by M. E. Carter
He tears his gaze from mine to look at her and it makes me even more pissed. Mari used to do that, too. She was the only one who could get me to look away when I was in the middle of a stand-off. Watching the way they interact reminds me once again of what I’ve lost.
“Don’t fight me on this, Tiff. This is what we do, remember?”
She looks at him for a beat longer before nodding once and leaving the room. He turns to me, anger radiating from him.
“Is there a reason you think it’s ok to tear into my wife like that? WAGs are off-limits.”
I snort a laugh. “Just because you’ve been married for like three minutes doesn’t make her a WAG in my book.” I take a swig of my beer and lean against the counter. He won’t fight me. He knows better.
“I don’t give a shit what your book says. You ever disrespect my wife like that again, and it’ll come out of your face.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Damn right I am. I don’t give a shit if you feel guilty about your marriage going south. That had nothing to do with her, and you’re not going to try to project your feelings onto her, got it?”
I bark a laugh. “Nothing to do with her? You realize she was there, right? You realize I was fucking your wife,” I sneer, “on a regular basis, right?”
He steps forward, and I immediately stand up straight at the threat. “I know exactly what she used to do. I also know, instead of trying to throw all the blame for her actions onto other people, she tried to make amends. She didn’t go to Mariana to give her all the details. Mariana went to her. Mariana already knew, Santos. She fucking knew you were cheating on her. She just needed confirmation so she could leave your sorry ass.”
My eyes narrow and I puff out my chest.
“Let me ask you a question… the night Mariana left you, who were you fucking that night? It wasn’t Tiffany, was it?”
I clench my jaw and my nostrils flare. I’ve never been so livid, and it’s taking everything in me not to punch him in the face. If he gets one step closer, I will.
“I know because Tiffany was already done with that life by then,” he reminds me. “She did nothing wrong by answering Mariana’s questions. In fact, those were the first honest answers Mariana actually got, because you sure as hell weren’t telling her the truth. You need to take a good look at the role you played in your marriage before you spout shit in anyone else’s direction. While you’ve been sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, Tiffany has been trying to make things right and gave Mariana the one thing in that conversation you hadn’t given her… respect.”
He turns to leave but stops when his hand reaches the swinging door. “One last thing.” He turns around to look at me. “I’m not a rookie anymore and I’m not afraid of you. You ever speak about my wife like that again, whether she’s in ear shot or not, and I’ll bash your fucking face in.”
I stand there, staring at the door as it swings open and shut.
I’m still pissed as hell. I’m so fucking mad I could punch the wall and probably not even feel it. Worst of all, as much as I want to be mad at Rowen, now I’m just fucking furious with myself.
“So how old are your kids?” Tom asks me from across the table. We’re sitting at Texas Roadhouse, a high energy, loud steakhouse chain that can be found all over Houston. It’s the only place I’ve ever been that gives you buckets of peanuts to eat before your meal and actually wants you to throw the shells on the floor. It’s messy, but fun. And their rolls are to die for so when Tom suggested it, I knew I was game.
“Five, three, and one,” I say, as I glance over the menu. It’s been so long since I’ve been here, it’s hard to decide what to eat.
“Wow. You have your hands full.” Tom puts his menu down and leans forward on the table. His clear green eyes are really kind. He has dark hair with a little gray mixed in. Not a lot, but enough to make him look distinguished. “I remember when my kids were that age. They ran me ragged every day, and I was only home for a few hours because of work.”
I smile at him. In person, he is almost exactly like he is on line. Kind and inquisitive. Asks lots of questions, but doesn’t shy away from answering them. For my first on-line date, I call this a win so far.
“Yeah, they keep me busy. I’m not sure how working moms do it, especially when they’re single. It seems like it’s never-ending work.”
“Who is watching them tonight?”
“My next-door neighbor. He and I have become great friends since we moved in.”
“That’s nice. Having someone you can count on live next door.”
“Yeah. It is. And my husband’s captain lives a few doors down, so I’m kind of surrounded by people to take care of us in the event of an emergency.”
He stiffens. “Your husband.”
I feel myself blush. “I’m sorry. I mean my ex. I’m not really used to calling him that yet.”
His face softens into a friendly smile. “I understand. It took me close to a year to not call my ex ‘my wife.’ It’s a habit that’s been in place for years, so it takes a little while to break.”
“Well, thanks for understanding. How old are your kids?”
“Twelve and fourteen.” We relax into an easy conversation, although it’s so loud in here I feel like we’re yelling part of the time. He tells me about his children, a boy and a girl, and the Disney trip he took them on early this year. I tell him about the latest books I’ve been reading and my thoughts about starting a blog, just for something to do. We talk about our travels and our bucket lists. We touch on our extended families and our job goals. And we laugh when I tell him the story of how Marcus and I met.
Tom is very easy to talk to, and I find myself enjoying the conversation even more than the food. I wasn’t expecting that. I envisioned a stilted conversation and the overwhelming desire to go home, but that hasn’t happened at all. It feels good to know I can enjoy myself and meet new people again.
“So how long have you been doing the Bumble thing?” he asks, as the waiter drops off the check. He quickly snatches it up and puts a credit card in the top before I can even think about looking at it.
