Page 3 of All In
A surge of excitement courses through me as I daydream about the moment. Maria isn’t flashy. One quality I love about her is this alluring, sexy, yet understated vibe she has always put out there. She’s witty without sounding full of herself. She is kind to every single person who crosses her path. Plus, she has no clue how unbelievably gorgeous she is. Honestly, I love everything about her, even her flaws, because they contribute to who she is as a person.
In high school, she was a little shy with not a lot of friends. All the guys in our class wanted her—but she chose me. Boring, looks-like-your-everyday-dude Sam. Not knowing that she had a crush on me, I took my chance one day in geometry sophomore year. I asked her to eat lunch with me. To this day, we call that day in the cafeteria our first date. We became a couple after and have been inseparable ever since. It’s not lost on me. I am dating way above my station.
While planning this whole evening, I knew she wasn’t interested in a flashy, over-the-top proposal. Kind of like the ones you see at NBA games.
That’s not my girl.
Plus, I wanted intimate and unforgettable. It’s going to be a moment so special that we can’t wait to tell our grandchildren about it. A story we will never tire of retelling over and over again.
Now this massive ring box won’t fit in my pocket, so I need to redirect things. I mean, I guess I could just put the ring in my pocket and not use the box. The thought of losing it scares me to death.
But I have to chance it. There is no way I’m not asking Maria to marry me at our spot.
I carefully take the ring out of the box and place it on the bed while I rush to the bathroom. With a quick motion, I yank three tissues from the Kleenex box, their softness playing between my fingers, before returning the ring to securely wrap it. Carefully, I shove it into my pocket, then glance down, satisfied and praying it doesn’t fall out.
There, better.
After I propose, we can come back here and plan our lives over a half-eaten tiramisu (Maria never finishes her desserts) in the living room of my new apartment.
The one I plan on sharing with her.
When I toured it a month ago, vivid images of carrying her over the threshold flooded my mind. Visions of us snuggled up on the hand-me-down couch, wrapping ourselves in a cozy blanket, enjoyingFriends, while sipping on wine. The one-bedroom space is compact, but I don’t care because this is going to be our first place together. It will just force me to be closer to her.
No married couple forgets their first shared space as man and wife. I’ll let her decorate it to her heart’s content. Even if she decorated the studio with pink and lace (no lace because it’s not her style, but she loves pink), I’d still be happy waking up next to her every morning for the rest of my life.
Over time, I’m sure we will move into a house, have babies, and watch our kids grow up behind a white picket fence. We have our entire future mapped out, down to the smallest details.
However, my nerves also stem from another source.
And that’s Maria herself.
For the past six weeks, she has been a mere shadow of her former self. It began when she accepted the position as a secretary at that bustling warehouse. She’s been pulling away from me, slightly, ever since. I’ve noticed the little things, thesubtle details that often go unnoticed. Like not returning phone calls under the excuse that she is tired. Canceling dates because of a paper she has due. The shorter kisses and stiff hugs are the worst. I’ve asked her again and again if she is okay. She always reassures me she is.
I didn’t want her to work in that kind of environment. You know what I mean, right? Those types of places are a breeding ground for inappropriate behavior. Gross men making unwanted advances, secret hook-ups in storage closets, suggestive comments, and sexual harassment. Not that she would cheat on me. I trust her one hundred percent, but what boyfriend in their right mind would want their girl subjected to that kind of stuff?
Not this guy.
I need to keep reminding myself that it pays way better than it should, and it works with her school schedule. The manager hired her on the spot when she interviewed and met all her demands. He paid her as if she had years of seniority and experience. I mean, of course she accepted the job.
She always tells me it’s a means to an end. This job will help us save up some money so that we can start our life together. And she’s right. After college graduation and getting her bachelor’s degree, she can pursue a career in exercise science, her passion. I’m so incredibly proud of her. Her striving to get her bachelor’s degree inspires me to upgrade my associates.
But I can’t shake this sense of dread I have. It’s strange and unlike me to doubt Maria and what we have together. I’ve contemplated asking her about it, but then I figure she must be going through something, and I need to be there for her. She would talk to me about it if anything was really wrong. That I’m sure of. I pray that I’m overthinking and this proposal will solidify our future together. No more fear or second-guessing.
I check my watch for the hundredth time. Six forty-five, which means it’s time to leave. I swipe my keys from the dresser, turn out the lights of the apartment, head out the door, down two flights of stairs, and to the carport. My beat-up Ford Taurus is waiting for me as I slide into the driver’s seat, the ripped upholstery pulling away and making the hole in the seat even bigger. I cleanedthis sucker inside and out to prepare for tonight. It’s old, rusty, and has over one hundred thousand miles on it, but it’s shining pretty for me on this special night. I put the key in the ignition, and it sputters to life. A Michael Bolton cassette tape is in the middle console, so I pop it into the player, his smooth voice singing to me. I tightly grip the steering wheel, trying to ease some of the tension coursing through my body.
The rest of my life starts tonight.
I throw the car into drive and pull out onto the street, the soft glow of streetlights guiding my way. Throughout the entire drive to her house, butterflies swirl in my stomach.
The only thing that will ease my nerves is one three-letter answer to my question from Maria.
The woman I have loved since that day in the cafeteria.
Chapter three
1990
Five Years Prior
