Chapter 9
I finally got around to that shopping spree for Teddy’s new bedroom.
He hasn’t been terribly excited to spend time at the new apartment, and I’m sure that part of the problem is how dreary his room is.
Jeremy has been insistent that Teddy sleep in his own bed every night, and even though I agree with this in theory, at some point I would like Teddy to start spending the weekends at my apartment.
I don’t know how long this separation will last, and I can’t continue spending every night away from my baby.
So I went a little nuts. I went to the local strip mall, where I filled my shopping cart with three giant Lego sets, the largest of which comes together to make an entire city equipped with its own fire station.
I bought him a new comforter, pillowcases, and sheets adorned with his favorite cartoon characters.
And just to cover my bases, I got him a case for his rock collection.
I’m feeling pretty good about my purchases as I get in line to pay for them.
My mood only sours slightly when my former next-door neighbor, Phyllis Halpern, joins the line behind me.
I have no idea if Phyllis is aware that I have temporarily moved out, but I wouldn’t be surprised.
I’m fairly sure she keeps twenty-four-hour surveillance on our house.
“Hello, Naomi,” she says in her crackly voice. I don’t know exactly how old she is, because it would be impolite to ask, but I’m impressed that she is walking around and doing things and hasn’t, like, turned to dust. “How are you?”
“Great!” I say in the most chipper voice I can muster. “How are you doing?”
“My gout is acting up,” she informs me.
“Oh,” I say, because really, what can you say to that? “Sorry to hear that.”
Phyllis looks down at my cart with disapproval in her eyes. “In my day, the children used to play in the street. They didn’t need all these toys.”
She says “toys” like it’s a synonym for “drugs.” I glance ahead at the line in front of me, willing it to move faster. “Yes, well.”
“By the way, Naomi,” she says, “have you been traveling? I haven’t seen your car in almost two weeks.”
“Oh.” I finger the amethyst crystal around my neck, which I have been wearing ever since the day Jeremy told me he wanted a divorce. “Well, my car has been in the shop.”
“Really?” Phyllis looks up at me. Her right eye is a little bleary and seems to point off to the side. “That’s a long time to be waiting for repairs. What shop did you take it to?”
“The one on Pine Street,” I lie.
Phyllis looks like she’s going to ask me another question, but thankfully, it’s my turn to check out. The bored-looking cashier scans all my purchases, and I swipe my credit card, hoping to get out of here as quickly as I can.
“It says this card has been canceled, ma’am,” the cashier informs me.
I look down at the Mastercard in my hand, confused. The expiration date is a year from now. I pluck a second card from my wallet and swipe that one. I look up at the cashier, who shakes his head.
“Sorry, no,” he says.
Oh God. Phyllis is staring at me like I have just robbed a bank—apparently, the only thing worse than buying toys is not being able to pay for them. I don’t know what is going on with my credit cards, but one way or another, I am going to buy these items so I can purchase my son’s love.
“Are you sure the machine is working correctly?” I ask him.
He shrugs, like this whole interaction is way above his pay grade. He looks like he’s still in high school.
“I’ll go get cash from the ATM right outside,” I tell the kid. “Can you please just put these aside for me, and I’ll be right back?”
“Uh…” He glances around like he’s not sure if this is a trick. “Okay. But I can only keep them for a short time, then they have to be restocked.”
“I’ll be back in a jiffy!” I promise. Then I attempt to smile at Phyllis. “Save my place in line.”
If she saves my place in line, it will only be out of morbid curiosity.
I remember passing an ATM right outside the store. There is a massive surcharge, but I don’t care. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I just need some money.
I insert my bank card into the ATM and punch in my code.
It asks me how much money I want to withdraw, and I ask for the maximum, which is $200.
It’s just barely enough to buy everything from my cart.
I tap my foot against the ground, willing the machine to dispense the money faster.
After a full minute of grinding noises that make it sound like it might be shredding the money to smithereens, a message appears on the screen:
Insufficient funds.
What?
This time, I ask the machine to report the balance in my account. It’s a joint account that I have with Jeremy, and there’s usually at least five figures sitting in the checking account at any given time. But now the balance is $25.
What is going on here?
I have a bad feeling about this. I pull my phone out of my purse and select Jeremy’s name from the list of favorite contacts. When it goes to voicemail, I hang up and dial again. Then a third time.
Finally, I hear Jeremy’s voice on the other end of the line. He doesn’t sound happy. He doesn’t even bother to say hello. “What’s wrong, Naomi?”
“My credit cards don’t work,” I tell him.
