Chapter 6
Riley
“And then he tells me that my ass is hanging out,” I whisper yell into the phone as I tip toe out of Noah’s room. I don’t know why I’m bothering with being quiet. After the night we had at the hospital, the poor kid has been out like a light since I pulled out of the parking lot.
One full exam, a CAT scan and a prescription later, we are back home and the reality of it all is settling in. Obviously, with no family to support me, my best friend Amber was my go to.
“He sounds like a riot,” she says with a smile (I can hear it through the phone).
I march into the kitchen and pour myself a hefty glass of wine. “He’s not funny! He was inappropriate and arrogant and just did whatever the hell he wanted without asking if I can afford it.”
“I mean, I’ve heard that Reinhart is actually pretty good with working with independent insurance companies. Even your lame insurance should be okay.”
“Even if it is, that’s not the point,” I argue, sitting cross legged on the couch.
The first thing I did when I got home was rip the ridiculous costume off and throw it in the trash.
I’m now cozied up in a pair of old sweatpants and an oversized Taylor Swift hoodie from her Reputation Tour. God that feels like a lifetime ago.
“Well, was he at least hot?” she asks.
“No,” I say too quickly.
“How hot?” she presses.
I take a sip of wine. “Like a seven…”
“Out of?”
“Eight.” I take another sip.
“Hell yeah, girl! Listen, if you have to be at the hospital all the time it doesn’t suck if Noah’s doctor is a snack.”
I swallow hard and fast. “He’s not a snack! He’s a dick. And he’s not his usual doctor either.”
“Isn’t his usual doctor out of network?” she asks. She’s not wrong. “Maybe this guy should be the usual. You know since he takes care of your kid and is nice to look at. Maybe he can take care of you too…”
“Amber! It’s not gonna happen.” I enunciate every word to make my point. But she’s having too much fun with this. At least one of us is.
“Well, I’m glad you got him more meds. Hopefully things don’t escalate too much.”
“Yeah…”
We get off the phone and I lean harder into the couch, nursing the wine in my hand.
I stare at the wall in front of me. There are photo collages of me and Noah.
No one else because we have no family. Well, I have parents but when I got pregnant, they pretty much disowned me.
They were already on the path of disowning me when I decided to drop out of college and take a job as an event planner.
My dream was to become this successful, whimsical do-it-all woman, twirling around San Francisco from high end weddings to elite events and elaborate holiday parties.
And I do get to do some of those things…
just working for someone else, pocketing less than half the profit and none of the credit.
My boss is an unredeemable version of Meryl Streep’s character on The Devil Wears Prada, minus the Golden Globe and posh wardrobe.
Katherine is the villain of my story but she’s the only reason I have steady work and insurance, even if it is shitty.
When you have a kid with CF whose father is nowhere in sight, you can’t be choosy.
Any time I think about him…that man in the Santa Costume on the rooftop of the hotel…
I quickly shake him from my mind. If I’d given him my name, he might have contacted me.
I might know who he is. I might have seen him in daylight with less booze in my veins and I might remember his face.
The only thing I remember is that tattoo on his ribcage, and even that is a blur.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
I am a mom and I am alone.
“Are you sure it’s okay if you take him?
” I ask Brianna as I walk in her front door.
Ever since I moved into the duplex connected to hers three years ago, she’s been one of my closest friends.
I was alone with a toddler in need of a place to live not far from the hospital (Noah’s diagnosis was fresh then) and she owned both houses and was in need of a renter for the second one.
It was a match made in the Frisco Bay and considering she doesn’t charge me half of what she could, she’s a lifesaver.
“Of course it’s okay,” Brianna says from the stove. “I’m making chocolate chip banana pancakes, although right now they’re looking a little crepe-ish. But it is what it is.”
She smiles back at us with flour smudged on her face. She’s still in her pajamas and her curly chestnut brown hair is tied in a loose bun on top of her head, ringlets of it springing free with every movement.
“Bailey will love the company. He doesn’t have school today,” she goes on.
I plop Noah down on the couch next to her son Bailey who is the same age. His eyes glue to the TV immediately and he curls into a ball.
“Sorry about the Hulk costume,” I mumble as soon as I’m standing next to Brianna. “He won’t take it off. He hasn’t since Halloween.”
“Well, that’s only three days. Bailey once wore a chameleon onesie for a week. We used wet wipes and I just convinced myself it was no less hygienic than camping and it wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on.”
I smile at her nonchalance, wishing in vain that I could feel the same. Brianna is also a single mom but somehow makes it look a lot easier than I do. Of course, she knows who the father of her child is, he sends money once a week and her kid doesn’t have a life threatening illness.
“You’re amazing,” I say as I dip my finger in the pancake batter and lick it off. It’s delicious, even if it is a little odd. That pretty much sums up Brianna in general.
“I do my best,” she shrugs with a smile. “Have fun at work.”
“Right,” I mutter as I blow Noah three kisses and he pretends to catch them all and put them in the pocket of his Hulk suit.
Once I am outside, I take a deep breath.
The air is salty with a little chill. It’s lovely, really.
It’ll warm up throughout the afternoon no doubt but for now, it’s nice.
I can actually breathe. As I fight morning traffic to get to work, I can’t help but think about Brianna and the kids.
I would have loved to just stay there for the day, in my pjs on the couch, eating mystery pancakes and watching movies.
Sometimes I envy her. She’s a bilingual book editor and an online English teacher and she makes three times as much money as me.
Maybe I should have stayed in college. Not that I would have gone for English.
My grammar is terrible and I don’t like reading, unless it’s magazines about interior design.
Tears sting my eyes and I turn up the music.
Olivia Rodrigo fills the car and I sing alone, my voice shaky and off key.
I like her because I can’t relate to her life.
You read that right– can’t. I’m sure there are plenty of country songs that sound like they were written about me but why would I want to listen to that?
I like edgy, relatable songs. They make me feel like somewhere, another world exists. A world where girls don’t get pregnant on rooftops and their kids aren’t sick and their bills are all paid. Honestly, it might be easier to go in search of Neverland.