The next day I had searched again for Sam, I couldn’t find her like I did yesterday. I had sent her a friend’s request before I went to sleep after questioning my wisdom for few hours. She and I haven’t spoken for almost 15 years now. She was 13 when we divorced. It was an ugly one, there were lots of name calling, mostly from her mother, my then wife Karen. I remember her sitting on the kitchen island, nonplussed, wondering who to support, as the tirades went back and forth. That was the last time I saw her. Actually I ran into her once in South Hadley when she was graduating from Holyoke but she wouldn’t speak to me. She had hugged my mother, her grandmother, who she still is very fond of, and they went to lunch together with Karen’s husband and her family as I sat in my car outside the restaurant cracking my knuckles.
I am not a bad father. I wrote her letters, called Karen’s phone several times to speak to Sam which were never answered, sent her gifts in birthdays and Christmas and many checks that were never cashed. But being a bad husband obviously meant I was a bad parent too. I had slept with Karen’s associate when she was travelling, she was very young, extremely seductive and had led me on. Since then I have been questioning the ethics and integrity of men when it comes to adultery. It is not about how good of a person you are, it is about opportunity that avails itself. I was a good husband, and I did make a mistake, but I vowed never to repeat it again. That shouldn’t have drawn curtain on my marital life, but Karen thought otherwise. I would have been mad if Karen, for the lack of better words, returned the favor, but would have eventually understood and forgiven her.
In 2008, when I first created my Facebook account, I had searched for Sam. After few attempts in weeding through all Samanthas, I finally found her. She was under the last name Davis while I had been searching Samantha Dixit all that while. I was a little pleased that the last names were not too far apart. I had browsed her pictures, I knew she was in Holyoke but didn’t know much what major she chose. She had many pictures, mostly with her friends, camping, working out, birthday parties, football games etc. and some with Karen, her step dad Mr. Davis and Joel, her little poodle. Since then I had been stalking her, but when she got engaged to Steve all her pictures suddenly disappeared except the one where she had her palms covering her mouth, her eyes wide open in disbelief as Steve knelt in front of her with a ring.
Although I couldn’t muster enough grit to add Samantha in Facebook, her childhood friend Erica had added me five years ago.
“Mr Dixit, do you remember me? I used to have a sleepover at your place in Granby” She had messaged me the moment I had cautiously accepted her friend’s request.
Since then Erica and I had been friends. She knew everything about our divorce, and how much Samantha despised me. Sam and Erica both lived in Boston, and met each other once every few months. I often travelled to Boston after I knew she worked at, and wandered aimlessly outside that pharma company, but I never ran into her. Frustrated, I then used to meet Erica and persuade her to talk to Sam about me.
“She doesn’t talk much to me these days after she discovered you and I were friends in Facebook” She had messaged me few months ago. That was around the time Sam made all her pictures private.
“I saw she is engaged Erica, do you know when then wedding is?”
“December 19th” she had quipped.
I didn’t speak to Erica after that. But she called me few nights ago, with a slurred speech.
“You know Mr Dixit, screw your daughter. Come to my place the day before wedding, bring your finest suit, I shall take you to the wedding with me, don’t blame me for the showdown though”
I took off work that day and went to this day spa in Hartford. Hours later I was watching myself in the mirror, with that fine haircut and an hour long massage, I felt, and actually looked 40. As I did 30 crunches and 40 pushups before I hit the shower I didn’t feel I was 56 at all. Who knew fountain of youth was only a haircut away? When I reached Erica’s tiny apartment that evening her hair was in curl rollers and her spacers between her freshly painted toes.
“Ready for the party tomorrow” she chuckled.
I tried to break a smile.
It was 6 am in the morning when the alarm buzzed. I had been awake few hours before that, and was watching snowflakes through the window. I looked at my neatly ironed suit that was still on a hanger. I had a tailor make it for me few weeks ago, it had cost me almost two thousand dollars. I stared out of the window for few more minutes and got off the bed tiptoeing to my suitcase. Moments later as I changed to the jeans and t shirt I had been wearing yesterday and slipped into my loafers, I heard Erica’s voice.
“Where are you going?”
I froze, like a thief suddenly caught amid robbery.
“I do not think this is a good idea Erica, I am not sure she will forgive me this time around.” I spoke after a brief moment of pause, not looking at her.
As I left her apartment and quickly climbed down the stairs I felt as though she was still staring at me, through the window….
….naked.
