Page 75 of All In
“I’m fine, Mikey. I definitely do not need a girlfriend. Or a wife, for that matter.” I grab a paper towel and wipe up my mess. “Trust me.”
There’s a long pause as I clean up the kitchen from our breakfast. He’s watching me, and I can tell he wants to say something. He steps closer to me with purpose. “Even though you and Mom were divorced, and she’s gone, she would have wanted you to be happy, Dad.” The mention of Erica stops me in my tracks. Mikey doesn’t know the whole truth about the circumstances of hismom’s death. He knows about the drinking, of course, but the details of that day I’ve kept close to my chest.
I don’t respond to the mention of his mom. “So, if I did date someone, would that bother you?” I mean, he brought this up. I guess now is as good a time as any to ask this. Realistically, I know that I’m not in any position to start anything with a woman. But also, I’m forty-one years old and not getting any younger. Eventually, the right woman will come along and when that happens, I need to know his thoughts about it.
He shrugs as he steps around me and brings his plate and OJ to the sink. “I mean, it might be strange at first, but I would be cool with it.”
“Really?” I turn to face him.
“I mean, sure. You deserve to be happy, Dad.” My kid is the coolest. I grab him by the back of the neck and pull him in for a hug, kissing him on the top of the head.
“Thanks, kiddo,” I whisper.
He wiggles away. “Okay, that’s enough of that.” I snicker as I rough up his hair.
“Head upstairs and grab your stuff so we can get going.” He runs away to his bedroom as I load the dishwasher and take in the possibility of dating again. To be honest, my last three long relationships didn’t exactly work out well. Cara is the only one that ended on amicable terms.
I wonder what she’s up to these days.
Erica … well, we know what happened there.
Then there’s Maria. The one relationship I would probably still be in if she hadn’t ended. My whole body floods with warmth at the mere thought of her name.
I shake the image of her from my head and shut the dishwasher door. Snatching the shorts from the chair, I walk the short distance to my bedroom to get dressed. And just like the thousands of times before this one, I can’t rid Maria from my thoughts. I’ve been thinking about her more and more lately, due to how I left things in my last email. Something I deeply regret. I was curt and rude to the one person that has always meant the world to me. But in my defense,I was hurting, grieving, and harboring massive amounts of guilt about Erica’s death.
That guilt has faded with time. It doesn’t cloud my thinking every time I think about Mikey’s mom and the good times we did have together. It doesn’t hang over my head every time I look at our son. Therapy helped with a lot of it.
The psychologist sought out a psychologist. Something I should have done a long time ago, if I’m being honest.
He helped me to see that if Maria and I weren’t communicating, Erica would have met the same fate. She was too far gone. The alcohol consumed her. It was her addiction. Just like Maria was mine. We were having a full-blown emotional affair. The guilt may be gone, but I still have regret. What Maria and I were doing wasn’t fair to anyone involved. Her, me, Nate, Erica, and our kids.
Therapy helped me to see that as well.
I grab my gym bag and notice that I’m running a little late. “Come on Mikey! We need to get going. We will tick your coach off if you’re late again!” I yell out as I wait for him by the front door.
As I check my watch again, I wonder if Maria’s kids are in any sports.
I lower my head. Everything in my life, every thought, always circles back to her.
WHACK!
The hollow blue ball slams against the scuffed up white wall in front of Ricky and me. It bounces back and hits the floor, way out of Ricky’s reach. He dives for it, his body hitting the lacquered hardwood with a thud. He rolls over onto his back, his breathing labored. “I’m too old for this.”
I offer my hand to him, and he takes it as I yank him up to his feet. “Good game, man.”
He lets out a snort. “Yeah, good for you. You won again.” A satisfied smile crosses my lips.
We drag our tired, sweaty bodies to the bench that sits against the back wall of the court. I reach into my bag and grab the Gatorade waiting for me, popping open the cap and chugging the ice blue liquid. We sit in silence, our breaths ragged, as we both towel off and attempt to cool down.
Ricky is the first to speak after our breathing is under control. “I forgot to tell you who I saw at the grocery store last week.”
I’m bending at the waist, fishing my street shoes from my bag. “Oh, yeah. Who?”
He stops what he’s doing for a split second, almost as if he’s preparing for my reaction. “Maria.”
The sound of her name snaps me up, and my mouth falls open. “My Maria?”
He smirks. “My Maria? Hmmm … interesting.” He takes a drink of his Gatorade.
