Page 50 of All In
Why am I doing this to myself?
“So, tell me about Erica,” I inquire, as I bite the side of one of my nails, nervous about his answer. Plus, I’m still reeling from a three-second hug.
He gives me a curious look, his eyebrow lifting in response. “You really want to know about my wife?”
I shrug, trying to be nonchalant, and failing. “Sure. I mean, that’s what friends do when they catch up, right?” I’m still nibbling on my nail, and I can’t seem to stop.
He pauses, almost as if he is reluctant to talk about her. But why?
“Well, she’s the complete opposite of you,” he starts.
My finger drops from my mouth.What does that mean? Never mind, I don’t want to know.
He continues, his voice remains steady. “We met at a brewery in Atlanta and dated for four months before getting married.”
My feet come to an immediate halt. I’m unable to continue walking due to the shock coursing through me. Four months? He only knew her for four months before marrying her. I can’t wrap my head around this. I’m not sure if I’m hurt because he didn’t propose to me after years together. Or if I’m floored that Sam did something this … spontaneous.
As Sam takes a few more steps, he becomes aware that I’m no longer beside him and stops, pivoting to face my direction. His head tilts as his eyes scan me with interest. “Shocked you, didn’t I?”
After a few seconds, I find my footing and take fast steps to make my way back up to meet him.
“You did.” I pause, the silence hanging heavy as I gather my thoughts. I clench my fists around the handle of the pram. “She must be pretty special if you married her so quickly.” My voice trembles.
Am I hurt? Or is this jealousy? Whatever this emotion coursing through me is, I need to get it under control.
“It definitely was quick. But she’s great, and we have a lot of fun together.”
“I’m happy for you, Sam, truly.” And I mean it. If we can’t be together, his happiness means more to me than anything. And if Erica makes him happy … so be it.
But why didn’t he ask me?I push that thought down. Deep, deep down.
With a slight frown, he purses his lips together, deep in thought. “So, how are things with you and Nate?” His voice carries a hint of sharpness, adding an edge to his question. The last time we saw each other, he was begging me to choose him and not Nate.
“You really want to know about my husband?” I ask, throwing his question back at him.
He barks out a hearty laugh. “You’re right. I don’t.”
“And besides, the only thing you need to know about Nate is lying asleep in this pram. I got the best part of him.”
A small, knowing smile plays on his face as he glances in my direction. “Do you like being a mom?” he asks as we approach a bench. He motions for us to sit down with a sweep of his arm.Yes, please, because my feet are killing me in these shoes! We sit down, positioning Brielle right beside us.
“Being a mom is unlike anything I have ever experienced. When the doctor placed her on my chest, it was like she filled a hole in my heart that I didn’t even know was open. I never knew love for another human could feel like that, ya know?”
“Well, actually no, I don’t know. Not yet, anyway.”
I sit back and cross one leg over the other, settling in for what I hope is a long conversation. It’s nice talking to my friend again. “Do you and Erica want kids?” I’ve never been so invested in an answer to a question. And why should I care? He has every reason to start a family with his new wife. But still …
“Honestly, we haven’t talked about it. But you know how I feel about starting a family.” He shrugs. “I’ve always wanted one.”
When he says this, he returns his attention to Brielle, and his eyes reflect a bittersweet combination of affection and sadness, piercing my heart. Looking at her is really bothering him. “I have no doubt you are an amazing mother.”
My heart aches at his words.
All I wanted was to experience motherhood with Sam by my side. Instead, Erica will be the mother of his children. This realization is almost too much. And I need to remember that it was me who got us here.
This conversation has to change back to something that doesn’t remind me of the stupid mistakes I made to implode my life. I gently pat him on the knee, feeling the warmth of his leg through my hand. “So, tell me about school. I want to hear all about it.”
As his face lights up, he unloads, and the weight of the day lifts. At last, we have returned to a state of comfort and ease with our conversation. Our laughter fills the park, carrying with it the joy of years past, as if no time has gone by. We talk about stories of our shared history; I tell him about Brielle’s birth; he walks me through his schooling. It’s so easy.
