Chapter Twenty-Three Nomi
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NOMI
I wish I had a nice, normal self-destructive habit.
Drunk-texting exes, like Graham. Falling in love with bartenders, like Eve.
Spending two hundred bucks at the Container Store on organizational systems I never implement, like Mom.
But no, in this regard, I am a classic overachiever.
Whenever life is going great, I get sick.
When life is going badly, I get even sicker.
I haven’t been able to eat for three days.
Every time I do, the cramping begins. Painful, gripping cramps that feel like burning ropes wrapped around my insides, searing into me.
I spend half my days in the bathroom, begging for the attack to begin so the painful cramps will finally stop.
But that’s another way Crohn’s screws with you.
When there’s no bathroom, or you’re stuck in traffic, or your plane’s beginning the ascent and it’s federally illegal to get up, that’s when the urgency hits.
But when you’re home, safe and alone? The cramps persist for hours.
The kind of pain you can’t watch TV through, or play on your phone, or do anything other than rock back and forth and beg for it to stop.
But tonight, I’m not home, safe and alone.
I’m at my dispensary-that-can’t-dispense, in a booth with Julian, Veronica, and Vinny, discussing our case for the fourth night this week, which means I’m on borrowed time.
The only way I’ve been able to hang as long as I have is by starving myself and taking frequent hits off my heaviest CBD strain.
It’s very low on THC, and my mind’s still clear, but I feel Julian’s eyes every time I press the vape to my lips.
I take a small sip of my protein shake, the only thing sustaining me this week, and nod at whatever Veronica’s saying.
She’s listing other boundary-pushing businesses that have been granted approval, outlining how they’re similar to Stranger Drugs so we should be approved, too.
Vinny’s taking notes, making thoughtful arguments, and Julian’s sitting there, half in awe of his cousins’ fast-paced back-and-forth strategizing, half with a worried eye on me.
After Edna’s impromptu Save Stranger Drugs cookout last weekend, it’s been a D’Angelo full-court press ever since.
While Vinny and Veronica are heading the legal front, Edna is overseeing the family’s social-political machinations, all from her bedside.
It was truly something to behold, how this tiny, sick woman lit up with a problem to solve and a mission to execute, surrounded by her loving family.
I felt guilty seeing Edna muster so much effort when my own motivation feels like air leaking from a punctured tire.
But that’s always what happens when I have a bad flare-up—my will gets drained away as weight peels off, and my disease starves me into depressed, resentful submission.
“I’ll draft up the business comparators section of the brief, you take the introduction, legal standards, and persuasive case law supporting the commercial zoning designation.
” Veronica pins Vinny with her gaze, but he just gives her a thumbs-up as he jots more notes.
He glances up at me, a thick, shiny lock escaping his slicked-back hair.
“How’re the community testimonials going? D’you have your volunteers lined up?”
I shift in my seat, sitting straighter. “Yep. I’ve got three clients to speak on our behalf, and written letters of support from five others.”
Vinny frowns. “We need more, a blitz. We need the Commission to realize that everyone they’ve ever admired and respected will go apeshit if they don’t have access to your dispensary.”
My belly instantly clenches, but Julian covers my hand with his. “We’re on it.” He looks at me, a half-smile exposing one slutty dimple. “If we can get half the people that terrorized me on your behalf to help, that’ll be plenty.”
God, he’s hot. But the cramp seizing me digs in, and sweat dots my forehead. I slip my hand out from underneath his and try to smile back. “I’ll—send another text out.”
He frowns a little as I make more distance between us, but I hate being touched when I’m sick.
“What about the Tonuto sabotage angle?” I ask.
Veronica’s lacquered lips form a straight line. “Tonuto’s the city council representative for the Commission and attends every meeting. We can’t afford to bring it up unless we have hardcore evidence against him.”
“I don’t know if it’s worth it.” Vinny grimaces. “We’ll be making an enemy for life, Veronica.”
“Everybody knows Tonuto’s up to shit.” Veronica takes a long pull from her seltzer. “We just have to catch him at it. Has anyone talked to his guy Wilson?”
Vinny rolls his eyes. “Wilson’s never gonna spill against Tonuto while he’s on the payroll.”
“What about Sammy DiFiore?” Everyone stops to look at me.
“From Sammy’s Steaks?” Vinny frowns. “Why him?”
