Out of Practice Ch. 02

Yep, I am probably just making something bigger out of nothing. Michael is sweet and caring to our kids. He is a good man. He works so hard to provide for us, spending lots of time at the office, making sacrifices. He loves his family! What else could I ask for?

Yep, that's it. Must be my uber-hormonal and over-dramatic issues. Get it together, Sadie. We all make sacrifices.

I turned and smiled at him. He flashed a quick smile back and pulled out of the driveway.

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((This is Now: The Present with Our Hero Jack))

I stared at Sadie's picture for the twelfth time that morning. I would see her tomorrow evening at practice, but I didn't think it would hurt to drink in another view. Again. And again. This wasn't really like me to get this into someone so quickly . . .

In fact, this definitely was not like me to get into someone so quickly. I should be very concerned. The last time I felt this sort of crazy spiraling uncontrollable unstoppable chaotic draw towards someone, I ended up married, with kid and divorced in just a few years span. Carrie became my world during that time, but then quickly became everything wrong with the world. Deception, selfishness, desire over love. I didn't want to do that again. Not now and not ever.

So, this made no sense, from a thinking perspective. Of course, thinking likely had very little to do with it.

So, what was it?

Was it sexual? Sure, she really drove me in that way. She wasn't some sort of porn star looking bombshell, but she really turned me on. I mean REALLY. And I think it's because I got to know a very sweet, fun, very clever person and discovered that she liked sex at least as much as I do. What we did last night . . . well . . . it was sharing something intimate. It really felt like an extension of the rest of our budding relationship. Sort of.

But then there was nothing normal about it. What friends decide to coordinate masturbation? It wasn't just coordination though. It was, well, intimate. Very intimate. For me anyway. So yep, Jack was confused. Per usual.

I only knew this: I wanted to talk to her and spend time with her. And yes, I found her to be pretty irresistible. And so, she occupied my thoughts. And my plans. And my plans to make more plans all involving her. I have issues, man.

So, what does one do the morning after coordinating masturbation with a girl? Definitely not an answer to a question passed down in wisdom/ family tradition format from fathers to sons . . .

I just went for it.

I looked back at Facebook. Her status indicator showed she wasn't on. That was a first. She tended to leave it up no matter what. So, I started to write a message through the messaging system.

"Hi Sadie."

Not enough. I mean we shared a sort of intimate thing. 'Hi' wasn't going to cut it.

Hello? Greetings? Hola? Howdy do? Wazzup? Yo Sadie? Sadly, I fretted over two words for fifteen minutes. Composing this message was proving to be a long-term commitment. I finally settled on a good start . . .

--

Dear Sadie,

I was just thinking about you this morning. Hope last night wasn't too weird for you. And I hope the fact that I am sending a message this morning isn't too weird either. And I hope that my being worried about this being too weird also isn't too weird. So, in summary, I am trying to not be weird. At all.

Carefully yours,

Jack

--

Ok, that felt weird. Oh well, what is done is done. No reason to worry about it. Except I was of course going to worry about it.

I tried to clear my thoughts so I could focus on work. I probably was 50% productive that morning, mostly due to me checking Facebook messages and such every fifteen minutes. It's difficult to stay focused on writing something involved (and get the flow going) while self-interrupting four times an hour.

Something must be wrong. She is angry at me. I went too far. Did I take advantage of her? Well she SEEMED to want it too, but maybe I was just wrong. And she felt pressured. And I don't ever want someone to feel pressured. I really just enjoyed her company. And loved talking to her. And her eyes. I liked those too. And her smile was pretty . . . well just very pretty. She was . . . refreshing. I kinda was becoming a Sadie fan.

God dammit Jack! The first girl I have felt something for in years and I am screwing it up already. Go figure.

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((That Was Then: 10 Months Earlier with Sadie))

"Hi Tiffany," I greeted the younger woman as I slipped through the door. Her eyes greeted mine with a bit of surprise. She regained composure, and put on her smile, "hello Sadie!"

She finished typing something on her computer and then focused on me.

