61. Famous #2
We sit in silence. I want to turn the radio on, for the silence is deafening.
However, I don’t turn the radio on. It seems Mrs Jones enjoys the silence, as I’m reminded of when Conner complained in the car on our way back from the hospital.
However, Mrs Jones ignored him, and the vehicle fell silent.
At the time, I didn’t mind it, for I was too tired and stressed to think about music.
But now, I wasn’t sure what to talk about with her, or if she wanted to talk.
When we get to her driveway, she parks on the curb. Mr Jones comes out of their home, a grin stretching across his face. As I step out, Mrs Jones skips to Mr Jones’ side, and as she places an arm around him, Mr Jones hands me a car key. “Happy birthday!” they exclaim.
I blink a few times, struggling to come to terms with what is happening.
Mrs Jones points to her driveway, and the dark blue, extremely shiny Toyota Yaris is parked in her driveway. Then I notice the large, red bow on the hood.
“Pardon,” I breathe.
“It’s yours,” Mrs Jones says with glee. “We were thinking about what to get you, and at first, we thought of you having your own place.”
What?
“But Conner didn’t like the idea of having two homes, and I didn’t want to get rid of the apartment. Noah and Charlotte will probably use it when they’re older.”
“So, I thought of a car,” Mr Jones interjects with a proud smile. “And we went shopping and found the Toyota Yaris. It has some miles on it. The car was used for test runs. We wanted a new one, but they said it would take a few months, and we wanted you to have it now.”
My eyes widen in disbelief. This is how I know the rich don’t care about money.
They bought me a car. Someone they barely know.
Someone who hasn’t been dating their son for more than a month, a car.
It’s too far-fetched. And now I’m contemplating if I got shot, and this is my form of heaven. This is too unreal as I ogle the car.
They didn’t get me a cute card. Something small that costs only ten dollars at most. They got me a car, and I’m unsure what to say or how to repay them. This is too much. It’s too thoughtful and too much to give to me.
“So, what do you think?” Mrs Jones asks.
I shake my head and raise my arm with the key.
“I can’t take it,” I say. “I’ll never be able to repay you…
And… and what if Conner and I don’t make it?
What if one day he wakes up and doesn’t want to be with me—same with me…
probably not,” I mutter the last part. “But what if that’s the case? You’re wasting money.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mrs Jones answers, and Mr Jones agrees. “We’re giving you this car. And if you and Conner part ways—not like he’d ever let you go—this is still your car, and we’d never take it away from you.”
Mrs Jones touches my hand and makes me close it into a fist, clenching the key. “This is a gift from us to you. Take it.”
I look away from them and blink rapidly, hoping the tears suck back into my eye sockets. “Thank you for everything,” I quiver, my lip trembling and the tears I didn’t want to spill slipping down my cheeks.
Mrs Jones grabs my arm and pulls me to the car. “Let’s take it for a test drive, shall we?”
The inside smells new. The smell of newness, like drinking in a crisp book or smelling the inside of a container you just bought. The car smell is intoxicating.
The inside is leather, and my skin melts into the leather fabric. Mrs Jones sits on the passenger side, explaining that the newer cars don’t need me to twist to turn on. So, I push the start button–the car hums to life, a soft purr.
I ease out of the driveway—Mr Jones waves before I drive down the street. I’m driving slower than expected for two reasons. It’s a new car and possibly worth more than my life. And it’s been a long time since I’ve driven a car.
Now that I think about it, it makes sense. Eight months ago, Dad stopped bringing his police car around the home, thus leaving him to take the only car available. It’s been eight months since I’ve driven a car.
I’m nervous.
“Oh, before I forget, Olivia called me yesterday. I gave her your phone number, and she said she’d call you sometime this week about your job. I explained why your dad told her you’re quitting, and she’s more than willing to let you return to your job.”
I smile, feeling my heart flutter. “Thank you.”
As we slow down at a red light, I eye Mrs Jones. Then, I eye the radio. I’ll turn it on when Mrs Jones leaves the car.
My hand tightens on the wheel, and as I observe the sign stating the hospital is a few kilometres away, another thought comes to mind.
“Um…” I tighten my hold further on the wheel, noticing my knuckles turn white. “Do you know how my mum is?”
Mrs Jones lowers her sights to her lap. Then she turns to me.
“She’s still at the hospital, but,”—she sighs—“she’s not well, Noya.
Your mum is now undergoing withdrawal and lashing out at everyone she sees.
I tried entering her room twice until I told the doctor they should take her to a rehabilitation facility once she’s calmed down and stops self-harming. ”
“Oh…”
“If you wanted to see her, I suggest waiting a month after she’s in rehabilitation. Maybe two. From what I’ve seen, she’s been abusing pain medication and… other illegal drugs for a long time.”
“I don’t want to,” I admit, grimacing. “She’s only done two good things in my life. She lied when I snuck out the window and held Dad down the morning before the police arrived. Two good deeds don’t make up for the thousands of times Dad put his hands on me.”
“And you’re right for feeling that way.”
I smile weakly.
I do, and I have a right to feel like this.
I drop Mrs Jones home, and as I get to the end of her street, I look towards the right, in the direction of the apartment, and then left, towards that house.
I take a deep breath and flick my blinker left.