“Not that long,” I admit. “Actually, you were the first person I contacted. I thought for sure I’d never hear back. Or you’d send me inappropriate pictures.”
He barks a laugh. “Why would you think that?”
“Marcus is the one who convinced me to sign up. Of course, as soon as I did, he had to tell me all about his own horror stories. It made me a bit skeptical about the whole thing.”
He passes the check back to the waiter as he walks by. “It’s good to be skeptical. Even if you have wonderful online conversations, it’s still online. It’s easy to fake your personality over the internet.”
“It’s easy to fake your personality in person,” I mutter.
“What?” he asks, the space between his eyebrows crinkling.
“Nothing,” I say with a smile. I like that he understands my hesitation. You just can’t be too careful these days.
We finish up inside, and Tom walks me to my car.
“Thank you for a wonderful dinner,” I say when we stop next to the driver’s side door.
“I could say the same to you.”
We pause for an uncomfortable few seconds before he speaks again.
“Mariana, as much as I think I would like to kiss you goodnight, I’m not going to.”
I look at him quizzically. “Why not?”
“I know we’ve been chatting for a while, but this is still our first time meeting in person. I enjoyed talking to you and would love to see you again, but I don’t think either of us knows for sure yet if this is a love match.”
I smile again. It seems he’s been making me do that all night. “I don’t think you know how much I appreciate that. I haven’t kissed anyone besides my hus… er, my ex in over ten years. For me, I think I need to take it slow.”
“I agree. So, I’m just going to kiss you on the cheek,” he leans i
n and does just that, “and wait for you to drive away before heading back to my car. And then, of course, waiting the appropriate amount of time to talk to you online again without appearing desperate.”
I laugh. “I think the appropriate amount of time would be tomorrow.”
He grins back at me, and I turn to get in my car. “Thank you for a lovely evening and a wonderful meal.”
He closes the door behind me and stands to watch as I get situated. I put my key in the ignition, turn it and…. nothing. Not even the sound of an engine that won’t turn over.
I look over at Tom who has a frown on his face. I try again, and still nothing. Suddenly, my car door opens.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like the battery. I hope it’s not the transmission.”
“Here, hop out and let me try. I’m not great with cars, but I might be able to tell you if we’ll be able to adjust something for a quick fix tonight.”
We switch spots and he tries again to get my car to work. After a few minutes, he turns to me. “I think you may have to call a tow truck in the morning. That’s definitely not the battery.”
“Shit,” I grumble under my breath.
“Is there anyone you can call to come pick you up?”
For a minute, I run through the list of people. Marcus and Santos are pretty much it. Marcus, of course, has the kids, and Santos… well, I need to not call Santos. He’s not in my life anymore as a partner, so I need to not turn to him the very first time I run into a problem.
“There’s really not. I can take a cab, but I just live ten minutes from here. Do you think you could drop me off? I wouldn’t normally ask, but…”
“No, no! It’s fine. I was going to offer, but I didn’t want to appear too forward. I think I pass by your neighborhood on my way home anyway. You’re just north of here, right?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” I say. “I promise this wasn’t a ploy to get you to come home with me.”
He laughs as we walk through the parking lot. “From what you’ve told me about Marcus, I’m sure I wouldn’t get a moment’s peace if I were to come inside anyway.”
The ride back to my place is filled with even more conversation. He asks about our days in California and which state I prefer living in. Considering my whole family is just four hours away, the answer was pretty obvious. I prefer Texas all the way. But I sure do miss the California beaches.
As we pull into the parking lot, I notice even more people coming in and out of Daniel’s apartment. I quickly turn away and refocus on my date, who opens the door for me and helps me out.
“Thank you for driving me home,” I say again, as we walk to my apartment door.
“It truly was no problem. I enjoyed spending the extra ten minutes with you.” We stand on my stoop and I dig in my small purse for my keys. “Did you find them?”
“Right here.” I pull them out and showing him.
“Ok. Well, have a good night and I’ll talk to you probably sometime tomorrow, if that’s ok with you.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say with a smile.
He kisses me on the cheek one more time, turns, and walks away. I watch as he moves toward his car and think about what a nice time I had. For my first date, I think it went really, really well.
I turn to let myself in and movement catches my eye.
Santos.
He’s standing in the parking lot, staring at Tom as he gets in his car and drives away. He turns to look at me with an expression I haven’t seen before. It’s a cross between anger and despair. It’s obvious he saw Tom drop me off. It’s obvious he saw Tom kiss me.
Seeing him like this, with his heart so obviously obliterated, the fun I had this evening is no longer in the forefront of my mind. Instead, all the heartache comes rushing back in like the floodgates of my emotions just opened up.
Before I know what’s happening, Santos comes barreling toward me, heavy emotion flashing in his eyes.
“That, that…” he points in Tom’s direction, “is why I couldn’t see my kids tonight?”
“What are you talking about, Santos?” Suddenly, I’m exhausted. I turn away from him to put my keys in the lock, but he grabs me by the arm and turns me quickly back around to face him.
