Big Chicas Don't Cry(23)

“If it was nothing, you would look at me.”

Slowly, I opened my eyes and attempted a smile. “I wanted to surprise Esteban by taking him to lunch, but he never came back from court. It’s not his fault, really. He didn’t know I would be here waiting.”

“Did you call or text him?”

“I did and so did Carla. Wherever he is, I guess he’s too busy to look at his phone.”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” he offered.

Maybe it was just my emotional state, but he didn’t sound too convincing.

The doors opened on the bottom floor, and we both stepped out. “It’s fine,” I said. “Please don’t worry about me.”

“Look. I haven’t eaten, and I know you haven’t eaten, so let’s walk down the block to that bistro you like and grab something. I know I’m not Esteban, but I can be a pretty decent lunch date.”

The nagging feeling in my stomach returned, along with the whispers of a thousand reasons why I should say no.

But I didn’t listen.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

We walked in a comfortable silence to the restaurant. By now the lunch rush was thinning out, and we were seated right away. The waitress recognized Chris and came right over so we could order—a cheeseburger for me and a prime rib dip for him. After she came back with our iced teas, he broached the elephant that seemed to always be in the room with us lately.

“So, I know it’s none of my business, but is everything okay between you and Esteban?”

My body tensed. “Why? Has he said something?”

“No. It’s just something I’ve been sensing. Honestly, Marisol, you just don’t seem happy.”

The tears threatened to spill again, so I took a sip of my tea and willed them to go away.

“If you need to talk, I’m right here. I might have been Esteban’s friend first, but you also mean a lot to me. I hate to see you hurting.”

And although I tried my best to hold it back, one tear escaped and slid a slow, sad trail down my cheek. Before I could do it myself, Chris reached across the table and wiped it away.

His touch did something to me then. It was the contact I’d been craving all day. The reassurance I’d needed to prove somehow that I mattered to someone. Even if that someone wasn’t my husband.

His touch gave me permission to finally tell him everything.

He let me talk all through lunch. It was as if he’d pierced my dam of emotions that had been building up over the past year. I told him about Esteban working too much, about how he wanted a baby, but I didn’t, about my catering business dream, and about how I felt like I’d never do anything important with my life.

“What do you mean?” he interrupted. “You volunteer with the homeless and at the children’s hospital.”

I shook my head. “Correction. I volunteer on boards that make decisions that are supposed to help the homeless and the children’s hospital. It’s not like I’m doing something to make a difference. Not like the people who actually work there day in and day out. What they do is important. What they do matters.”

“It sounds to me like you’re looking for some purpose in your life, right? So go find it.”

“How?”

“Well, why don’t you do something with your baking? You obviously love it, and, until you open your business, think of a way that you can use that talent to make a difference.”

Everything he was saying made sense. Still, I couldn’t help but feel guilty about complaining about my life and my first world problems. And deep down I knew that Esteban only wanted to make sure I had everything I needed. It wasn’t his fault if I wasn’t telling him that. I wasn’t the same girl he’d married, the girl who only cared about designer shopping trips and making appearances at all the hot ticket events. Back then I thought it was his responsibility to make me happy.

I knew different now.

“You must think I’m such a whiner. Poor little rich girl and all that.”

He shook his head. “I know money doesn’t buy happiness. Look at our clients. They are living lives envied by millions. Then something happens, and whatever buried secrets they’ve been hiding are exposed for everyone to judge. I learned a long time ago not to believe everything I see.”

I offered him a genuine smile. “Thank you, Chris. For lunch and for listening to me. It seems like forever since I just sat down and talked to someone about things like this.”

“Really? I would think you would have a bunch of girlfriends that you could confide in.”

I shook my head. “I’ve always been the kind of person who had lots of friends to do stuff with, but there’s no one I’m really close to.”

“What about your family?”

Whatever my face said, Chris knew he’d hit a sore subject. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t really like talking about your mom.”

My mom. My dad. My cousins.

“No, it’s fine. My mom and I talk now and then. But she’s busy with her own life in Arizona, so I don’t like to bother her with my drama.” Especially when she used every phone call as an opportunity to ask for money. I’d sent her a check for $500 at the beginning of the year and figured I wouldn’t be due for another chat until spring.