Happenstance

HAPPENSTANCE

MJ Abraham

Happenstance

MJ Abraham

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2013 by MJ Abraham

Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of
www.Okaycreations.net

Cover Photo ©
ollyy

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above,
no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a
retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written
permission of the above author of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination
or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and
trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which
have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is
not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

“We go through life so sure of where we’re heading, and
then we wind up lost, and it’s the best thing that could happen.”

Brad Paisley
Find Yourself

This book is dedicated to anyone that’s ever wished for a
second chance.
 

And to wonderful grandparents - especially mine.

Prologue

May 2011

Victoria

I blink hard and try to focus on the papers in front of
me as I put them in a neat pile and place them inside the pocket of my small
leather binder. It’s not a huge stack of papers and the words on them are not a
foreign concept, but today those papers have my name on them. My heart is
filled with an ache I’ve never felt before. I quickly skim the first page, but the
only word that stands out is
Marriage
.
Right there on the top, in big bold letters staring at me, taunting me. What a
joke. I desperately need to get out of here as quickly as possible, but if I
don’t pace myself I know I’ll show everyone how I really feel…like I’m about to
fall apart. I look up only to say goodbye to the man that has been helping me
out these last few weeks. He’s attractive for his age with salt and pepper hair
and small thin wrinkles in the corners of his eyes when he smiles. However,
right now I can’t see them because he’s staring down at me with sadness in his
brown eyes.
No, not sadness.
Pity.
Ugh. As if that’s exactly what I need.

“Thank you for everything Mr. Martinez,” I say and extend my
hand.

To my surprise he leans in for a hug instead. Yup, definitely
pity.

“Not a problem, it was a pleasure working with you,” he says and
pulls away.

He tucks his hand in his left suit pocket and gives me his
business card, although I don’t know why since I have about two or three
already.

“Contact me for anything you need in the future.”

I nod because that is the polite thing to do, but I hope to never
contact him again. Not because he was a bad attorney, but because I’m not going
to get married again. Therefore, I will not need to contact a divorce attorney
again. Less shit to worry about in my life.

He walks away and I finish gathering up my things before walking
away myself. As I step out of the building, I notice the gray clouds above my
head. How fitting. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around.

“Hey,” Eric says.

Oh God, it’s not enough what he’s done but he has to stop me for
conversation too? Haven’t we had enough conversations? I don’t smile at him. I
just stare at the collar of his dark blue polo shirt and swallow the lump
that’s lodged in my throat. A polo shirt that I bought him five months ago for
his birthday, just a couple days before I caught him. I wonder what his blond whore
bought him for his birthday. I’m sure he preferred her gifts to mine. He
exhales and runs his hand through his thick brown hair.

“Look, I know I’m an ass . . .” His voice trails off and I
finally look up into his blue eyes.

Yes, you’re an ass, go on.
I raise my eyebrow so he can continue.

“I’m sorry, Vic. I mean it; I know this isn’t something that we
expected.”

I roll my eyes. “Expected? That’s an understatement. I don’t
think anyone expects their significant other—their husband—to be sticking his
dick into someone else’s . . .” But my own voice betrays me. When I feel my lip
start to quiver, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and bite down. No, I
will not cry in front of him—again. My hands start to shake, so I clutch at my
purse strap tightly and hope he doesn’t see. I wish I could slap him. For a
moment, I picture myself just raising my hand to his cheek and leaving a red
imprint. But what good will that do me? That will just give him more power
towards my feelings, and hasn’t he had enough of that already? Instead, I focus
my eyes on that blue collar.

“I just wasn’t sure about what I wanted. I’m sorry,” he tells me.
That’s his answer. That’s the best he can do on the day of our divorce.
Seriously?

“Yes, you had an outstanding way of showing me how you really
felt. Thank you.” I look inside my purse and grab my keys to keep my trembling
fingers busy. I turn around to leave but glance back one more time.

“Hopefully now you can have what you really want,” I whisper.

I get in my car and start the engine, but lower my visor to pull
out a picture. A wallet-sized picture I keep tucked under the flap of the vanity
mirror. It’s a black and white photo of a couple looking at the camera with
smiles as wide as the sun. I hold the picture to my heart and can’t help myself
to wonder what happened to that couple and why don’t they exist anymore. Is the
answer really that he wasn’t sure he wanted me? That he wanted us? The leather
binder sitting on my lap brings me back to the present. I roll down my window
and throw out the picture, letting go of my past. Yes, enough is enough.

Chapter One

August 2011

Victoria

Finally
! I place the last box onto the kitchen
counter, wipe my dusty hands on my yoga pants, and walk out towards the truck.
In true typical Florida fashion, the sun is beating down on us, ninety-seven
degrees too hot. A small breeze pulls bits of my hair out of my ponytail and whips
them onto my face. I am used to this weather, but spending my entire life in
Florida doesn’t make it any more bearable.

“You’ll be alright?” asks Andres, my brother. Before he gets in
and leaves me without the last bit of comfort I know, he opens the truck door
and turns slightly to glance at me one more time.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I lie. I hate lying, but I can’t let him see
my anxiety. Truth is I’m not really sure everything will be alright.

“You can always come back home, you know.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t move so far away.” I manage to
smile.

He raises his eyebrow as if to question me but thinks better not
to. He knows this is important to me.

