Chapter 10
Riley
Who the hell just asks someone to marry them?
The question keeps buzzing around the forefront of my mind despite the fact my life is a raging dumpster fire right now.
It's been a few weeks since Noah ended his cycle of antibiotics. And while he perked back up a little during that time, it’s wearing on him.
Everything seems to be wearing on him. He plays board games at recess while other kids run around a soccer field, play tag or swing on monkey bars.
He doesn’t ask to go to the playground at the park anymore.
Instead we go for walks by the bay, ordering fish and chips and counting sails on the horizon.
He loves boats. He still has so much joy in him, so much wonder, and yet, he’s five and has been robbed of a normal childhood. A normal life.
It’s also been several weeks since Cameron popped the question.
And honestly, as I listen to Noah cough and wheeze, jumping every time he so much as clears his throat, I can’t help but think about that crazy proposal.
Mostly, it annoys me. It’s like handing a key to a bird trapped in a cage, telling it that it could be free.
Only to find out that that cage is in another, bigger cage.
Marriage has never been on my radar. If there is anything my parents taught me about love it’s that it doesn’t come from romance.
Sure, they’re still married. But they’ve never been loving towards one another.
It was more like marriage was practical.
Societal. That and I’m pretty sure my mom was pregnant with me when she said her vows, making their judgement of my pregnancy all the more hypocritical.
But none of that matters. What matters is taking care of Noah.
And right now, I’m running around like a headless bird in an attempt to do that.
My day started with my alarm on my phone not going off.
Probably because it was dead. Probably because my phone charger got coffee spilled on it a while back and now it’s kind of bipolar about when it wants to work.
Probably because I’m burning the candle at both ends and the table itself just might be on fire.
“Noah, honey, did you get your shoes on?” I call out as I shove a box of organic apple juice into his sailboat lunch box before zipping it up.
“I don’t want to go to school today,” he whines from the couch. He’s currently wearing a dinosaur onesie, laying face down and mumbling all his answers into a Minecraft pillow.
“I know you don’t. And I don’t want to go to work but sometimes, we have to do things we don’t feel like–” I stop when I see his captain crunch hasn’t been touched. This is a kid who loves cereal. “...doing. Noah, aren’t you hungry?”
“No,” he says.
“Maybe a different cereal?” I ask, trying to feel his temperature through the onesie.
“No.”
“I can make you eggs real quick? Do you want eggs and cinnamon toast?”
“I’m not hungry!” he shouts.
Noah is not a kid that acts out. When he does, it truly only means one thing. He doesn’t feel good.
I scoop him up and look at his face. My heart dips in my chest. His eyes are glazed and he has bags under them. The rest of his face is pale.
Shit.
Of all the days for him to truly not be well, this is not a great one. Katherine has a meeting scheduled that will determine who gets what events going into the Christmas season. I really, really need some of the high profile parties or I’m never going to make ends meet.
On top of that, Brianna is meeting with an author today and can’t watch him. And that, unfortunately, means one thing for me.
“Grab your tablet, buddy, you’re coming to work with me.”
“Sorry I’m late, we had a rough morning.”
I can literally feel Katherine’s eyes on me as I walk through the door with Noah in tow.
But it is what it is. He’s going to sit in the corner while we work, not making a peep as usual and I don’t see the difference.
For one, most event planning agencies don’t even have a brick and mortar building.
We only do because Katherine is also the CEO of a magazine and event planning is just one of the things she covers in said magazine, complete with photos of elaborate parties and promos for venues, caterers, photographers and all the things.
In short, Memoire Events is just one floor in the building that makes up Katherine’s empire. And I am just one planner on that floor. A planner who is late to work and has a snotty kid shuffling behind her.
“Hmm,” Katherine hums through pursed lips as I pass by, gathering my things for the meeting. “You know, Miss Underwood. There’s a phrase people like to toss around. Better late than never, I believe it is?”
“Yes, I’ve heard it,” I smile at her as I turn on my tablet.
“I hate it,” she says flatly. “You’re lucky we haven’t started yet.”
My smile slips from my face and splatters on the floor. “I understand. Noah’s meds are really doing their job and my babysitting is out of town and–”
“Make progress not excuses. Let’s get started.”
“Right,” I say under my breath. After she walks away, I dab my eyes with a tissue. I am determined not to cry. I’m not a crier. But everyone has a breaking point. My dream job gone nightmare is mine.
“Mommy, I want to lay under your desk,” Noah says as he crawls beneath it. “I can make a fort.”
“That’s fine,” I tell him. “Just make sure you don’t go under anyone else's. And don’t unplug anything.”
“Can I have my juice under here?” he asks.
I squat down, the best one can squat in a pencil skirt, and hand him his juice. “Here’s your animal crackers too.”
“I don’t want them.”
“Noah, you really need to eat something,” I say softly, though inside I am screaming. Lack of appetite and inability to absorb nutrients are just some of the awful side effects of CF. Getting Noah to eat enough is a daily battle for us sometimes.
“But I don’t like hurting animals.”
“Baby, they’re crackers. They’re not real animals.”
“That’s what you think,” he says and I sigh.
I stand up and pat down my skirt. When I turn to walk out of my cubical, my co-worker Lindsay is standing there with a tight smile.
“He’s darling,” she says as we begin walking together.
“He’s not feeling well and it’s making him stubborn.”