I didn't like Tiffany. Or Chloe before her. Or even Candy before her. I am not a bitch (I don't think I am!) but I am not a fan of plasticky fake smiles and greetings. And every one of my husband's current and previous secretaries all sported that same look.

This most recent Barbie-esque assistant didn't prove as effective at pretending to like me as the previous ones as there always seemed to be a five second delay between my appearance and her smile being formed. She needed to work on that.

My eyes couldn't help but be pulled to very very briefly glance at her cleavage on full display, her full breasts pressed together tightly in her one-size-too-small shirt. Tiffany apparently also wasn't as skilled at buttoning buttons as answering phones. Something else she needed to work on. She had quite a list forming.

"Is Michael in?" I just wanted to get my encounter with Tiffany over with as soon as possible.

She maintained her fake smile, "I think he is but honestly he is working on something big so I was told to not bother him." She said the last bit with fake concern for my feelings before returning to a fake smile. I felt a little boil begin.

"Please just tell him I am here." The fact that I have to tell her that really pissed me off. I should be more important than random distractions to my husband!

She maintained her fake smile, "Of course, Sadie."

She stood up (quite a feat considering the top-heaviness) and took fifty tiny steps (because her too tight pencil skirt) to Michael's office door. She opened the door and managed to get her ridiculously over-sized boobs through the crack as she slipped inside. Ok, maybe it wasn't that bad, but allow me a little room to be judgey and bitchy. Thanksverymuch.

While I waited for her to apparently chat it up with my husband about how his wife wanted to see him, I glanced around her desk.

It was pretty sparse. I am not sure what this woman actually brought to the table. As I moved around her desk closer to Michael's door to see if I could hear what was being said, I glanced at the screen set on her desk and noticed a flashing chat window was peeking out from behind a completely blank Word document.

She must have been typing in the chat conversation as I came in.

But she didn't completely cover it. And I could see the start of Michael's name in the window there. And it was blinking as she hadn't read it.

I am not a snooping person but I do think I have the inherent right to know what my husband and his secretary are chatting about.

So, I peeked.

Single moments. Single little glimpses. Sometimes that is all that is needed to put all sorts of past events into a proper context. At that moment, looking at that screen and the brief exchange that occurred between my husband and his secretary, all of the past few years seemed to make sense.

And to this day I struggle with whether looking was a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is that the wave of searing emotional pain and deep-seated anger, that immediately surged in me would last a very very long time, for years to come. And at that moment I couldn't decide whether I should cry or scream. So I did both.

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((That Was Then: 9 Months Earlier with Sadie))

The afternoon Michael finally got the last of his things out of the house, we barely spoke. I didn't want to be there. But then I did.

The boiling anger hadn't subsided. And frankly it had only gotten worse knowing that he not only was fucking Tiffany but that he had casually been fucking lots of different women. And even worse, he seemingly didn't really feel too bad about the whole thing. He had essentially shrugged and seemed mildly relieved that he didn't have to cover it up anymore.

So, I essentially oscillated between crying myself to sleep at night and screaming into my pillow. I should have seen this coming. I should have known that a man like him would wander. His eyes constantly moving from woman to woman would eventually result in his bastard dick doing the same. Maybe all men were like this? Well that is a sobering and incredibly depressing thought.

But then I would just cry. I would cry because apparently I was not pretty enough anymore. Not good enough. My breasts couldn't hold a candle to Tiffany's or whoever's. My butt, my body would from here on out be just moderate or passable, and essentially on a decline. My face was older. Less firm. My hair wasn't bouncy enough. I was no longer physically appealing to the man I loved. Or thought I loved.

Or even worse, maybe I wasn't as interesting, or caring, or kind. Maybe I pushed him away. Maybe I could have or should have done more. Maybe I should have been more sexual. Or adventurous. Maybe I started him down the path. Maybe I didn't show him clearly how much I loved him. Maybe I was responsible for the wandering asshole's initial straying with Candy or Chloe or whichever big breasted twenty-year-old first opened her thighs for him.

Some have told me that marriages take a hit when kids come along as the mom's focus often prioritizes children over the husband. Maybe that was me. Maybe Anna and Alex replaced him.

