I pour myself another shot of tequila and slam it while I snack on the chips and salsa. The sun is sinking below the ocean, and the sky is painted with the most breathtaking jewel tones. I miss my boys so much that my chest aches. I want my husband lying next to me while our dog bites at his hand, attempting to entice him into an epic wrestling-match.
I reach for my phone to call him, but I admonish myself before I hit dial. I’ll be home tomorrow, and back to the grind. I need to enjoy this time for myself, because Rachael is right: since Colin stormed into my life, there’ve been very few minutes of peace. I spin my very plain, but beautiful wedding band on my finger as I think about the last year with Colin. Between drama with my dad, me moving to Dallas, allegations of him being a prescription pain-pill abuser, walking out of the ESPY Awards, our wedding, not being able to get pregnant, and his broken leg… we’ve had a year. His limp is almost gone. It’s much more pronounced when he gets out of bed in the morning and after a hard practice, but he’s running very well. His mobility is back, along with his spirits.
Yes. Tomorrow, I’ll have my boys back. They’re picking me up at the airport in Dallas. Now, I’m going to spend one more night pretending that Colin and I can have a baby whenever we wish, and that the football season isn’t looming on the horizon. That I don’t have the ESPY Awards in a week, and that the media hasn’t already begun reminding the world of us walking out during the comedian’s monologue. One more night of being in my fairytale bubble.
After the sun has completed its journey, I wake up Rachael. We grab our bottle of tequila, shot glasses, the basket of chips, beach bag, and stumble to our suite to change for an evening in the clubs in downtown Cabo—or so Rachael thinks.
The next morning, I wake up with a pounding headache, achy body, and rolling stomach. I don’t remember anything after we decided that we were too drunk to leave our hotel room. I stare up at the ceiling, chastising myself for drinking way too much, but anxiously counting down the hours until my plane leaves to bring me home.
****
“For the love of God, dog, if you don’t stop yanking on your leash, you’re never going running with me again,” I admonish Pancho. I’ve become as bad as Colin about talking to the dog as if he speaks English.
Pancho runs to the end of his leash, forcing my arm to jerk him back. He’s grown into quite the big boy at fifty-two pounds. I keep reminding Colin that if we don’t get his behavior under control, he’s going to be more of a problem at full size. Colin has blinders on when it comes to him, and says that he’s just being a puppy.
I jerk his leash one more time, and resolve myself to the inevitable conclusion—my run is over. I slow down to a walk and remove my ear buds. I’m not far from the house, still inside the gilded cage. It’s a muggy, hot July morning. Colin and I leave in a couple of days, headed to Los Angeles for the ESPY Awards.
I’m in a horrible mood. I’ve felt off since I got back from Cabo. At first, I thought I was still hung over, but this would be one hell of a drunk-ache if that were the case. My latest working theory is that I picked up a bug in Mexico.
Today is the first appointment with Doctor Starr regarding what fertility procedure she wants to try. I plan on asking her to run some additional blood work. I don’t want to put my body through the fertility process if I’m not feeling one-hundred percent.
To make matters worse, I gained enough weight in Cabo that the sample-size dress that I planned on wearing to the ESPY Awards, that the designer was just going to have to let out a little now no longer fits. I wanted to cry when I slipped the beautiful beaded, white gown over my head, and it wouldn’t zip over my breasts. I looked at Brad, whose eyes had grown as wide as saucers. He’d immediately starting asking the questions that I couldn’t formulate. Could we let it out more? Would other undergarments help the fit? How much did I need to lose before Wednesday?
It seemed the majority of the weight had been gained in my breasts. I’d noticed my bras fitting a little more snuggly. The designer, stylist, and Brad opted instead for a backless dress that would give my boobs some more wiggle room, in case I couldn’t lose those extra pounds. Hence, why I really need this run. Now, I just feel more annoyed.
Pancho and I have a routine. When we’re two houses from home, I release him from his leash, and he runs the rest of the way. We get to the point where it always happens and his body shakes with excitement, as he looks back at me with pleading dark-brown eyes. I smirk at him. What a spoiled boy he is. I undo the red leash from his Dallas Cowboy’s dog collar, and he takes off for home without a second glance back at me.