“You know, I had a friend with a kid like him,” she says and I look over at her.
“Really? Her child had CF?”
“No. Leukemia. When she was too sick to go to school, she stayed at the hospital. Like a residency of sorts. Have you thought about doing that? You know, so you aren’t pissing off Katherine by letting him set up camp under your desk every other week?”
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the ignorance of people who live normal lives.
I would love to scratch Lindsay’s eyes out right now but unfortunately, that might also cost me my job.
So instead, I bite my lips (and my tongue) and say nothing at all.
Opening my mouth at this point would be detrimental for everyone in a fifty foot radius.
Once we are inside, Katherine dives right in.
“As you all know, we are entering our busiest season. That’s on top of wedding season of course which is thankfully more or less slowing down,”
Everyone cheers at that which I actually find a little sad. Weddings are fun to plan, despite the fact and I can’t see myself ever getting married.
Unless it’s contractual…
I shake the internal monologue from my mind and force myself to pay attention.
Katherine is right. December and January means holiday parties, everything from company dinners to city festivals and more.
It’s prime planner season and I for one really want my name thrown in the hat for one of the bigger gigs. God knows I need it.
“So far, we have been contacted by Google, Tesla, Wells Fargo, as well as multiple breweries and even Levi’s Stadium.”
“Dibs,” Sam, a woman who always calls dibs on everything sports related (half because she plays sports and half because she only hooks up with athletes as a rule) calls out and we all chuckle.
As far as I am concerned, she can have that one.
While I’m sure it pays well, I know very little about sports save for the Kelce Swift news and I’m pretty sure that doesn't involve the 49ers Christmas party.
Katherine goes on. “And of course we have the annual Hospital charity event which will go to Riley. The rest we can divvy up accordingly.”
I stop, looking up from my tablet. Then I shoot a hand halfway into the air. “Katherine? Um, yes. I didn’t actually sign up for the hospital charity this year.”
“No. But you did it a couple years ago and it was a hit, although your choice of outfits did cause a stir which is exactly why I’d rather you mingle with drunken doctors than corporate executives.”
As usual when my Mrs. Clause costume is brought up randomly, there’s a unanimous chuckle around the room. I’ve gotten used to it enough that I no longer hide behind my tablet with rosy cheeks.
“It’s just that I was really hoping to organize one of the downtown festivals or maybe the tree lighting. I know Noah would love to be a part of all of that and–”
“Miss Underwood. Event planning is not a revolving door of entertainment for your child when you can’t get a reliable babysitter,” Katherine cuts me off.
“That’s not what I meant. I was just trying to say that I’ve done a lot of research and put in a lot of work and I feel like I could–”
“Stop embarrassing yourself with bright eyed ambitions. At the end of the day, we don’t organize parties.
We orchestrate experiences. Everyone has eyes on us.
Appearances matter. Now, Chloe, I’d like to see you working with the town hall.
You’re centerpieces last year made the magazine cover and you have a great stage presence during interviews.
They used almost no filters on your profile.
Your performance is flawless, as is your skincare routine, I think we can all agree. ”
I spend the rest of the meeting with my lip buttoned. Because fuck Chloe and her clear complexion. But also, fuck this job. Of course, I can’t actually say that or say anything at all because at the end of the day, I need this job.
That night, Noah falls asleep before I even get halfway through his bed time story. The Very Hungry Caterpillar will just have to finish eating his way through all the foods of the world some other time. Turning into a lovely butterfly will also have to wait.
I brush the hair from Noah’s sleeping face and think about that.
I so want to see him become a butterfly.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And it crushes me to think that something as simple as soggy lungs can keep him from that.
Keep him from eating and running and jumping.
Keep him from a million firsts that he may never get to do if he doesn’t get new lungs.
And even then, our world, our future is made up of maybes.
I blink fiercely to hold back the tears but it’s no use.
Days like this make it impossible not to feel crushed by the weight of our reality.
Then I see the stethoscope that Cameron gave him sitting on the nightstand.
While the drugs worked for a little bit, he’s been off again in the last couple days.
I reach for it, putting the eartips in and pressing the bell to Noah’s chest. Immediately, my ears are filled with the beating of his heart. Strong, steady. Perfect. But I can’t say the same for his lungs. His breathing is jagged, labored, weak.
My chin quivers as I rip the stethoscope from my neck and toss it back on the nightstand.
I’ve heard enough. I make my way to the living room, breaking down for a good five minutes before putting myself back together, just in case Noah wakes.
I never like when he sees me cry. Then I reach for my phone.
Cameron’s number is listed under Noah’s Doctor. I was too stubborn to put his real name in there, especially his first name. But right now, that stubborn wall is crumbling. I…am crumbling. Which is how I bring myself to send the text.
Riley- I’ve put a lot of thought into it. I’ll do it.
Cameron- …Really?
Riley- Yes.
Cameron- Just to clarify, you’re agreeing to marry me, right?
I let out an exhaustive sigh and keep going.
Riley- Yes. But there will be stipulations.
Cameron- I’m all ears.
Riley- It’s not real. Even if it’s legal on paper, I am not your wife. This is for Noah and nothing else.
Cameron- Understood.
I sigh again, my phone sitting in my lap as I stare with teary eyes at the floor in front of me. Then, my phone buzzes again.
Cameron- If I might ask…what made you change your mind?
Riley- I have no other choice.