Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ivy
It's one thing to kiss Romeo in front of his family. It's not exactly difficult, staring into his eyes like I'm desperate to feel his skin against mine.
But opening our books?
Showing our bank account balance?
That's a whole other level of intimacy.
"Mama, we've only been dating for three months." There's a playfulness to Romeo's voice. He's trying to make this seem easy. But I hear the strain too.
After all, it's one thing to lie about a relationship.
It's another to lie about your entire life.
Amara looks him in the eyes and laughs as if he's the silliest boy in the entire world. "Of course. I don't expect the same from you and Ivy I do from Daniel and Cynthia."
This doesn't placate him.
"She doesn't need to know how much you have in your 401k. Or exactly what you paid for your condo," she says. "Sweetheart, you know money bores me. Do I need to call in Daniel? To guide you."
"No. I've got it," he says.
"How do you pay for that condo?" She wonders aloud. "It's such a nice place."
His eyes flit to mine, but he doesn't say anything.
I should jump in, I know. I shouldn't watch him squirm.
But it feels good, after watching him run away from the chance to talk. And I won't let it go on for too long.
Just for one second.
I swear.
After all, he needs a story. If he wants her to trust him with her money, he needs to prove he's responsible with his.
Maybe he should tell her the truth. I'm sure it's impressive. If he can afford that beautiful apartment, he's making a lot of money. And all from his ability to sell himself.
So, she needs a different story.
And I know just what to say.
"Romeo has been lying to you," I say.
Horror spreads over his expression. "You don't have to explain, Ivy."
"No. I want to," I say. "The truth is, we didn't meet at a bar, to have a fun time. We met because I hired him."
His face goes pale.
"My friend recommended him. She worked with him after her divorce. That's what he does. He helps women get their groove back after divorce. Or after their husband dies," I say.
Amara's face loses similar color. "You mean, he…"
"Helps with their finances, yes," I say.
His shoulders fall.
She nods oh, of course.
I reach under the table and squeeze his hand. I try to send listen, I've got this vibes through the air. I don't. But I try. "He didn't want me to tell you. He thought you wouldn't approve of this kind of business."
"This is what you're doing?" she asks. "Helping divorcees get back on their feet?"
"And widows," he says. "Women who used to rely on their husbands to take care of the, ahem, finances. I help them with it. Show them how to invest their pay-outs, create a budget, stand on their own two feet."
"Why would I be against you helping women take care of themselves?" she asks.
"You have to admit…" His eyes go to me. "You've said unkind things about Ivy's divorce."
"No," she says.
"Yes," he holds strong.
I try to look anywhere else. Do they really need to discuss me like this?
"I understand why you see it that way," he says. "I understand your feelings about marriage. But you should know I see it as an asset. Failure is the best teacher. Dad always says that."
She nods your father does say that. "But it was so recent. You two… are you sure you're not rushing into things?"
"We're taking it slow." That's true. Sort of. In a certain way.
She nods, okay, accepting the answer, taking in the new image of Romeo as a sort of lonely woman's superhero.
He is.
Just not in the way she expects.
"How much do you charge for this?" she asks.
"Three hundred dollars an hour," he says. "Or two-thousand dollars for a complete financial plan, for women with assets over four-hundred thousand dollars."
"Are you talking to divorce lawyers?" she asks. "You could get more clients."
I stifle a laugh. That's a funny imagine. Romeo soliciting clients outside the family courthouse.
He looks to me with a smile.
Amara shakes her head. "Why is this funny?"
"Because we've already had our first fight," he says. "Because I work too much. Ivy wants more time with me."
Amara nods her approval. "Are you aligned there? Do you have the same financial goals?"
"I already own my apartment," he says.
She looks to me. "And you?"
"I owned a place with my ex. He bought me out.
" That was another way I felt like I was going backwards.
From homeowner to renter. At first, I hated it.
I hated the temporary feeling of being in an apartment.
But I've learned to appreciate it. "I want to stay in my own place for a while. At least a year."
I expect Amara to balk, but she doesn't. She nods. "Is this one thing you tell women? To keep their own apartment?"
"If it makes sense for them financially," he says. "It's cheaper to share the rent."
"But it makes you vulnerable too," she says. "You need to consider that."
"I'll keep that in mind," he says.
"I'm glad you have Ivy." She nods. "You need her point-of-view, as a divorcee. Otherwise, you'll miss things. Men always do."
My cheeks flush. This is the last thing I expect—acceptance from a woman who usually hates divorce.
She moves on quickly. "How much did you make last year?"
"Mama, I didn't share my tax return with Ivy. It's only been three months," he says.
"So, share now. How much?" she asks.
"Almost two-hundred thousand dollars," he says.
Her eyes go wide. "More than Daniel."
He beams. I recognize the expression from Meredith. It's younger sibling pride. The thrill of finally beating the older sibling.
She waves her hand. "Let's not go too deep on such a boring topic." She looks to Ivy. "And you're a therapist, yes?"
I nod.
"Do you work for an employer?" she asks. "Or do you run your own practice?"
"I run my own business." I don't see clients anymore, but I do make money talking to people.
“And how does that do?”
"Well enough that I pay my own bills and save," I say. Well, as long as we don’t lose our sponsors.
"But it can grow or shrink at any time?" she asks.
"It's like any business, yes." I nod.
"And right now? Is it growing or shrinking?" she asks.
"Uh, I don't have the numbers offhand," I say.
"Mama, give Ivy a break. She didn't come here expecting an audit," he says.
Amara nods, accepting this concept but not quite backing down. "Can you ballpark it for me? How much do you expect to make this year?"
"Not as much as Romeo," I say. "But enough. And we do well. If you give me five minutes, I can check a few numbers, let you know how things are growing." Or continuing to decline.
She nods and motions for me to go.
Romeo objects. "We aren't here to go over my girlfriend's business."
We're not. But now that she's asked, I'm curious. How did the last two episodes land? How are we doing?
I've been caught up in this strange set of family circumstances I haven’t even been thinking of it.
As Romeo and his mother affectionately bicker, I sneak to the bathroom inside, and I pull up my podcast app.
We're there. On the front page.
Featured.
My episode on Romeo went viral.
My emails are flush with people who want more details, listeners who think I've gone too far, advertisers looking to buy promotion on an up-and-coming podcast.
Everything we want.
I forward an email to Meredith.
She replies with a text.
Meredith: I saw! We're killing it, Doctor O. Pretty soon you won't even need my stories anymore. Keep milking that cash cow, girl. With how well episode two went, I’m promising the listeners a series.
Which is fine.
I've got another two days here.
That's plenty of time to get to business.
That's what I need to do now.
Get more material.
I return to the table, give Amara a run down on my finances, and the growing size of my audience, uh, client list.
Then I suggest our evening activity.
We've tackled money.
Now, we're moving to sex.
On our terms.
My terms.
And I know exactly what I want this time.
I want to put my other skill set to use.
I want to record this. The two of us, together, solely for my own purposes.
For once, I want to record something that’s only for me.
For this one time, I want the experience to be all mine.