Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MAIA
“ T iggy is going to be okay, Mom,” I assure her as I’m about to board the plane from Portland to New York.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t call me.”
“Mom, we’re adults and able to handle—well, almost everything.” I try to use an assuring voice, but I don’t think I’m accomplishing it.
This weekend was about my sister, but as I helped her, I saw them—all my broken pieces.
I pretend to have my act together, but I’m crumbling inside.
It’s like my house, which I bought with the idea of fixing up, but I never have time to do anything to it.
There are other more important things to do than hiring a contractor or fixing the landscape.
“It’s always the same with you, Maita. Ever since you left for college, you don’t need us.”
But I do.
I just don’t want to admit it to them—or myself.
It was shameful enough to have them pick me up at a psych ward and watch them move me from my dream school to one closer so they could keep an eye on me. Now, I regret the wall I set between us. It’s my nature to talk to them almost like I do clients or employees.
How do I fix this part of my life?
I don’t want to keep this distance between my parents and me, but it’s been fourteen years of avoiding them and I can’t see a way back.
“Good afternoon, passengers. This is the final boarding call for flight 9330 to New York JFK…” Oh, great, I’m about to miss my flight.
“Mom, I need to board my plane, but maybe when I’m back home, we can talk,” I say.
“Mentirosa.”
“Why are you calling me a liar? I really have to board the plane, or I’m going to miss it, Mom.”
“You don’t talk to me. You’ll just sweep everything under the rug and continue your life away from us . It’s like you’re ashamed of your family.”
This conversation is taking a turn for the worse. “That’s not true. I love you, Mom,” I say before hanging up.
It never occurred to me that my parents would see my detachment as being embarrassed by them. Well, there are times when they can be awkward, but whose parents aren’t like that in one way or another?
Unsurprisingly, I have trouble concentrating during the flight.As I stare at the blank screen, all I can think about are my sister, my parents, and Gatsby.I have to give a presentation on Wednesday, and I’m the keynote for the Thursday luncheon. I’m not ready.
It’s all his fault.
Oh, fucking Gatsby Spearman and all the feelings he’s stirred inside me since last week. They’re poking holes in my plan to destroy him. They are melting the ice that froze my insides when he broke my heart. I don’t want to feel, and I’m feeling.
I blame him . It’s all his fault for showing up unannounced.
Then there’s Tiggy, who has the wrong idea of who I am.
We used to get along before I left for college.
Then, well, I stayed away from my family, afraid they’d notice I was full of flaws.
And maybe if I had been closer to her, she would’ve reached out to me and told me about Bram before he almost killed her.
The fact that he’s a psycho isn’t my fault but keeping myself away from my sister is all on me.
I should meet with Cee-Cee while I’m in New York. What if she hates me or hides something from us? I wouldn’t be surprised, our family may seem loud and extroverted, but we hide our feelings from one another.
How in the world do my parents think I’m ashamed of them?
Is it because I’m the one who visits them? I admit that every time they hint that they want to come to my house, I find a good excuse to keep them away.
The answer hits me like a ton of bricks.
I’m ashamed of myself when I’m around them.
No matter how much money I’ve made or how successful I am, this isn’t what they wanted for me while I was growing up.
Mom will be sad and disappointed when she learns that I might never get married and kids are not part of my five-year plan.
I don’t want to bring a baby into the world when I can barely take care of myself.
They’ll be devastated and sad because I’m going to end up alone—I’m already alone. And maybe I need to work on being proud of my singlehood instead of carrying it like dirty laundry that I hide from my parents.
I have to sit down with them and talk about their expectations, feelings, and boundaries. I want to be a part of my family. It sucks to be an outsider.
When the plane lands, I realize that I’m in the same place I was almost five hours ago, confused and unprepared for the conference and life.
As I come out of the gate area, I spot a big sign that says, Little Blue.
The man holding it is a short, middle-aged man with a New York Yankees cap on.
I sigh with relief when I realize it’s not Gatsby.
I’m not ready to talk to him, not after the weekend I had.
I’m too weak, and I might just hug him and ask him to make me forget everything, make me feel safe, the way only he can.
I don’t need a man to fix my life.
The gentleman with the sign seems to recognize me and walks toward me. “Ms. Ocampo?”
“That’s me?” That comes out more like a question because, really, what is he doing here? How does he know I’d arrive at this time?
“Hello. I’m Owen Rossi, Mr. Spearman’s driver. I’m here to take you to the hotel.”
“Hi, Mr. Rossi.”
“Call me Owen,” he corrects me. “Should we go to baggage claim to pick up your luggage?”
I’m so unprepared it’s not even funny. “No, I need to go to Fifth Avenue and pick up some clothes,” I mutter.
He checks his watch. “We have time for that. If you tell me what stores so Mr. Spearman’s assistant can call ahead, we’ll cut some time. Please follow me.”
I should text Gatsby and thank him, and warn him to stop being nice, or I might push him to the subway tracks. I only do the former and keep my assassin instincts to myself.
He doesn’t respond.
I don’t think much of it until I open my assistant’s email with this weekend’s articles.
Okay, I may have a problem I have to address soon, and by that, I mean I need to stop watching Gatsby’s every move.
More so when I see the article on page six announcing his weekend with model Yvi-T.
What kind of name is that? Nothing against her personally.
I really don’t understand the origin of her name.
Am I bitter because she spent the weekend with Gatsby? I shouldn’t care. He’s free to fuck whoever he wants.
Nothing says unprepared better than arriving at the hotel where the conference is taking place wearing a pair of yoga pants and carrying several shopping bags. Suzie is right by the elevator bank, as she promised.
“You are a mess,” she says, giving me a tight hug. “How’s your sister?”
“Getting better?”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad because now I need you to go from I had a crazy weekend to kick-ass CEO. Do you think you can do that for me?”
I show her the bags. “We can try. Let’s go to the room.”
“About that…”
“What? I don’t have a room?”
“I mean, we do have the suite with two bedrooms as requested but…I brought the husband and the toddler along.” She gives me an apologetic grin.
“As long as you don’t leave me babysitting while you two go and pretend to be crazy in love, I’m okay with it.”
She hugs me again, swiping the room card on the reader and poking the elevator button. “You’re the best.”
“Ugh, you’re already planning on leaving the toddler with me, aren’t you?”
“We’ll see.”