Chapter 22 - Naomi
The questions are incessant. At work, Julia is wide-eyed. When, how, where did my engagement happen? I cringe, hating the lies that I have to tell.
I definitely didn’t think this through.
Somehow, I thought that this engagement thing would just be an easy pay check for me. I thought I’d agree to it, meet his parents, and get paid.
That hasn’t exactly happened. I’ve gotten paid—at least that’s gone to plan. Max is prompt. The transfer came through the day after the news story about our engagement. But other than that, it’s been anything but easy.
We’ve been ‘engaged’ for less than a week and there’s already been two news articles about us, two evenings with his parents, and now my mother and my boss are asking all kinds of questions.
At least Meg and Ariana know the truth. I don’t think I’d be able to manage lying to them.
“You didn’t notice anything between them?” Meg says when Julia stares at me. “They’ve been flirting for weeks!”
“Right, okay,” Julia says. “But flirting isn’t exactly the same things as getting engaged!”
“It’s happened pretty quickly. I didn’t think it would be so public.”
“Naomi, this is highly unprofessional!”
“I’m sorry.”
Julia stares at me, and then glances at Meg. She shakes her head. “I just don’t… when… how…”. She frowns, and my heart thumps.
Is she going to fire me?
Finally, she just looks at her own engagement ring and takes a deep breath. “I’d better be invited to your wedding.”
Meg winks at me and puts her arm around Julia. “Of course you’ll be invited to her wedding. Think of all the hot, single, rich bachelors that will be there!”
“I’ll be married by then, Meg,” Julia says, wiggling the fingers of her left hand at in front of her face. “You literally just went to my bachelorette party.”
“I know,” Meg laughs, leading her away from me. “But a girl can look, can’t she?”
She glances over her shoulder and I mouth the words ‘thank you’. Looks like I won’t get fired after all. It’s a good thing Julia is in the middle of her own wedding craze, otherwise she might be less forgiving.
Clients ask me about it, and my mother calls me again in the evening to make sure I’m okay. The stress is building inside me, and I find myself looking forward to Friday.
To my next fake date with my fake fiancé, although it doesn’t feel as fake as I thought it would. The more I tell people that we’re engaged, and that I’m happy, the more it feels real.
“Do you love him?” My mother asks over the phone. I’m glad she’s not standing in front of me, because my eyes widen and my jaw drops. My mouth goes dry.
I clear my throat.
“Obviously, Mom, come on.” I bluff. “I gotta go anyways. When is your next doctor’s appointment? I want to come with you.”
She takes the bait, changing the subject and I breathe a bit easier. When I get off the phone to her, I call her bank and arrange a payment for her mortgage. I’ll pay off the missed payments and the next six months-worth of mortgage payments, and then I’ll give her enough for the first six months of her treatments. That should take the pressure off, and she can focus on getting better.
By the time I’ve transferred the money to the bank and transferred money for my mother’s treatment, more than half of the engagement money is gone. I take a deep breath, hanging up the phone and dropping my head in my hands.
The reality of our situation comes rushing back to me.
It might be difficult. It might be public, and it might be uncomfortable, but it’s necessary. There’s no way I could afford almost two hundred thousand dollars out of pocket, just for my mom’s mortgage and the first six months of her treatments. Who knows how much ongoing treatment will cost after she goes through the original chemotherapy and radiation? If she needs to have an operation, how much does that cost? And if anything goes wrong?
My mind starts doing circles around me. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and letting the tears gather behind my eyelids.
I shouldn’t panic. We have money now—we have a buffer. She’s out of trouble for the moment, and she can focus on getting better.
I jump when my phone rings. “Mom,” I say. “What’s going on, is everything okay?” We’d just hung up less than an hour ago.
“Did you pay off my mortgage and deposit money into my account? I just got the notification from my bank.”
“I told you I would help you, Mom.”
“Take it back.”
“What?!”
“I will not have you putting yourself into debt for me. Take it back and return it to whoever you borrowed it from.”
“I didn’t borrow it, Mom.”
“So where did you get it?!”
“I’ve… I’ve been saving,” I lie. I cringe.
“You’ve saved almost two hundred thousand dollars?!”
“I…”
“You should be buying a house or something! Not wasting it on me!”
“It’s not wasting it, Mom.”
“Does this have anything to do with that engagement of yours? Is he buying you?!”
That one hurt, because that exact thought has crossed my mind. My mother is way too smart.
“No! Mom! Please, just focus on getting better. I’ve been working as a physio for almost a decade! Is it that impossible that I would be saving? What does it matter how I got the money?”
“It matters because that kind of money doesn’t just fall from the sky, Naomi. I will not let you put yourself in trouble for me. I’ll manage, one way or another. Mrs. Yates just told me she’d let me pick up hours at the hotel to clean, and…”
“What, after your chemo appointments? You’ll just go straight from the hospital to the hotel? Come on, Mom.” I hear a deep, raking breath, and I soften my voice. “Let me help you.”
“You remind me so much of your father sometimes.”
My heart starts thumping. She never talks about my dad.
“What? Why? I thought he left you before I was born.”
“He did, honey. But he’s the type of man that would do things on impulse without thinking of the consequences. Good and bad things. It’s part of the reason he was so attractive, and part of the reason he was so successful. It’s also why he left us.”
My throat tightens. This is the most I’ve heard her talk about him, ever. I don’t even know his name.
“Who is he, Mom?”
A sob sounds over the phone and my chest squeezes. My heart is thumping, and I feel like I need to know. I’ve had this hole in my past for so long, this question mark that never went away, and now, with one simple name, my mom could change it all.
“Mom?”
“Just forget about it, Naomi. He’s no good.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that? Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
“It’s better this way. Why would you want to know the man who left us?”
My heart shatters all over again. It’s the same pain as when I was a little girl who didn’t understand why I didn’t have a daddy. It’s the same pain of watching my friends hug their fathers and knowing I’d never feel that. It’s the same pain I saw in my mother’s eyes every time I asked.
And that pain silences me now. With everything going on, it just doesn’t seem like the right time. I’m not sure I can handle another shock. But is there ever a right time for this kind of thing?
I sigh.
“Okay, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
I hang up the phone and clutch it to my chest, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. Questions swirl around my mind about my past, my mother, my father, about Max, and the cancer. I wonder if anything I’m doing is right, or if it’ll all blow up in my face.
Then, my phone buzzes with a picture from Max. I open it up, and see the top of a wine bottle. Max is holding the corkscrew above it, grinning at me.
Feeling fancy.
Tears cloud my vision and I cry for a few moments, staring at his goofy face as emotions jostle inside my heart. I shouldn’t like him as much as I do, but I can’t help it. Before I can answer, another message comes through.
Wish you were here to enjoy it with me.
My heart melts, and I type out an answer before I have time to think of the consequences.
Me too xx
I press send and my heart does cartwheels. I shouldn’t be getting closer to him. I know that, but right now, it’s the only thing that feels good.