But I am NOT taking the blame for this. He made choices. To betray me. His kids. His relationships. The people he loved the most. Or supposedly loved the most. He had made a public commitment to me in front of God and man (and woman) that he would love me and cherish me. That he would prioritize me. The asshole did none of those things.

And essentially, I really at the heart of it all felt like I really didn't know him at all. He was a stranger to me.

This brought on several bouts of painful retching crying. The kind where you feel no relief at having cried. There was no getting it out of my system, just more tears waiting.

If not for the perfect children that resulted from our marriage, I would think that I had completely wasted my life with this stranger.

So, I watched his car drive away and I somehow managed to drag my failure loser of an ass into my house and just sit on the couch and cry. Again. Such a loser.

I had managed to send Anna to her grandma's house but Alex refused to go. Adamantly. I mean I tried VERY hard to get him to go but he was uncharacteristically firm with me.

He claimed he wanted to be at a friend's house this afternoon but I could tell he was just very concerned about me.

While neither Anna nor Alex knew all of the details they could surmise enough. They were bright kids. And both were so angry at Michael. Anna's moral outrage just exploded about the idea of her father leaving her mother. After initially tearing him to pieces with her words, she has essentially refused to even be around him, much less speak to him.

And Alex? He is a bit of a protector and Michael had turned into an attacker in his mind. Alex wasn't really wrong about that characterization. Regardless, Alex will talk to him, but it isn't pretty.

They both have lost all respect for him. The relationships upended and I did nothing to spark that. That was all on Michael.

And Michael so far didn't seem to care too much. Maybe deep down he did care but pride or something was getting in the way of expressing it.

Another moment of sadness rose as I realized how both of them lost a father in this. At least for now. I hated Michael but I did want them to have a father. And while I couldn't even imagine what it would look like for him to repair the damage with them, I know it would be a long time before he could.

I just sat there on the couch. Lost in my thoughts. Sometimes not even thinking at all as I stared straight at nothing. Completely numb. Not thinking was a comfort in some way.

And then the door opened. My eyes turned and I saw Alex come in.

He was young and inexperienced with life and unsophisticated in so many ways, but he immediately seemed to grasp it all as he took in the sight of his loser ass mother almost falling apart on the couch. I couldn't even begin to hide it. I must have looked terrible.

He didn't pause long in front of me. I could see the expression on his face briefly slip into anger, then sadness, then determination.

And here this early teen boy came over, sat on the couch, slipped his arm around my back and pulled me to him. And I cried on my son's shoulder. Actually, I sobbed. Nearly uncontrollably. My shoulders shook at each breath and my tears soaked his shoulder. The entire time my perfect sweet son rubbed my back. And I felt no shame and embarrassment as I felt my son's comfort. Our family's protector.

At least Alex didn't seem to be turning out like his dad. Some woman was going to be so fucking lucky to have him one day. And she better be worthy of him.

We stayed that way for what seemed like a very very long time. Eventually I pulled myself together, but Alex wouldn't let me do anything. He fixed hot pockets for dinner (it was not great but the thought completely counted in this instance, so it was the best dinner imaginable) and pretty much served me that night.

And then Anna showed up the next morning, immediately figured out mostly how I was and it began all over again. I didn't mind. Being bossed around by my daughter was so comforting. I needed to feel . . . Something. And with my two children, I did. They loved me to pieces. I so desperately needed that. How can two young kids like this know better what I needed than a thirty something year old man who apparently I actually didn't know at all.

At that moment, the very two people I needed most were 100% there for me. I felt like a complete failure as a wife, but as a mom? I must've been freaking amazing to have these two. At least that is something.

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((This is Now: The Present with Our Hero Jack))

Practice night tonight and I hadn't really talked to Sadie much. Well hardly at all really. Her responses were very short, kind of transaction-esque. They were not her at all.

I was feeling shitty as I thought I had screwed up this pretty amazing friendship. She was so amazing. And was so good for me. I mean REALLY good for me. And now I had screwed it up.

I took up my place in the center of the genders, per usual. I didn't see Sadie anywhere, but Alex was at practice, so I knew she was around somewhere.

