across her face.

  "Why are you here?" Michael asks, either not hearing Jessi come out of the house, or just ignoring her.

  "I came to ask Jessi to breakfast, and to—"

  "Michael," Jessi says. She is standing on the porch, arms crossed, and still wearing pajamas.

  "…see if she'll spend the rest of her life with me."

  "What did you say?" Michael says, moving closer to Sam. They're only a few feet apart now.

  "Michael!" Jessi shouts, moving quickly toward them.

  "You heard me."

  "No, I thought I heard something that you couldn't possibly have said."

  "I said I came to ask Jessi for breakfast," Sam says. Michael is staring him straight in the face now. He's close—maybe three feet of space stands between them. Michael is daring him to conitnue. "And to see if she'll spend the rest of her life—"

  Michael swings and hits Sam firmly on the side of his face.

  Sam is forced back a step by the punch, and grabs his jaw. "Jesus!" he yells, wincing in pain.

  "Michael! My god! What the hell are you