He sighs in a way that makes me realize that he has been expecting this call. “Naomi, those are my credit cards. I put you on them when we got married, but it feels like now that we’re not together anymore, you should have your own credit cards. Don’t you think so?”
Now that we’re not together anymore. His words are like a dagger in my heart. When did he start feeling this way about me? I still don’t understand! Maybe if it hadn’t happened so suddenly, I could deal with this better. But all I can keep asking myself is Why? There must be a reason.
“What about our bank account?” I say. “There used to be thousands of dollars in it. Now there’s only twenty-five dollars in the account.”
“Again,” he says, “it’s my account. What happened to your bank account?”
When Jeremy and I got married, I had my own bank account.
But after I gave up my medical practice, I went through the balance fairly quickly.
When I explained the issue to Jeremy, he quickly offered to add me to his own account so I wouldn’t have to worry about money.
Because that’s the kind of nice, considerate man my husband is.
Or used to be.
“There’s barely anything in that account,” I say.
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” he says. “Like I said, it’s my own private account that I put you on so you’d have money for family expenses. It’s my right to move some money out of the account.”
“You moved all the money out of the account!”
“To be fair,” he says, “I’m paying for the apartment where you’re living right now. I’m paying Teddy’s school tuition. I pay Rosita. What do you need so much money for?”
“I was buying some toys. For Teddy.”
“He has enough toys.”
“At your house.”
“Fine,” he sighs. “But if you want toys for him at your house, it feels like you should be the one to pay for it.”
“You know I don’t have a job right now!”
“Aren’t you a doctor?” he shoots back. “Why don’t you start working again? Weren’t you always talking about how much you missed it? You should go back and do what you love.”
Despite everything, Jeremy knows me very well, and he does have a point. I did have a fulfilling career before Teddy was born, and I miss it. I would love to go back to that kind of work.
“It’s not that easy though,” I tell him. “It would be a lot of work to get my practice up and running again. And it’s not like I have a ton of time since I have to pick our son up every day at two o’clock and bring him to a bunch of practices and lessons.”
“Fine, so I can have Rosita pick him up. She’s willing to do it.”
My stomach clenches. “I hardly get to see him as it is.”
“I’m trying to help you, Naomi.” His voice is gentler now. “You’ve been wanting to go back to work for a long time, and now is your chance to make it happen.”
His words are a reminder that when we first met, I had my own practice and my own income, all of which I gave up to raise our son.
I wonder if I took the initiative and became that same capable doctor he fell in love with, we might be able to fix our marriage.
I’ve let myself go over the last five years, and that’s got to change if we’re going to have a chance to make this work.
“Do you really think I can get my practice going again?” I ask in a small voice.
“You absolutely can.” His voice sounds the warmest it has since the day he asked me for a divorce. It’s the old Jeremy—the one I fell in love with. “I believe in you.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot.”
I square my shoulders, deciding that this is a good time to suggest we get together for a drink and talk. Outside the house. Maybe Rosita can watch Teddy so we can be alone together.
“Also,” Jeremy says, “you need to have your lawyer contact mine ASAP. Then we can get this money issue resolved.”
It feels like Jeremy just reached through the phone and slapped me across the face. “What?”
He lets out a long sigh. “Please don’t do this, Naomi. My lawyer says he sent you an email, and you never responded. Just…let’s take care of this. I don’t want it to get ugly. Do you?”
I open my mouth to protest, but all I manage to do is croak, “I don’t have a lawyer.”
“You need to get a lawyer, Naomi.”
“I’m not getting a lawyer before we have a chance to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” The warmth has evaporated from his voice. “Please get yourself a lawyer. Don’t make me be an asshole.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jeremy groans. “I can’t deal with this right now. I’m late for a meeting. Just get a lawyer, Naomi.”
Before I can say another word, I realize he has hung up on me.
I look down at the useless ATM card in my hand.
When we first got married, I didn’t expect us to have a shared account.
After all, I was in my late thirties by then, and I had always had my own account.
But Jeremy was so sweet when he insisted on putting me on his account.
You’re my wife, he said. What’s mine is yours.
Then again, he did make me sign that prenup.
That old bank account left from before my marriage is still there. It doesn’t have much in it, but it will be enough to at least buy necessities like groceries and toilet paper. But I don’t see any expensive Lego kits in my future.
If I get a lawyer and we divide our assets, I’ll have considerably more money. The prenup might not be favorable to me, but with child support, I’ll be able to get by. And in first grade, the school day will be longer, and I’ll be able to get back to work.
But I refuse to let go. I know my husband better than anyone in the world, and there’s no way he would go scorched earth on our marriage like this. There’s something else going on here, and I won’t give up until I know what it is.