My eyes moved around the talking groups of parents to be sure I didn't miss her. Part of me didn't want to find her as I didn't ACTUALLY want to be rejected, but then this was going to eat me up from the inside out, so I needed some sort of resolution.

This happened with Carrie. I knew she was slipping away and could tell things were not the way they should be, but I was actually relieved when she finally told me that she was leaving. I didn't want her to leave, I just couldn't stand not knowing. Of course, all of the grief showed up after having my question initially answered, so it wasn't all rainbows and unicorn farts, but at the very least I wasn't sitting there making up completely wrong narratives in my own head.

No, Sadie wasn't among any of the parent groups. So, then I glanced at the cars in the parking lot. My truck was on one side, so I began scanning from there along all of the parked cars.

On the opposite side, almost separated from all of the other cars, sat a silver mini-van. No one was in the front seat but I could see what looked like someone's head sticking up in the far back seat. It was shifting around a little, like the person was reading or doing something else, whatever that might be. So, probably reading.

Now, I am not stealthy naturally but I tried to be all casual-like as I scooted towards that side of the field. I didn't want to just walk up to the van and freak out some random mom. Or dad. Or a psychotic killer who decided to stalk for his prey among unsuspecting dads at youth soccer practices. That would not go well for pretty obvious reasons.

As I got closer, I could make out the shape of the back-seat sitter's head and it certainly looked like Sadie's hair style. And then I noticed the head stopped moving. So, I stopped moving.

Wow, I am really terrible at this.

Then, after a few moments of grown adults acting like deer thinking that if they sit still enough no one would see them, I saw her move. She apparently slipped into the front seat.

I then watched her start the van up and drive off. This was kinda killing me for two reasons: I really really really liked her and I screwed up a potentially great thing AND I honestly didn't exactly know what was going on, which gave me no clarity or closure.

I felt my stomach turn, hating the feeling of pissing someone off.

I had two choices here: I could let it go, give her lots of space and pretend the last week or so of bliss never occurred. We will call that Plan A. Plan B involved me continuing to pursue this until I could have at least a conversation with her. She didn't want to talk to me, for some reason. Maybe I just needed to do it anyway.

Decision made. Jack was going to be decidedly . . . um decision-focused.

I walked up to the window. Sadie slowly lowered it as I arrived.

She looked amazing per usual. Her hair was up in a messy bun, her glasses were adorably perched on her nose. She was wearing a cute sweatshirt with a beach advertised on it. The design included some seashells and birds together. This of course brought back memories of her on the beach. Such amazing images. My eyes lingered a bit . . .

My eyes moved from her sweatshirt to her eyes. She actually looked angry. I mean really angry. And somewhat exasperated. I had no idea what I had done. I was so confused.

"Sadie . . . "

"I have to go Jack. See you."

And with that she started up the van and barely let me step back before starting to drive off.

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My normal Friday night never involved Mac's Place on Margarita night, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And so that's how I found myself snaking my way through crammed crowded bodies, feeling like someone who decidedly did not belong there.

I looked around the bar as I squeezed through everyone but didn't see my target right away. But I knew she would be here. Or rather I was secretly begging whatever god or goddess managed such acts of 'fate' that she would be here.

I had checked the time that she and her friends uploaded the photos to Facebook (which was about now) and the general location of where she did it (they seemingly had adopted a regular booth for their Friday night meetups). I positioned myself near that spot and ordered a beer, trying to look all casual like, by myself, at a bar, surrounded by people ten years younger than me, flirting with each other. Yeah, this was awesome and stuff.

This set of moments gave me lots of time to inwardly stress over the mess I caused, and additionally gave me time to ponder what I hoped to gain from tonight. That she would immediately forgive me for whatever it was I had done? Yep. That would be great. OR maybe at least help me understand? Or maybe at least salvage a friendship of some sort as I think I would miss her a lot. I already do.

And that's when I saw her. She looked unhappy and was being dragged through the same tightly positioned crowd I squeezed through. Her friends had apparently forced her to get out. She didn't see me.