by M. E. Carter
“Are you guys still in counseling?”
“We were. Last week Drew said he didn’t want to go back again.”
“Oh, Victoria,” I say, as I pick at my thumbnail. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“I know. I’m trying not to bring it up very often because I don’t want to nag. But I can see the downward spiral starting to happen. I wanna just fix it for him.”
“You know you can’t do that.”
“I know I can’t, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to. It’s hard using the skills I learned at the retreat. It’s so much easier to just fly off the handle.”
I laugh. “I’m sure. Marriage is hard.”
“Tell me about it.” She sighs again. “Enough about me. It’s depressing. Tell me about you. How’s it going with Santos?”
I snort. “That’s your non-depressing topic?”
“Well, it’s not depressing for me. Besides, I want to live vicariously through you now that you’re single and free to do whatever you want whenever you want.”
“Yes. Free to just leave the kids behind on a whim,” I say sarcastically.
“Stop it. You’re ruining my fantasy of the single life.”
“Sorry. I mean I go out and party every night, have hot sex with amazing men, and sleep until noon every day. Is that better?”
“Now that’s more like it! Tell me more about the hot men?”
We laugh and make idle chit chat. It’s fun having a girlfriend again, even if she does live two hours away. And this one I made on my terms, not only because of opportunities provided by my husband. I guess that’s not totally accurate. He did provide the conference so I guess technically he provided this friend, too. But the friendship stuck even when he was gone. I’m grateful for that.
“So seriously,” she urges. “How are you really?”
“I’m ok.”
“Just ok?”
I sigh and lean my head back. “It’s stupid.”
“Your feelings aren’t stupid. Your feelings are valid. But what are they? Let’s talk it out. You know better than to keep it bottled up. That’s how you ended up here.”
“Ok, ok,” I acquiesce, knowing she’s right. I learned that about myself at the conference… that I brush things under the rug when they make me uncomfortable. Emotions. Insecurities. Gut feelings that my husband is cheating on me. I like to avoid it all, which is neither healthy nor helpful.
“It’s just… Santos is going out of town for some games again. We’re divorced and all. But it always just makes me… I don’t know if nervous is the right word. Sad, maybe?”
“Ok. Tell me why. What is it you’re sad about?”
“It’s hard to put into words.”
“Well try before you do that avoiding thing again.”
I blow my non-existent bangs out of my face, trying desperately to avoid talking about this but knowing I have to. I can’t brush things aside anymore. Ignoring my feelings and inclinations are part of what got me to this point.
“I know we’re divorced, but thinking about him being with someone else just brings it all up again. Who is he going out with? Will he have sex with her? And then, of course that makes me think about if he’ll get married again. Will it be a gold-digging groupie and will she be terrible to my kids? Theo is too young to tell me if anything happens, and the thought of being away from them, him especially overnight, is just debilitating at this point. And I know none of it is rational, but the whole thing just makes me want to cry again.” I take a deep breath, since I don’t think I took one during that entire monologue, and wait for her to tell me how psychotic I sound.
“That’s a lot of emotions.”
“Yeah.”
“Ok, well let’s break this down,” she suggests. “First of all, he’s not dating, right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“So there really is no fear of marriage right now anyway.”
“If he accidentally knocks up a groupie, there is.”
“If he accidentally knocks up a groupie and decides to marry her, which, by the way, I don’t think he would since he’s still ridiculously in love with you…” I snort a humorless laugh. “… don’t make that sound. He is. Anyway. If he was that stupid, that is several months away, so you can stop focusing on that. One problem at a time, ok?”
“Ok,” I whisper, feeling a tiny bit calmer.
“As for him going out of town, well, let’s break this down a little bit more. Why are you so concerned about what he does on the road? Be totally honest here.”
I squirm in my seat, trying really hard not to have to say it out loud.
“Mari,” she challenges more forcefully. “Why do you care?”
“Because I miss him,” I blurt out.
“I know,” she replies gently, like I'm finally figuring out what she knew all along. “Because you love him.”
I wipe away the single tear that is sliding down my cheek.
“Honey, it’s ok to still love him. You didn’t divorce him because of lack of love. You divorced him because of lack of trust.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I just don’t know what to do. I thought it would be easier, the longer we were apart. But it feels like it’s just getting harder.”
“That’s probably because you’ve started facing your feelings head on.”
“I wanna be mad at him, ya know? I want to still be mad for putting us in this position to begin with. But all I feel right now is sad.”
“Of course you do. You’re finally moving into that acceptance stage of grief. That stage may be the hardest of them all.”
The tears flow more freely now. “I don’t want to accept that it’s over, Victoria. How can I accept this?”
“I’m not sure you have much of a choice anymore.”
I nod even though she can’t see me and let her words soak in. Yes, Santos made the choice to violate my trust, but ultimately, I’m the one who decided to end our marriage. At the time, I knew it was the right decision, but I wonder about it now. Maybe I should have insisted on a legal separation for a while. Maybe I should have just forgiven him.
