Chapter 10 - Naomi
The drive to my mom’s house is a blur. It’s a good thing I’ve travelled this route hundreds of times, because I don’t remember any part of my drive here. When I pull in to her driveway, I turn off the car and rest my head on the top of the steering wheel. I take a deep breath to try to clear my head.
Max’s words are still swirling around my head.
He wants to marry me?
I mean, he doesn’t really want to marry me. He wants to tell his parents that he’s marrying me, which isn’t the same thing. Does that sting? Am I offended by that?
I don’t even know how I feel.
My mom’s house is small and tidy, and it looks exactly the same as last week. Or does it?
For the first time, I notice the paint peeling on the side of the house. The roof looks worn, and the planters aren’t bursting with plants like they used to. I get out of my car and take a deep breath of fresh, country air before heading up the flagstones towards the front door.
I pull my jacket tighter around me, crossing my arms and burying my chin into my chest. Winter is definitely on its way.
There are weeds poking up between the stones which makes me frown. Usually, Mom would have her garden looking immaculate, even in the fall.
When I get to the front door, something doesn’t feel right. It’s like I’m seeing the house for the first time—the worn paint, the creaky steps, the weeds. I look in the mailbox and pull out a stack of letters.
My heart drops when I flick through them. A big, red stamp with the word ‘FORECLOSURE NOTICE’ is plastered across one of the letters. My eyes widen, and the blood starts pumping in my ears.
“Mom?”
I knock on the door before opening it, calling out again as I step through.
“In here, honey!” My mom calls from the kitchen. The smell of warm, home cooking wafts through the familiar hallways as I make my way towards the back of the house.
“Hey, Mom,” I say as I lay a kiss on her cheek. She’s wearing a white apron with little yellow flowers on it, using an old wooden spoon to stir a pot of pasta sauce.
“Hi, honey,” she says with a smile. “You’re here later than usual this week.”
“I had to make a stop on the way,” I say vaguely, dropping the stack of mail on the kitchen table.
“Oh yeah?” She says, poking her head in the fridge.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, picking up the foreclosure letter. “What’s this about?”
Her long, grey-streaked hair is tied back in a braid down her back. She turns towards me, looking over her glasses towards me. Her lips pinch together and she straightens up, grabbing the letter and stuffing it in her apron pocket.
“Mom,” I start.
“It’s nothing.”
“What’s going on?”
“Everything is fine, honey. Don’t worry about a thing. Dinner’s ready, will you grab the plates?”
“Mom, I’m not letting this go.”
My mother turns her back to me and leans her hands on the counter, dropping her head to her chest. Her shoulders look slight as she takes a deep breath. She turns to me slowly, wringing her hands and staring at the ground. She takes another deep breath, finally dragging her eyes back up to mine.
“I missed a couple payments.”
“Why? Do you need money? I can help you, Mom.”
She shakes her head. Her eyes fill with tears.
“I have breast cancer.”
My stomach drops. The room spins. I stumble backwards, grabbing for a chair and sinking into it. My mother comes to me, wrapping her arms around my head and hushing me, cooing and making comforting noises as she strokes my hair.
“It’s okay, Naomi. It’s okay, shh,” she says.
“You shouldn’t be comforting me, Mom,” I say, pulling away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, I didn’t want you to worry, Naomi. I know that you worry, and I didn’t want to say anything until I knew more.”
“And the foreclosure…?”
She takes a deep breath, sitting down in the chair next to mine and putting her hand over mine. Just like the house, it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time. Her skin is papery-thin, and her face is drawn. Her green eyes don’t seem as bright as they used to be. They’re almost yellow. She looks so, so tired.
“I remortgaged the house to pay for the treatments,” she explains. “I had to get rid of my health insurance, you know. And business has been slow lately, so I haven’t been able to pay the bank back.”
If my mother is saying ‘business is slow’, that means business is non-existent. I grew up watching her paint huge canvasses, selling her work and sustaining us with her art.
But these days, people just don’t seem to be buying paintings anymore. I’ve watched her do odd jobs to make ends meet, always being resourceful, and always refusing my help.
“Mom,” I say, as my heart breaks. Tears gather in my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks. My mom’s eyes mist up and she brushes her frail thumb across my cheek.
“Don’t worry, honey, it’ll all be fine.”
“How do you know that?”
She sighs, looking over at the pot of bubbling sauce. She heaves herself up and walks over to the pot, stirring it slowly.
“Grab some plates, Naomi. Let’s eat.”
We put everything aside and eat together. I tell her about work, avoiding anything relating to Max Westbrook. I focus on her, checking that she has enough groceries and supplies for the week. My heart breaks every time I see her labored movements, and I hold back all the comments and questions that flood through me.
By the time dinner is over, she hugs me again with the strength that only a mother has. She kisses my cheek and looks into my eyes.
“Don’t worry about me, Naomi.”
“Let me help you, Mom. I don’t want to lose the house.”
She takes a deep, shuddering breath, nodding her chin down slightly. “Thank you, Mimi.”
With another hug, she lets me go. I climb back into my car, watching her silhouette wave at me in the doorway. She closes the door and I turn on the car. I only make it around the corner when I have to pull over. I break down. The tears flow down my cheeks and drip off my chin until my pants are soaked and I’m a blubbering, sniffling mess. I get a little packet of tissues out of my bag and clean myself up, and then take my phone in trembling hands.
I find the napkin with Max’s number on it, and type it in to my phone. As soon as I send the message, I know that my life is going to change forever. Three little words that will shape my future:
I’ll do it.