“He seems to be Wilson’s number one punching bag.” I shrug. “Maybe he’s got Tonuto theories.”
“Can’t hurt,” Veronica says. “Nomi, you talk to Sammy. I’ll try shaking something out of Wilson.”
After Vinny and Veronica head out, Julian hangs around while I lock up.
“Alright, then. Good night.” My voice chirps with a false brightness, and I start walking down the sidewalk.
“Nomi, wait.” Julian places a too-warm hand on my shoulder. The feeling makes me cringe in the already muggy air. “Can I drive you home?”
I shrug off his hand. “No, that’s okay. I want to walk.”
“You’ve been vaping a lot tonight. Are you—”
“I’m not stoned, and even if I was, I’d be fine to walk home.” My smile turns tight.
Julian frowns. “I know—I saw you pack the vape with the high CBD, low THC strain that you got for Ms. Peters’s fibromyalgia. I was going to ask whether you’re feeling alright.” His eyes study my face, my sweat-damp hair, the dark circles beneath my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I soften beneath his caring, concerned eyes.
I didn’t realize he’d recognize what I was using.
But of course Julian would. He’s one of the most observant people I’ve ever known.
The fact that he was watching me, not out of judgment like I’d feared but out of knowing concern, reminds me how much he’s grown.
“Is it anxiety?” He offers his hand, and this I can take. I slide my palm against his, letting him clasp his strong fingers around mine. “About the hearing?”
I exhale deeply, grateful for the excuse that’s as true even as it’s not. “Yeah, it’s just—really stressing me out.”
“Let me take you home. Let me help.”
“You’re already helping so much.” Even though Julian’s full time at the clinic, he spends every non-working hour deep in case preparation beside me.
He’s been relentless, even when I’ve been too sick to work and forced to scrounge up excuses covering my absence, he keeps on anyway, carrying the work forward on my behalf.
“Nomi,” he says my name so softly. “Please?”
Ugh, I’m a slut for his begging. I can’t keep avoiding alone time with him forever, and more than that, I don’t want to.
This last week, I’ve missed Julian. It feels crazy since I see him almost every day at our working sessions, but every night, I’ve pushed him away, keeping my distance, trying to give my body the privacy it needs to be sick.
But a ride home can’t hurt, can it?
I breathe out. “Okay.”
The short, air-conditioned drive to my house is admittedly much more pleasant than the longer humid walk would’ve been. When he arrives, he runs his fingers along the steering wheel then smiles at me sweetly. “Can I come inside?”
“Julian, I—” I begin, feeling guilty and torn and so tired of my body making choices I hate for me.
“It’s okay. I understand why you don’t want me to.”
My eyes widen.
“I’ve done nothing but make your life complicated since I’ve returned, and while I’m trying to undo all the damage I’ve caused, I haven’t fixed any of it yet.
I don’t deserve to be with you when I’ve done so much wrong, but I swear to you, I’m going to make it right.
I don’t want you to pretend you’re not angry with me when you have every right to be.
I just—miss you, and I want to be with you a little longer, if that’s okay.
” He leans his head against the headrest, still facing me.
“I’ll be quiet. I’ll do your dishes, or laundry, or whatever you need.
Just—please. Don’t make me leave. Not yet. ”
My heart squeezes at the little boy staring at me through this man’s eyes, still convinced he doesn’t deserve love until he earns it.
I hate that this hearing has become another external contest he believes he must win to be worthy of acceptance.
But I’m not willing to tell him the real reason I’ve been hiding from him, either.
This—whatever it is between us—just began, and I’m not confident it could survive the truth of my disease.
I’ve only just gotten Julian to accept the value cannabis has for other people’s health.
How will he look at me when he learns I need it to cope, too?
Like I’m something broken that needs to be fixed?
That I’m his patient to be treated instead of a woman who wants his touch?
How could a doctor who wholeheartedly believes in Western medicine understand why I’ve spent the last five years running from it?
Would he really be able to hear how it’s failed me, over and over again?
Would he believe me?
Because I don’t think I could handle it if he didn’t.
The cramps seize my middle, and my eyes sting with tears. I have to go, now. “I’m sorry, Julian. I—can’t. Not tonight.”
His face crumples in disappointment as I bound out of the car and race to my front door, barely making it inside in time.