No, I know this was right. The infidelity had gone on for too long. Even if we had tried to work it out, there would always be part of me wondering exactly how much of our relationship was truthful and how much of it was shrouded in lies.
“Are you ok?” Victoria finally asks. I appreciate that she let me sort out my thoughts for a few minutes. None of this is cut and dry, and sometimes my brain and my heart have to coordinate where everything’s at.
“Yeah,” I say, as I wipe the last of the tears away. “I’ll be alright. Just one more tiny step I have to take in this process, right?”
“At least it’s a tiny step forward. It could be a big step back, ya know?”
“I know. So where are you at anyway?”
She laughs. “I’m actually sitting in my car in my driveway.”
“What? I’m so sorry,” I groan. “I didn’t mean for you to sit in your car while I have a meltdown.”
“Are you kidding? Except for the meltdown part, it’s wonderful! Drew is inside with the kids. I’m outside sipping on my venti peppermint mocha.”
“Isn’t that a holiday drink?”
She takes a loud sip. “They actually serve it all year long. You only have to ask for it. I plan to savor it as long as I can.”
“Sounds to me like you’re doing some avoiding of your own.”
She sighs. “You caught me. I’m just tired of fighting. I want my marriage to work out, but geez. I wish he’d make a decision already. This back and forth is a killer.”
“Welcome to the wonderful world of being married to a shop-a-holic.”
“I never thought I’d feel bad for those guys who always bitch about how much money their wives spend. But seriously, if this is what they were talking about, I’m on their side now. This sucks.”
We chat more about Drew, all the kids, and our non-existent weeken
d plans before saying our goodbyes.
I feel better after talking to her. More settled. I’m still sad over the thought of Santos being with another woman. But maybe for the first time I’m facing that sadness head on. I’m hopeful this is the first step toward actual healing.
After ten years of playing professional soccer and fifteen years of my life before that, I thought cleaning out my locker would be hard. I thought it would be full of nostalgia and memories. Of course, I also thought it would be complete with pomp and circumstance from younger players congratulating me on my retirement and a career well done.
Instead, it was just me, myself, and I tossing out old deodorant, notebooks of plays that have long since been revised, and team-owned gear to be disinfected and passed on to the next guy.
It’s an extremely underwhelming send-off, but it’s right this way. Soccer had been my obsession for the majority of my life, but somewhere along the way, it had become my downfall. For that reason alone, I don’t need it to be celebrated.
Just like an alcoholic doesn’t have a big drinking party to celebrate sobriety, I don’t want a big party celebrating my attempts at rearranging my routines and patterns.
To say my coach had been shocked by my immediate resignation would be an understatement. But when I explained to him what had really transpired in my marriage and really laid my sins out for him to see, he did what Coach does best: told me nothing was more important than family, patted me on the back, and sent me on my way with a promise to work on breaking my contract immediately.
Three days later, here I am, driving away from the stadium as a member of the team for the very last time.
My teammates took it better than I thought they would. The party crowd was shocked and didn’t really understand that it was time to move on with my life. But the family guys… Daniel, Rowen, even Christian… they seemed to know why it had to be done without my even saying anything. But of course they would. They would all do the same thing if it came down to it.
I turn into the parking lot and park my car. There’s still one person that needs to know about my decision, and I didn’t want to have that conversation by phone.
Shifting from one foot to the other after knocking, I try to stay warm. The end of January is hit or miss on weather, but of course one of those weird Houston cold snaps moved in while I was cleaning out my locker. I briefly wish I had gone on the road with the team just so I could be enjoying the sun in California for a bit, but very quickly, my heart reminds me why this is the right decision for me.
As soon as Mari opens the door, I see the confusion on her face. She wasn’t expecting me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on the road?”
I ignore her question. “Can I come in? We need to talk about some things.”
I see the alarm on her face before I even make it across the threshold.
“Is everything ok?” she asks, locking the door behind me. “You’re kind of scaring me.”
“Everything is fine, I promise.” I notice how quiet it is. “Are the kids asleep?”
“Early naptime,” she explains, as we make ourselves comfortable in the living room. “They finally wore me down about going to the park.”
I chuckle. “You? Out in the cold?”
She smiles a genuine smile at me for the first time in I don’t know how long. For just a second, it makes me want to puff out my chest.
“It wasn’t cold at first. But then the front blew in and it was miserable for me. As you can tell,” she points out, gesturing to the blanket she’s pulling over her legs, “I haven’t been able to completely warm up yet. But the flip side is, they wore themselves out, so I’ll deal with it.”
“Well good. I’m actually glad they’re asleep. I wanted to talk to you about some things.”
I look around as I gather my thoughts and I'm distracted by the camera on the coffee table. It looks expensive.
“What’s that?” I ask gesturing to it.
