Page 17 of The Love Dose

As if reading my mind, she says, “Since the divorce, I don’t know what to do with myself if I’m not in the classroom or with my kids. I’ve completely lost my mojo.”

“Maybe working on a new project will help,” I reiterate.

“Hope so.”

I feel a pull to hug her but don’t. PDAs are not my thing.

The food arrives and we dig in.

Sam takes a slug of her cab. “You said you’re dealing with challenges. What’s going on?”

I don’t want to add to her burden. “It’s a very stressful situation. I’m working on it.”

“I’m a good listener.” She sets down her glass and leans in, a veritable invitation for me to share.

I’m touched.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying so . . .” Sam says, pausing. “You’ve lost quite a bit of weight.”

She’s right. My clothes hang on me. “Not by choice.” I use the opportunity to eat a forkful of my gnocchi. The flavors burst in my mouth but my appetite is poor and I know I won’t finish the delightful dish.

“What’s been happening?” Her face is filled with empathy.

I take a deep breath. “Bernard’s kids are suing for my share of his estate.”

“Oh no.” She reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “As if you haven’t been through enough as it is.”

“We’re the walking wounded, you and I.”

She takes another swallow then grins. It’s the smile of the old Sam. “Maybe we should start a breakaway club.”

I laugh. “Instead of mojitos, our drink of choice will be vodka, straight up.”

“Where do I sign on?”

We let the laughter settle. It feels great. Sam asks a few questions which I answer. Her genuine compassion nearly brings me to tears again. Sheisa good listener.

“What does this mean for you, practically?”

“Well, first I need to decide if I’ll fight them and take it to court. Then if I lose, I’ll need to look for a job.”

By her slack jaw, the statement is a shocker. Makes sense. For as long as she’s known me I haven’t worked a proper, paying job. Long before Bernard, I dabbled in modeling. It kept me solvent until Bernard came along and the need for gainful employment went out the window.

I say, “The alternative is selling the apartment.”

“Wow. Is that an option?”

“At this point, everything is an option.” I envision my foyer piled to the ceiling with moving boxes, forwarding address unknown. I’m feeling warm. I lift my hand and call over a passing waiter. “Can I have a glass of ice water, please?”

“Of course, madam.”

Will I need to move out of the city? Find new friends? My chest feels tight.

Sam is looking at me with deep concern. “Caroline, are you okay?”

The waiter sets the glass in front of me. For some reason I see two of them. I blink, trying to clear my vision.

I lift the glass to my lips and it slips from my hand, ricocheting off the table. It hits the floor, shattering into a kaleidoscope of sharp shards.