She swallowed and stabbed the other piece of sausage with her fork. “I’m alright,” she mumbled. “Listen, I know you guys want to talk about Jesse. I know you think I ran off with him.”
Her mother cleared her throat and folded her arms. “Well, didn’t you?”
Stuffing the other piece of sausage in her mouth, Naomi shrugged. “I might have,” she said through her chewing. She watched the emotions play across her mother’s face. Confusion, anger, a hint of desperation.
“Either way,” her father said firmly, “we’d like it if you saw another counselor. Running off to Italy, with or without Jesse, was a drastic thing to do. We both feel you need more guidance right now.”
Naomi opened her mouth to object, but her father continued.
“Now, I have no idea why you left without trying to get a visa, but to me, that makes it all the more clear Jesse had a hand in this. In fact, we know he did. When the investigator your mother hired started digging into your phone records, he found a text from Jesse asking you about a passport.”
Naomi pushed another sausage around her plate as she recalled the text. Crap.
“Jesse’s father has told us what he’s capable of doing. I doubt he’ll ever be caught.”
“No,” Naomi said, setting her fork down, “he won’t.” She looked from her father to her mother and then down at her plate. The scrambled eggs were untouched and probably cold by now. Her stomach flipped over.
“Right now, it doesn’t matter,” her mother said in a calm voice. Naomi looked up at her, noticing she was dressed in her usual whites and creams. “We want you to know we’re here for you no matter what happens.” She paused and then put on the stupid forced smile again. “It would be nice if you could communicate with us more from now on. You can’t possibly imagine what you’ve put us through. You—”
Naomi lifted a hand and her mother stopped talking. “You should be happy Jesse is gone for good. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“That’s ... that’s good,” her mother said. Naomi could practically see the weight lifting from her shoulders.
“Glad you think so.” Naomi put her napkin on the table and stood. “I’ll see whatever counselors you want me to see. I’ll do whatever you want as long as I’m living here, but please don’t ask me about Italy. Ever.”
Her mother nodded as Naomi left the room. She wasn’t sure if she should feel guilty or good for standing up for herself, but part of her knew it didn’t matter. She had hurt her parents deeply by running off to Italy after everything that had happened. Nothing was going to fix it.
THE DEFINITION of a prison is a place or condition of confinement or forcible restraint. Naomi knew her parents weren’t restraining her inside their home, but in many ways, she felt as if they were since she had no car and nowhere else to go. She still had the money she had brought from Italy, but she didn’t dare spend it. She wanted to save it for when she finally did get on her own two feet. Her bedroom was a prison. Their house was a prison. Her entire life was a prison, she realized, and it was her own fault. It would be a long time before she could live completely on her own. She typed all this to Finn over a chat program and waited for him to respond. A little bubble with ellipses popped up in the window, indicating he was typing a response.
This was the third time she had chatted with Finn and the third time she felt a breath of fresh air amid all the stuffiness of her mother’s overbearing control and the several investigators she had been forced to talk to. Tomorrow, another one was coming by. She already dreaded her mother insisting she brush her hair and put on decent clothes. If only she could scream at them to go away and leave her alone. She wouldn’t admit knowing where Jesse was ... because she didn’t know where he was. She wouldn’t admit she had spent two weeks with him in Italy. She didn’t care that they had found her and Jesse’s text correspondence. It wasn’t proof that she had left with him. There was no proof, and she wouldn’t admit to anyone what had really happened, even Finn.
I’m sorry you’re feeling so trapped, he typed. I’m sorry I can’t help you very much.
She stared at his words, not feeling very comforted by them. He had admitted earlier he was still with Carly, but that hadn’t stopped her from asking if they could still be friends. She needed someone. He was nice enough at least to tell her he was happy to still be friends.
You’re helping by talking to me, she typed in return. I just don’t know what to do. I’ve been here for three weeks and I feel like I’m drowning.
She imagined him shaking his head and thinking, “I told you so.”
He responded, Do you want to come back to Harvard?
No, I can’t.
Why?
She paused with her fingers curled over the keys. Finally, she typed, I just can’t.
Okay, fair enough. Can you go to another school? What about USC?
She looked up at the ceiling and swallowed. She wasn’t sure she was ready for anything that big yet. She had unpacked all of her art supplies from Italy, but they were piled in her closet, untouched. One day she would touch them again, when drawing wouldn’t remind her of five billion bad things.
I can’t go to USC. Not yet.