An embarrassed look crosses her face, but she answers with a shy smile. “It’s a camera. A Nikon D-5200 DSLR.”
“You used to love to take pictures.”
“I know. I was always really interested in photography, but I sort of got distracted by life, I guess. I thought I’d try again. See what I think.”
“And?”
“See for yourself.” She picks up the camera and hands it to me, showing me how to look through the pictures.
As I scroll, I become more and more impressed with her abilities. They’re all pictures of our kids, but they’re not just pictures. They’re artistic. The colors are vivid and bright. Like something you might see in a magazine.
“Mari,” I breathe. “These are beautiful.” I look up and she’s biting her lip, trying not to smile. “This one of Theo laughing with the sun behind him, it’s… wow.”
“Thanks. I want to print some of them, but I can’t decide which ones. I want to get a computer program to see if I can edit them, but I’m not really sure what to get. I don’t know. I’m still just messing around.”
I scroll for a few minutes longer. She even has a few close-ups of some flowers that must have bloomed during the two days of warm weather we had. Nature photography doesn’t necessarily appeal to me, but I appreciate her eye for color.
Handing the camera back to her, I can’t even adequately describe how impressed I am with her talent.
“You need to keep working on this, Mari. You have a real gift.”
She smiles at me shyly again as she turns off the camera and puts it back on the table.
“Thanks.” She takes a deep breath and settles back into the couch. “Ok, so what did you need to talk to me about? My imagination is running wild right about now.”
“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” I say, trying to reassure her. “So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, working through some of my issues, and trying to really figure out how I ended up here. You know what I mean by here, right?”
She nods and bites her lip. “I’m assuming you’re talking about the divorce.”
“Not just the divorce, but how I got so out of control to begin with. How it was possible to just act without emotions and not even take into consideration that I was lying and just… I mean, you know.” I look at the floor and shake my head in disgust. “I don’t want to rehash the memories. Let’s just say I’m trying to figure out how my head and heart don’t seem to connect sometimes.”
“Ok.”
“Anyway, what it boils down to is I quit the team.”
She gasps and her eyes get wide. “What do you mean you quit the team? You can’t just quit the team, Santos.”
“But I did.”
“Santos, that’s your job. Your career. You don’t just break your contract. You’ll be blackballed from ever being picked up again.” I can see the confusion and concern in her eyes.
“I don’t want to be picked up again, Mari. I’m done playing soccer.”
“Wait.” She shakes her head as she tries to wrap her brain around what I’m telling her. “I don’t get it. Why would you just quit? This doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” I counter. “My patterns of bad behavior are based on routine. A routine that I live and breathe every single day. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I don’t want to be surrounded by the temptations and the adrenaline rush every single day. Look where it’s gotten me? I’m aging rapidly, and instead of building a wonderful life for myself, I’ve lost everything because I can’t keep my dick in my pants.”
She winces.
“My therapist can explain it better. And maybe someday you’ll go to therapy with me so he can tell you. But this is the right thing, Mari. It’s the right thing for me. It’s the right thing for you. It’s the right thing for the kids. No more being out of town for two weeks at a time. No more crazy hours. We can all have a more normal life.”
“Santos,” she stresses gently, “we’re not together anymore.”
I swallow hard.
“I know that.” My voice comes out gruff from emotion. “Look, soccer was my life. But it also ruined the only life I ever really wanted.”
Her eyes fill with tears. I know she feels the same kind of emotion I do… the bittersweet of an era ending.
“What about your teammates? Your friends?” she whispers so softly, I almost can’t hear her.
“What friends?” I counter. “Funderling and those guys… they watched me basically self-destruct and didn’t say a word. That’s not being a friend. I don’t want any part of that.”
“But Daniel and Christian...”
“…I will still see in passing when I come visit the kids. But they are tight with Rowen now, and with Rowen comes Tiffany.” I look up in time to catch her wince just slightly again. “Mari, the temptation isn’t there, so don’t even think like that. Not for me and not for her. But I know how much it hurts you when she’s around, and I’m not willing to make you feel like that again when I can just as easily cut a few ties to people.”
She wipes a tear off her cheek.
“I know I will never get you back, even though I want that more than anything in this world. But whether we’re together or not, I have to change for me. I know you have tainted memories, but so do I. I want to get as far away from them as I can so I can have more good memories.”
She looks at the ceiling, trying not to let the tears fall. It’s a losing battle though.
“I love you, Mariana,” I say, baring my heart to her, to hell with the consequences. She shakes her head at me, but I continue. “I have only ever loved you. And even if you never love me again, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you and taking care of you. This is my way of doing it. I don’t care if you,” I gulp and blink back my own tears, “I don’t care if you fall in love with someone else. I will always be here to take care of you. You are the love of my life. That won’t change just because I lost my way.”
She wipes away her tears with the back of her hand and clears her throat.
“So what will you do now? Have you decided?”
“First things first, I’m putting the house on the market.”
“Really?”
