Page 101 of All In
The speakeasy/restaurant, a converted 1920s bank, has been on Cara’s must-visit list for months. When it opened back up after COVID-19, I booked us a table right away.
The ceilings soar above us, creating an expansive atmosphere, and the intricate wood carvings along the walls are impressive. Soft leather couches line the open second floor, providing a relaxed spot for those who want to enjoy a drink. The smooth texture and polished sheen of the marble-like columns create an air of sophistication. Black table cloths drape over each table along with a lone candle as a centerpiece. In the basement, there is a bank vault which is rented out for private parties. As soft jazz music fills the air, other patrons engage in lively dinner conversations.
“Mm-hmm,” I mutter, not able to take my eyes off my phone. I strain to catch her words as she debates the menu, trying to figure out what to order. But my focus is on Maria’s Instagram page, neglecting everything else around me.
Her once quiet page was full of information. And thanks to my decision in the car three years ago … I’m completely in the dark when it comes to her life. Naturally, I became obsessed by scrolling on it non-stop. Acting like a jealous, obsessive high schooler.
How am I back at this place?
That place being my thoughts consumed by her. And not the incredible woman sitting across from me. My girlfriend of four years, Cara. Which is why we are at this fancy, over-priced restaurant. It’s our anniversary, and I have a feeling I know what Cara is expecting tonight.
A proposal.
Yeah … that’s not happening.
Not as long as my heart is still halfway with Maria.
Cara and I were going strong in the beginning. I left Maria behind and dove in headfirst with Cara. As I always do when I’m trying to avoid something that hurt me. We had a blast, and I fell in love with her all over again.
Well, kinda love. It’s love, but not the all-consuming kind. I had that once, so I know.
There were vacations, road trips, romantic dinners, and quiet evenings spent at home. All of it was amazing.
About a year ago, when Cara started dropping marriage hints, is when I checked out. Her wedding talk was a trigger for me. It made me realize that I wasn’t ready to travel down the marriage road again with a woman, only for the sole purpose of avoidance.
All the marriage talk made me realize that deep down, Cara and I don’t belong together. Plus, the long stretches of time apart followed by the constant togetherness due to the pandemic began to wear on us. On top of that, Maria’s Instagram became a noisy hub of activity, overwhelming me with details about her life. There were pictures of her kids, her with the kids, scenic pictures, and then the ones that hurt the most. Her with another man.
Why am I doing this to myself?
I continue to scroll and size this loser up as Cara goes on and on about how her friend told her the calamari was ‘top notch’ here. In every picture, Marialooks stunning, and I can’t help but feel a surge of jealousy as I examine this adonis of a man.
He’s a guy who fills out a suit with his gym-bro body, probably one of those meat heads who can bench 315 lbs. His jawline is so perfectly defined, it looks like it’s been carved from solid granite. In the pic of them at Marshall Lake on what I am assuming is this dude’s boat, I’m pretty sure he has a twelve-pack. Maria, well, she was wearing a black bikini and a tan. And wearing it well.
I keep scrolling.
And his name—don’t get me started—Geoffrey with a G. He is the epitome of male attractiveness. And to make it worse, I’m sure he’s a nice dude and not a horrible human. Because after what Maria had gone through, she wouldn’t settle for anything less.
Plus, he looks identical to a celebrity, but I can’t seem to put my finger on who.
Brad Pitt? No. Charlie Hunnam? No, that’s not it. Ryan Rey—
“Um … earth to Sam?” Cara’s voice cuts through my obsessive thoughts, bringing me back to the present as I peer across the table at her. The small candle centerpiece flickers in the darkened restaurant, illuminating the irritated look she is giving me. She flicks her head and eyes to her right. I glance up to see our waiter staring at me, his arms behind his back, waiting for what? I have no idea.
“Oh, yeah, hi.” I put my phone down, greeting the young, skinny kid who towers over our table. He’s wearing a white pressed dress shirt, a black tie and pants, with an apron around his waist. He looks twelve. Then again, everyone looks young to me these days.
“What would you like to drink this evening, sir?” He whips out a bottle of wine from behind his back, showcasing it to us both. “May I recommend our newest Shiraz?”
Is this kid even old enough to offer alcohol to people?
I gesture to Cara. “Why don’t you go first, honey?”
“I already did.” She deadpans, her face devoid of emotion.
“Oh.” With an irritated demeanor, the waiter places the bottle on the table, letting out an exasperated sigh. I was so engrossed in Maria’s Instagram thatI didn’t notice this kid sneak up on our table. Or hear Cara place her drink order. I square my shoulders and clear my throat as I allow myself to embrace the present moment. I’m pretty sure I’m coming across as the world’s worst date right now. “No wine for me, thanks. I will have a Glenlivet on the rocks.” The waiter picks up the bottle of wine, nods, and scurries away.
Cara takes the fancy folded napkin from the table and fans it out, placing it on her lap. “What’s with you tonight, Sam? You haven’t torn your eyes away from your phone since we got here.” When I meet Cara’s eyes, there is a mix of frustration and genuine concern. If she only knew what was holding my attention on the phone, she would be way more upset than she is right now. But she’s right. I need to focus on her. It is our anniversary, and I’m being an insensitive jerk.
“I’m sorry, honey.” I extend my hand across the table, the smooth black tablecloth brushes against my forearm. With a soft smile, she reaches out and takes hold of my hand. “Work is getting to me. You have my full attention now, though.”