“Alright, just call if you need anything,” he searches my face,
“I mean it.”

Walking over to him, I get up on tippy toes while he leans his
head down so I can give him a kiss on the cheek. Anyone can see that we are
related. Both of us have the same shade of light brown hair, big chocolate brown
eyes, oval shaped face, and smooth complexion. We even played the same sport in
high school—baseball. But a major difference between us is in our height.
Andres
towers over most people with his six-two stance and I
barely managed to hit five-three.

“Yes, sir.
I promise. Now get out of
here. The traffic back to Miami is going to be killer.”

He lets out a groan. “Don’t remind me of that. This driving for
three hours shit sucks. You owe me. Big.”

“I know,” I say softly. His face softens and he leans down again
and gives me a hug.

“I’m kidding. You know I’d do anything for you. Love you, sis.”

I know he would. We might have had our fair share of fights
growing up (what siblings didn’t?), but when push came to shove he was always
there for me. Always looking out for my best interest and taking the role of
big brother
and
father when our father passed away three years ago.

With a sigh I get out of his way so he can back up and I wave to
him from my new home. A little one bedroom apartment near downtown Orlando,
it’s in a small gated community complex with three separate buildings. After
walking through the front door and closing it behind me, I stand leaning against
it and take a look around. I take in a deep breath.
I can do this.

At least this is furnished; the previous tenants had to move out
of the country and when the owner mentioned he needed to have a garage sale to
get rid of everything, I jumped at the opportunity and asked if I could just
keep all the stuff. To my right is a small but modern kitchen with granite
countertops and white appliances. Straight ahead in front of the door is a
small living area with a three-
seater
beige sofa and
a TV stand in front. The right side of the apartment holds a hallway closet in
between my bedroom and bathroom. I can smell the fresh paint, a nice pale gray
color. It’s cute and all that I need. My brother helped me get a small dining
table and buy a new mattress. It wasn’t much but at least I don’t need anything
from my old house.

My old life.
Him
.
I still can’t believe it.
Twenty-five years old and already
divorced.
It feels like just the other day I was at the Miami Dade
Courthouse with the biggest grin in the world picking up our marriage
certificate. Now here I am, a mere two years later and completely alone. I had
to do it, though. If I had stayed with my family in Miami, it would have been
like taking two steps back. I had to find myself and be able to stand on my own
two feet. I already took the route of depending on someone else,
trusting
someone else and look at where that got me.
No,
this is for the best
. I just have to keep repeating that to myself before I
go running straight down the street Andres just took. Still, I crave a friendly
voice, someone who loves me with all her heart, my grandmother.

“Hi, Abu,” I say, using the nickname I’ve been calling her for
years. When I was little I was not able to pronounce
abuela
,
which means grandmother in Spanish. I could tell she is trying hard to make
sure her voice sounds genuinely happy and excited.

“Victoria, how is it going? Where is your brother?” she asks. My
grandmother’s voice is warm with a slight accent, and I can hear the clanking
of pots and pans in the background. My mouth begins to water. Damn, I’ll miss
all the good food.

“He just left now; I was going to start unpacking and thought I’d
call you to tell you we’re ok.”

Truth is I just called to hear her voice, to fill the hole I felt
in my heart. My grandmother sighs. She’s worried about me. Dammit, I should
have done better with my tone. Who am I kidding? She could always see right
through me.

“Listen, I know you are trying to start over, but remember you
can never move forward if you don’t let go of your past. You might have put a
few miles away from home, but your heart will always be with you. Forgiveness
will allow you to leave room for those that will love you.”

“Ok, Abu. I will try my hardest.”

A hopeless romantic, Abu means well, but how can I follow that
advice when my heart is torn into pieces? I didn’t need to learn about
forgiveness. I needed to be wiser, stronger. We talk for a few more minutes and
then hang up so I can unpack. After washing the sheets and taking a nice long
shower, I crawl into bed and look up at the ceiling.

“We’ll be so good together, baby,” Eric whispers in my ear.

Goosebumps scatter across my skin as I hug him and press my
face against his cheek.

“I can make you so happy,” I whisper back. I extend my left
hand, which now holds a sparkling, breathtaking diamond ring, and sigh with
happiness.

Now I rub my ring finger with my thumb and feel a light softness
on my skin. There is no more diamond ring to feel. I turn my face to the side
and exhale. Exhausted, I close my eyes, my pillow now wet from my tears.

~

Warm sunlight greets me, hitting my eyelids and
stirring me awake much earlier than I would have liked for a Saturday morning.
Ugh, I forgot to close the shades all the way. I sit in bed for a few minutes
and seriously consider going back to sleep, but then the list of things to do
today pop in my head, and I decide to get in the shower. I stop in front of the
full-length mirror behind my bedroom door for a quick glance. Thanks to all
those years of softball, my jean shorts reveal muscular legs and a light green
tank top shows off tan lines and small, but perky breasts. Being a Latina, I
would never be without curvy hips and a full butt. My hair once ran all the way
down my back, almost to my waist, but is now sitting right below my shoulders.
I chopped it off a few months ago thanks to my “Fresh Start Project,” donated
it to Locks of Love, and added some caramel highlights. I miss my long hair.
I’m not going to lie. But this look suits me too. Just a little bit of mascara,
eye liner, and lip gloss and I walk out feeling good.