Dear Maria (on hold)

Part 2

I picked up my ringing phone quickly, struggling to get it out of my jeans pocket.

“Hello?” I asked. No answer. “Hello? Anyone there? No, okay, thanks...” I ended the nonexistent call and jammed my phone back in my pocket, and finished taping up my brown cardboard boxes. I put the last box by the door, then opened the door and walked to my car, opened the trunk, then headed back to my open door. I lifted the closest box up in my arms, struggling to carry it, tilting slightly, and made my way back to my car, trying to not trip, unable to see over the box. I shoved it into my trunk, and did the same with all of my other boxes, putting them in the back seat when I ran out of room in the trunk. I double checked the house to make sure I'd left nothing behind other than the life I'd once had, then closed the door behind me on my way out. I forced myself not to look back, knowing I wouldn't want to see the house I'd once shared with my ex-husband all empty and hollow, though every lie told still clung to the walls, the sound of her and him in our bedroom, the smell of me cooking dinner faithfully each night, and everyone's fingerprints on the door handles, our footsteps echoing through the halls, our shouting matches fading from the air.

* * *

I slowly stirred the wooden spoon through the thick, steaming chili, my eyes staring unseeingly at the stove, my thoughts still stuck back in my story, remembering. Remembering the day I had watched my ex-husband drive away, and had packed up and moved out. I distinctly remember the weight of those taped up boxes in my arms, the impact of my feet on the warm sidewalk, the hum of my car as I drove down the road, and out of sight. I was yanked out of my reverie by gentle arms being wrapped around my waist, and I smiled, surprised, and leaned back into my Maria.

“Hey.” She murmured, her warm breath tickling my ear.

“Hey, hey.” I replied, my voice equally soft.

“It smells delicious.” She appreciated, inhaling deeply. I smiled, and pressed into her, wishing she never had to leave.

“Thanks. It'll be ready soon, you hungry?” I asked, continuing to stir the chili. I felt her nod, and she rested her chin on my shoulders, tightening her arms around me.

“I never want to let go.” Maria whispered, and I could taste the pain in her voice.

“I know, M. I know.” I sighed, tears gathering in my eyes, though I didn't let them fall. There would be plenty of time for crying later, but Maria was here now, touching me now, holding me now. Both us unwilling to part, we remained in this position for countless minutes, treasuring every second of just being.