“Gotta take care of things, Sandra. Have a great day.”
Ali probably hates me right now. But I’m on a mission to get her back.
Ali
A Prius arrives to pick me up. It’s not a stretch limo by any means, but that’s okay. I don’t need the glitz and glitter Marc offered me last week. I’d rather live a humble life, anyway.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’d kill to ride in comfort.
The man in the driver’s seat looks young. His hair is long and greasy, barely covered by a beanie. The vehicle smells like a wet dog.
The driver turns up the song on the radio. It’s an electronic dance tune with a beat that is practically ear-shattering. The driver turns it up even louder. “Cool if I max out the volume for a bit?”
I throw my hands over my ears, but it’s not enough to dampen the noise. “Um, actually, I’m sorta trying to concentrate,” I say.
“What?” he yells.
“Silence would be nice, actually.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Never mind.”
He seems to hear that just fine. “Rad. Holler if you need anything!”
That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll holler, you jerk.
For most of the drive, I lean back and close my eyes. I try not to relive every good moment I had with Marc and Sammy, but it’s just not possible. The grass is always greener on the other side, and I’m on that other side, trying to see through the window to new pastures, but the window is just too dark to see out of.
The driver snaps me out of my depressive thoughts. He’s looking in his sideview mirror, mumbling to himself. “Come on, man,” he whispers, tapping the steering wheel.
Blinker on, he’s so focused on the car next to us that I have to take a look. There’s a jet-black car in the other lane, speeding. The figure behind the tinted glass isn’t paying attention to us, but he sure is in the way.
“I can’t get over,” he says. “This guy won’t let me in.”
“Can you speed up?” I ask.
“I can try,” he says.
He floors it, attempting to get over so he can make the exit. The black car does the same move, blocking us from getting into the exit lane.
I recognize this car. It’s a BMW M-Series with a custom paint job. This is Marc’s car.
Fate is beyond twisted.
“Might have to take the next exit,” he says.
“Oh, no you don’t. You get in that lane if it’s the last thing you do,” I say.
If this is a race to the finish line, we’re neck and neck. After a few seconds of speeding next to each other, he looks over. At first, he doesn’t seem to think much of it. But after a few more seconds, he notices me. I see him mouth something like my name before slamming on the breaks.
As we’re nearing the point where the freeway merge ends, he lets my car pass. We speed through the finish line without a moment to spare. But the problem wasn’t that he was beating me. It was that I didn’t expect him to get home so early.
Pulling into his gravel driveway, I feel my heart start to pound, rather than it sink. I didn’t expect to see him today. I just wanted to get my things back.
Taking a few seconds to breathe, I lean back. The Prius driver turns. “I hope you give me five stars.”
I exhale and open the door. “Sure. Five stars. Whatever.”
Marc is standing near his car. He’s not saying a word, but his eyes are all over me. He looks like he’s searching for something to say. We both are, but none of us can seem to find the right words.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi. I mean, hey,” he says. “Didn’t expect you to come over today.”
I take a few steps toward the door, shooing away the urge to come up and give him a big hug. “Yeah. I got a call from your daughter. She was pretty broken up about what happened.”
He laughs, thinking I’m joking. When he sees that I’m not, he changes the expression on his face. “Wait. How did Sammy...”
A tinge of betrayal comes to the surface. “You must’ve told Amanda,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you were just relaying the situation, so she knew you wouldn’t be coming home.”
“You heard I spent the night at the office?” he asks.
“I’m looking at your hair. It’s pretty obvious, Marc.”
He nods, scratching the back of his head. He’s still handsome, but his clothes are wrinkled. The front of his hair looks like a chaotic tidal wave. Bags have formed under his eyes. “I fell asleep in my office chair,” he says. “It’s remarkable I didn’t fall.”
He mimics sleeping with a really dumb look on his face.
I’m trying not to smile or laugh, but I still jive with his sense of humor. Unfortunately, compatibility doesn’t just go away because someone gets hurt. Well, maybe for some. For me, it’s not that easy. I don’t like to let go of unexplored possibilities.
“I take it you came here to grab your things,” he says. “Don’t let me hold you up. They’re right inside.”
I start to walk toward the door, taking note that he isn’t following close behind. “You coming?” I ask.
“I thought I’d wait outside. Gives you more time away from me,” he says.
“It’s your house, Marc,” I say. “Quit acting weird. You can come inside.”
Stiffly thanking me, he follows me in and shuts the door. Ragamuffin betrays my quiet footsteps by barking. Rowdy slides into the room, barreling toward me. I put out my hand, and he slips into the sit position. “Good boy,” I say.
“He’s a much better boy than me,” Marc jokes.
That gets a quiet chuckle out of me, as well as a lingering smile. Still, I don’t waste time near Marc. I don’t want to smell his cologne, or keep hearing his stupid dad jokes. I don’t want to see Sammy, and I don’t want to stand in this giant, cozy house, knowing it could
