Chapter 34
Riley
“Idon’t understand why I can’t do it!”
The one thing I never thought I would get frustrated or tired of is Noah having the energy to do things.
The idea of him getting to play at even half the capacity of a “normal” kid was always this far away dream.
It’s the only thing I ever wanted, for Noah to have a childhood without disease.
And while we are not without it, obviously, his surgery has proven to help him with all of that.
He wants to play, he wants to run (though that’s really pushing it sometimes), he wants to learn how to skateboard (another thing that’s pushing it, though it has more to do with the danger of the sport in general for me). And, he wants to be in a play.
“I just don’t want you to over exert yourself," I tell him while scrolling through messages on my phone on one hand and working on a label design with another. I’m starting to wonder if I should just hire someone to help me with marketing.
But even with the Pay It Forward money still coming in even after the surgery, I still tend to be frugal.
A single mom with no happily ever in sight and a still sick though improving kid is not a mom who spends money frivolously.
“But I have new lungs, Mom!” Noah puts all the emphasis his new lungs can muster on the last word because he never calls me Mom.
Mommy, usually. Mama when he’s just being my darling little boy…
or wants something like a cookie at the grocery store or to stay up five minutes later.
But this is bigger than a sugar cookie from the bakery or another episode of Bluey. He’s mad at me.
“I know my love but–”
“It’s not a hard play. It’s literally about the spirit of Christmas.
It’s about a man named Scrooge and ghosts and, and…
I could be a ghost! They don’t do much! Or maybe a caroler.
Except I can’t sing. Or one of the dead guys at the beginning!
They wear chains! Please let me be in the play, Mommy.
All the other sick kids are going to be in it. ”
“But not all the other sick kids just had surgery, Noah,” I argue back, trying to figure out this stupid logo making app and failing miserably.
“Exactly!” he goes on. “So I’m stronger than them.
And it’s just not fair!” Noah shouts the last part and I stop, setting my phone down and turning to face him.
I’m ready to scold him for raising his voice.
But his angry little face is also quivering and for a moment I can only see it from his side.
He’s never been in a play before. He’s never done a lot of things before.
And robbing him from this truly does seem cruel.
“If we can figure out a part you can do,” I say and he perks up so I talk over the budding explosion of excitement.
“Thank you Mommy!” he exclaims, throwing his arms around me before galloping off.
I sigh, leaning heavily back in my chair before picking up my phone again.
I pause on my new business ventures for a moment and go to the Just Breathe app.
They do a play every year and every year Noah has sat in the audience instead of on the stage.
Most of the kids have similar diseases but Noah has always been worse off.
Getting colds that wouldn’t go away. Fevers I couldn’t bring down without taking him to the clinic.
He was premature and sometimes I blame myself.
Like maybe my inability to carry him longer is part of it.
But I can’t think like that. And I also can’t live in fear of what could happen. Not when he’s been robbed of so much. So reluctantly I add him to the list of kids for the play, with a sidenote for a less active role of course.
As soon as I press send, my phone rings. A call from Amber.
“You’ve reached Riley Underwood’s Natural disaster line where the shitstorm never lets up, Riley speaking.”
“Jesus,” she laughs. “What now?”
“Oh my life,” I sigh.
“Which part?” she asks.
“All of it.”
“Well, I was just calling to see if you wanted to go on a double date with me,” she says.
With that, I sit up, my face scrunched in disbelief. “A double…what? No.”
“Listen. I know all the bullshit with Doctor Dickwad has you down but I met this super cute guy at the deli the other day–”
“Hold up,” I interrupt. “You met a guy at a sandwich shop?”
“It was the deli! The one on the corner that sells those lemonberry scones I love. I went there for scones,” she says.
“And you left with a man.”
“A hot man…who has a hot friend.”
“Amber,” I stop her before she can dig the hole of my desperation any deeper. “I am not looking for a boyfriend.”
“Neither am I! Jesus, Ri. What kind of girl do you think I am? Anyways. I am going out with him on Friday to that swanky little speakeasy on White Street. You know the one that looks like an ice cream shop but if you give them the password they lead you to a freezer door which is actually a cozy little bar?”
“I know the place,” I say in monotone. The last thing I want her to think is that I am interested.
“Well, apparently he said his friend is going too and his friend is sexy and poetic.”
“Sexy and poetic…” I parrot.
“Yes. He’s a writer. It’s poetry night and he is going to recite poetry because he’s a writer. And he’s single and you should come.”
“I mean all of that would sound great if I was in the market for a poetic, speakeasy going writer. But…I’m not. I’m not in the market for anyone.”
“Anyone except…the father of your child?” she asks and I bolt out of my seat.
“Amber!”
“I’m sorry. But it’s obvious. You’re into him. You’re not getting over him. And you know what that means?” she asks.
“No. Because you’re wrong.”
“You need to talk to him.”
“Also wrong,” I tell her, stomping off to the kitchen for a glass of wine. It’s 2pm. I don’t care.
“Riley. You can’t move on from a man if you aren’t over that man. Especially when that man is the fa–”
“Don’t! Say it.” I run my hand over my face for a moment before staring at the glass of wine I just poured. What has my life become? “I will figure it out, okay? And if I figure it out, whatever it is, does that get me a hallpass from going on a double date with the poet?”
“I don’t know why anyone would want a hallpass from a poet but sure. I’m just worried about you, Ri,” she says.
I know. I’m worried about me too.
We hang up and I turn the glass on the table, not sure what to do next. On one hand, money is not a huge issue right now. I have a little saved up and Noah is being taken care of. On the other hand, I need to make sure I am landing some jobs soon. Big ones. I need to call the Devrese family.
And I need to not drink wine at 2pm. It looks bad.
I pick the glass up with the intention to pour it back into the bottle. But then Noah comes skipping back in.
“Mommy! I want to invite people to the play I’m going to be in.”
“Okay, love. We can figure that out,” I say, holding the glass and the bottle over the sink and knowing full well that half the wine is going to end up in the sink.
“I already made a list!” he says, pulling out a piece of paper with bright marker scribbles on it.
“Oh, well, look at you,” I say. Yep, there goes some of the wine. Fuck.
“Brianna, Bailey, Amber, Joey from school. Miss Carlotta because she’s the best teacher ever. Denise because she’s the best nurse ever. And Cameron, of course.”
I stop pouring.
“Oh, buddy, I don’t know if Cameron is going to want to come–”
“Of course he will. He’s family.”
The next sentence comes out of my mouth way more stern than I ever intended. “No, Noah. Doctor Reinhart is not family. He’s your doctor.”
“Well, I think he’s family!” he says. “And why are you calling him that? His name is Cameron.”
“Noah–” I sigh.
“No, Mom. I want him there. What’s going on with you guys?”
I set the bottle on the counter and run my hand through my hair, closing my eyes. “Nothing is going on, Noah.”
“Then why don’t we see him anymore?” he presses.
“He’s a doctor, honey. He’s working.”
“Well, why don’t you answer when he calls? Your phone rings a lot and I know it’s him. I know how to spell his name.”
I bite my lips. Because what else am I going to do?
Then his lips quiver. “Are you guys fighting?”
“Kind of…” I admit and Noah’s sadness turns to anger.
“Well, fix it, Mama. If something is broke, fix it. Because I wished for a dad, remember. And you guys are ruining it!”
With that, he marches off to his room and slams the door. And with a cannon ball sized hole in my already obliterated heart, I drink the fucking wine.