Page 12 of All In
“I call it ’The Chad.’” His brows furrow in confusion. “Read it and find out.”
He unfolds the letter and lays it on the couch cushions, smoothing it out with his hands. I down the rest of the beer as he reads. Which doesn’t take long since the letter, or I mean,The Chad, is short and sweet. But, man, does it pack quite a punch? He looks at me, then reads it again.
“She’s in love with him?” His eyes scan Maria’s words, which shattered my heart.
“Apparently so.”
“So, like what? Did she fall in love with him at work?”
“No clue.”
He rubs his hand down his face. “Sam. This makes no sense.”
“I know. Trust me, I know.” Visions of his hands on her makes me grab another beer, open it, and take a swig. I should feel better soon. “And to add insult to injury, he was there.”
Ricky’s jaw drops. “He was there?”
“Yep. Him and his shiny red Corvette.”
“Geez.”
The story spills out of me from start to finish, and he listens, nodding every so often.
“The Chadis a good name for this piece of crap,” he says as he shakes the letter.
“Yep.”
“So, what are you going to do now?” Curiosity fills his question.
“Well, right now”—I look around on the floor for the remote to the TV. I find it resting next to the couch, pick it up, and press the power button—“I just want to dull this ache in my chest with some booze, share a beer with my friend, and watch the game.”
Ricky scoots his body down on the couch. “Well, okay then.” He discards the letter back onto the floor, and my eyes track the last piece I have of Maria as it soars through the air and lands on some glass. Looking away, I hand him a beer, and we watch basketball.
As the time passes, I try to pretend like Maria’s not at her house with Chad. Kissing him, holding him, loving him.
I grab another beer.
At some point during the evening, perhaps at around beer number five, or maybe it was six, I passed out.
The closing of my door jolts me awake, and I find myself on the couch, only wearing my shirt from last night and boxers, reeking of my poor decisions. The light streaming in from the window isn’t doing much for my poundingheadache, so I shield my face. Slowly, I sit up, rubbing my eyes, allowing them to adjust to the brightness. I survey the room, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
It’s spotless. As if nothing happened here.
After I passed out, Ricky must have fixed my coffee table, cleaned up the broken glass, thrown away the empty beer bottles, and vacuumed my carpet. I was out cold.
How drunk was I?
Scratching my head and standing on unsteady legs, I walk straight to the bathroom. After a shower and a glass of water to help with my obvious dehydration, my focus and current situation come roaring back to me. The breakup letter is lying on the counter next to a note from Ricky.
A fuzzy memory flashes in my mind.Wait … did I nickname her letter?The events of last night after I called Ricky seem to blur together in my mind.
I did. I glance back atThe Chadletter, then at Ricky’s note, written on the back of the electric bill envelope.
I ran out to get us some breakfast and coffee. You really need to go grocery shopping. Your milk was spoiled. I know this because I took a swig before looking.
P.S. I cleaned up but wasn’t sure if I should throw it away.
Byit, I’m assuming he means her letter. On impulse, I pick it up and read it … again. The entire night comes flooding back into my brain.