“Who is that, huh?” He looks so mad and so hurt. I’ve never seen him look like this before. I’m not afraid of him. He just looks so desperate for some sort of understanding. “Did he hold your hand? Kiss you? Did he…” his voice hitches, “…did he touch you the way I used to, huh?”
I can smell the whiskey on his breath. It doesn’t surprise me at all that he’s been with his teammates, partying. Some things never change.
I pull out of his grasp. “It was a date, Santos. One date. Food, conversation, that’s it. Not that it’s your business.”
He backs away and scratches the scruff on his jaw, pacing like he’s trying to calm himself down. “I’m sorry. I just… the thought of him kissing you and touching you… God, Mari, the thought of him making love to you…” He squeezes his eyes tight and puts his fist against his forehead, like he can beat the visual images out of his head. “I can’t take that Mari. The thought of that just guts me. Destroys me.”
I stare at him in disbelief, the anger raging through me once again. How dare he. How dare he! Come storming over like a raving fucking lunatic because he doesn’t like the thought of something that never even happened.
“You don’t like that, huh? Don’t like the thought of me getting naked with him?” I step closer to him, knowing I should stop now, but unable to. “Don’t like the thought of me sucking his dick.” He winces. “Don’t like the thought of me spreading my legs for him, letting him plunge inside of me while he sucks on my nipples and I scream out his name. Tom, Tom, ohmygod, right there, Tom!” I yell in the best fake orgasm voice I can muster.
“STOP!” Santos roars, his eyes wide, visibly shaking.
“No, you stop!” I yell back. “I didn’t even do anything, and you can’t take it? Welcome to my fucking nightmare, you goddamn son of a bitch!” I push him as hard as I can and spin around, jam my keys in the door and let myself inside the apartment, slamming the door in his face.
“Damn girl,” Marcus praises, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“Shit,” I curse under my breath. “I didn’t wake the kids, did I?”
“Not even close. They finally crashed after I put them on a nice, solid sugar high.”
One side of my mouth quirks up in a sort of half-smile, but I’m just not feeling it. I can’t stand seeing that look on Santos’s face, the look that I put there, and isn’t that just the fucking irony of it all. The man I’m trying so hard to get over, my husband, the love of my life, is crushed.
And once again, so am I.
It’s been two weeks since I saw her outside the apartment with that guy. That guy she was on a date with. Thinking about it still makes me feel like there’s an animal clawing at my chest. It hurts so badly to know she was out with another man.
The shit of it all is it may have been the first time I actually understood the kind of hurt I made her feel. I always knew how badly I had damaged her, but I never really had anything to compare it to. I guess I couldn’t really fathom how it made her feel.
I can fathom it now, and it’s awful.
I went home that night and cried. No, that’s not right. I wept. Like a fucking baby. I wept for the loss of my wife. I wept for the loss of my children. I wept for the loss of the life I loved. In a weird way, I wept for the loss of myself. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that I was living a weird double life. What is wrong with me that I could so easily push down the guilt every time I did it? I don’t even know where to begin with fixing it, and that makes me feel so helpless. Like I’m doomed to be this asshole of a man forever.
The door opens and the mediator walks in the room before I can continue my self-psychoanalysis.
/> My attorney, a guy by the name of Ronald Weaver, exchanges pleasantries with him before they sit down and we begin the tedious process of dividing all the assets Mariana and I have.
“Mr. DeLaGuardo,” the mediator says, “my name is Dennis Hawthorne. The judge in your case almost always orders mediation to help move the process of divorce along smoothly. My job is to assist the parties in reaching and equitable settlement. If we can’t come to an agreement today, the judge will likely order a hearing, maybe a trial. At that point in time, beyond what your attorney presents, you will have no say in the outcome, so it really is in your best interest to come to an agreement today. Does that all make sense?”
I nod. “It does. And I’m not really here to fight it out with her. Whatever she wants is fine with me. Hopefully this will be quick.”
He glances at my attorney and they appear to have some sort of unspoken communication. “Before I head into the other room and speak with your wife, is there anything you are adamant that you want in the agreement?”
“I just want to make sure I can see my kids whenever I want. Nothing else is important. Just my kids. They are the only thing that matter.”
“I understand, and we’ll do our best.” He pushes his chair back and stands up. “I’ll be back after I speak with the other party.”
Once the door closes behind him, Ronald turns to me. “Santos, I know you want to be fair here, but you have a sizable savings account and 401k. In Texas, she’s entitled to at least fifty percent, sometimes more. This is the time to try and negotiate so you can protect yourself.”
I shrug. “I’m not interested in protecting myself. I’m interested in protecting my wife and kids. My salary makes enough to cover my living expenses. But everything beyond that was always for them anyway so it makes no difference to me.”
I can tell my answer takes him by surprise, which kind of pisses me off. How many dads getting a divorce focus solely on protecting themselves when their kids’ well-being is on the line. I don’t understand that thought process.
“Santos.” He says it like he’s getting ready to deliver bad news. I’m in the middle of negotiating a divorce from my best friend. There’s no way the news can get any worse. “She could walk away with everything. The house. The entirety of your savings. All of your retirement. You’re not going to play soccer forever. You need to make sure you can provide for yourself.”
