Pulling out a piece of paper with my right hand, I touched my ear with my left. So far in a few months, Mick had done more for me than Tommy ever had in our marriage.
Mar—
I know you’re sitting there overthinking. You’re probably looking around my condo thinking why you’re there, what else you should be doing, and how this happened.
It just did. Nothing we can do. We met under unusual circumstances, but sometimes the happiest of endings have the ugliest roots. That’s us.
So, go over to the fridge, get yourself a sparkling water, and relax. Sit down on the couch and make yourself at home. Don’t worry about Priss and Tito. They’re looking out for each other.
Like I want to look out for you. Always.
Mick
How did he know I was doing that? For someone who had never really been in a serious relationship, Mick knew women. Or did he just know me?
Then I saw a small arrow at the bottom of the page and turned over the paper.
How do I know?
I was a momma’s boy.
Awestruck, I folded the paper and stuck it deep inside my tote and went to the fridge. Gulping a sparkling water, I felt like crying and jumping up and down like a lottery winner.
Confusion settled in my chest, making me feel woozy. I thought about Sheila’s latest advice.
We’d been on the phone, and she told me not to be too hard on myself. Things happen for a reason. Then she’d told me that Peter had an affair a few years back.
I couldn’t believe it, and then I imagined her curled up in the couch while talking to me, a glass of wine in hand, sharing this painful time for my benefit. While her story hadn’t turned out the same as mine—it ended up reinvigorating Peter’s commitment to the marriage—it helped me to know I wasn’t alone. Peter had gone to counseling and wrestled with the guilt, along with the reasons behind his actions, and Sheila had forgiven him. My situation ended up differently, but Tommy and I were never meant to be.
Apparently, Dale was a real source of strength to her during that time. He’d been a widower looking for a platonic friend, and Sheila was a mess. What amazed me was how much was happening in the world while I was stuck in my own torturous bubble.
“Tito, hold up!”
I looked up to see Priscilla chasing Tito as he raced through the condo, and she glanced my way.
“I let him off the leash in the hall, and he went nuts.”
“Well, let’s not to do that again.”
I didn’t have time to say anything more because he was at my feet, begging for attention.
“Hey, there, little fella,” I said, bending over to pet him. “Although you won’t be little for too much longer.”
“Oh. My. God!” Priscilla shrieked, and I knew she opened her gift, which was probably procured by Rochelle.
“Mom. Mom! Justin Bieber! I can’t breathe!” She was jumping up and down, and I had to admit it was a bit contagious. “I have to text Penny. Oh. My. God. I said that already, but still.”
“Why don’t you put Tito in his crate and call Penny from the car? I need to get home and make dinner.”
“What about Mick?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
The woozy feeling was back with how attached she was getting to Mick.
Was I messing up?
Tucking away my emotions, I decided to call Sheila or make a therapist appointment. Then I simply said, “He’s working late,” and we hit the road.
Margaret