Okay, but I’ll bet you’d be happier if you moved out to be on your own again. I know you can’t right now, but eventually.
She laughed out loud. Again? I was never on my own. Ever. Not really. Not like you.
Like me?
Yeah, you have a job. You provide for yourself.
Two minutes passed before he typed, Heh, barely, and my mom helps out some, but at least I got accepted to Harvard, right? At least I’ve told her the truth now.
She warmed up inside, reading those words. He had already told her once that he had been accepted and told his mother about his big lie, but every time she thought about him overcoming such a hurdle, her admiration for him expanded. He had wanted to tell her while she was in Italy, she realized. That was what his text had been about.
I’m proud of you, she typed, thinking carefully about what she wanted to say. I wish I could make such big changes in my life, but every time I try, I fail.
A minute passed as the typing bubble popped up. Naomi went over to her closet and pulled out a folder she had brought from Italy. She sat back down and flipped through it. Inside were sketches of Trastevere and the winding streets. In one, she had drawn Jesse sitting at an outdoor café. It had been chilly that day, but there was no more room inside, so they zipped up their jackets and ate outside. The smile she had drawn on his face was calm and peaceful. A part of her wanted to crumple up the page and toss it into the trashcan. The other part of her wanted to cradle it to her chest as she stared at the little ellipses on the screen. Finally, Finn’s words appeared.
So I guess I’ll go into counseling mode again, the message read. Remember when I told you to make sure you knew what you wanted before taking off with Jesse?
She stopped reading for a moment, realizing how positive he was that she had left with Jesse. He knew her better than she wanted to admit. Shaking off the thought, she kept reading the message.
Well, I remember thinking you had no idea what you wanted. You kept saying you wanted to be with Jesse. That was your main goal. I think more than that, what you have always wanted was something a lot deeper. I guess my question for you is did you find that ‘something’ when you went to Italy?
Sitting back in her chair, she folded her arms and stared at the screen. She didn’t know how to answer the question. Had she found something deeper? She had at least realized she wanted to live an honest life. She had realized how dependent she was and how much she hated that feeling. She hated that her father had flown home with her. She hated that she was stuck back in her old bedroom with nothing in her future. She hated that the only person she felt she could lean on now was a guy she couldn’t have.
She put her hands on the keys and started typing as her mind reeled in circles.
I want to be independent, sh
e wrote. I want to be my own person and earn my own way. I’ve always been the ‘rich girl’ or ‘Brad’s girl’ or ‘that girl who fell in love with her kidnapper’. I don’t want to be that anymore. I want to be just plain old Naomi. Boring. With a job in a café or something. She paused for a long while, waiting for him to respond, and then she typed, Like you.
Are you saying I’m boring?
She laughed. Yeah, kinda ... but I like that. A lot.
A little smiley face popped up and she typed one in return.
I should get a job, she wrote.
Another smiley face from Finn. How come? Because you want to support yourself or because you really want to work?
Another minute passed and Naomi looked at the open folder of sketches. The top one was of dragons. She didn’t break into a sweat when she looked at them anymore.
Maybe a little of both, she typed. I feel bad for wasting my parents’ money.
Understandable. He paused for a minute before typing, but I think you should let them keep helping you while you need it.
Yeah.
I gotta go, Naomi. I’m late for meeting Carly somewhere.
She cursed under her breath.
No problem. Thanks for talking, Finn.
Good luck!
Naomi stared at the screen after he was logged off. Then she opened a web browser to a search engine and typed in the word chef.
XXVI
January
CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT. NAOMI convinced her mother not to hire someone to put up a tree, and instead went with her into town to buy a fresh-cut pine. With a lot of grunting and cursing, she helped her mother stuff a small tree into the back of the SUV. She could smell pine sap on her fingers for two days after that. Her father bought lights and helped string them up. For the first time in weeks, Naomi smiled as she and her parents stood back and looked at the tree.
“It’s lopsided,” her mother said as she pressed two fingers to her lips and tilted her head. “It’s not nearly as pretty as it would be if Id hired—”
“It’s perfect, Karen,” her father interrupted with a glance at Naomi. “Enjoy it.”
Now, the second week into January, Naomi passed by the sitting room where the tree had been and frowned at the empty space. No more falling needles. No more spicy pine smell. It had reminded her of Stacy’s office, but that wasn’t why she liked it. The smell had been something foreign to the house. Something new. Smiling at the memory, she rounded the corner in search of her mother. There was a workout room at the end of the hallway. It was the only room she hadn’t checked yet.
Stopping in the doorway, she stared open-mouthed at her mother holding a perfect tree pose—one foot held flat against the opposite upper thigh, her arms stretched high above her head with her palms pressed together. Her eyes were closed as she listened to soothing nature sounds playing in the background. Naomi didn’t say anything. Instead, she grabbed hold of the doorframe and remembered all the yoga she had done with Evelyn at the house. It had become a ritual—one Naomi missed. Watching her mother now made her want to stretch and reach and bend her body in ways she knew would hurt now that she was so out of practice.
“Naomi!”
Naomi brought her attention back to her mother. She had lowered her foot to the floor and stood rigid, her eyes wide open.
“Mom, I didn’t know ... sorry, I was just trying to find you to ask if I can borrow the car.”
“Of course you can borrow the car.” Pink crept across her cheeks, as if she had been caught red-handed at a crime scene. Her exercise clothes were bright purple and teal. That was odd, considering all she ever wore was white and cream.
“Okay, thanks.”
“May I ask what for?”
Naomi paused, halfway turned to leave. She returned the doorway. “Nothing,” she said, and swallowed a lump in her throat.
“Oh.” The blush on her mother’s cheeks disappeared. “I was going to tell you about a phone call I received yesterday. It was from your advisor at Harvard.”
Naomi blanched. She didn’t want to think about Harvard. “Kate?” she asked, the lump in her throat returning. “She must hate me. She always told me I had so much potential. Then I dropped out.”
Her mother shrugged as she approached Naomi. “I suppose she thinks you still have potential because she said you have a chance to accept your scholarship again. I had to explain your situation and talk to the right people, but your appeal went through.”
Naomi looked down at her hands and shifted her feet. A moment ago she was excited to go to her first interview. Now she faced something that would render a job unnecessary. Unless, of course, she decided not to look at it in terms of money. It was more than that. It was about working outside of a school setting. It was about figuring out what she truly wanted. Squaring her shoulders, she looked her mother in the eyes and said, “I don’t want to go back to Harvard.”
It was as if a grenade had landed in the middle of the room and they were both waiting for it to explode. Her mother’s expression fell and then twisted into confusion. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Naomi thought about all the time she had wasted, all the money spent on tuition and living expenses, all the stress over homework and grades—and for what? Maybe it was about money, in a way, at least for her parents. She said, “I’ll pay you and Dad back, somehow. You paid for the last semester I didn’t even finish. I’ll—”
“No,” her mother interrupted, swiping a hand over her face as if to brush away her confusion. “It’s about our trust in you, not what you think you owe us. We want to help you, and letting you live here with us until you’re on your own two feet is a part of that.” She narrowed her eyes. “So don’t ever feel like you have to pay us back.”
Naomi watched the confusion on her face melt away. “Then I hope you’ll understand why I’ve applied for a job. It’s not for money. It’s for me.”
Her mother shook her head as her mouth dropped open. “A job? Where?”
“A little café in town. They were advertising for a kitchen assistant. It’s just cleaning, mostly, but I can work my way up. I want to ... I want to be a chef. Maybe when I’m feeling more on my own, I can go to school for it.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I need to leave soon to get to my interview.”
Her mother opened her mouth again. Her shoulders dropped.
“Mom?”
“I thought you wanted to do art.”
“Cooking is art. At least it is to me. Don’t worry, I’ll keep helping out at the foundation.”
She turned and left before she was sucked into an argument about how cooking might not be a wise career choice. Her mind was still reeling from discovering her mother did yoga.
WORKING WAS not what Naomi had thought it would be, but she kept at it. Sometimes, if she was helping out at the foundation on a day she worked at the café, she would wake up at seven in the morning and not get home until eleven at night. The foundation was emotionally exhausting, while her café job was physically exhausting, but she wanted it that way. She welcomed it. She thought about how hard Finn worked, and her parents too. She wanted to be a part of that world, even if it meant scraping food off plates and burning her hands in scalding, soapy water.
Another assistant in the kitchen recognized her name and started asking her about Jesse and the kidnapping. Her name was Alyssa. She had colored streaks in her hair just like Carly. Naomi hated her from the start.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she said as she scrubbed a dish clean.
Alyssa was scrubbing a pan. She had bubbles all the way up to her knobby elbows. “Well, alright, but I think it’s funny how you work here at the bottom of the employment chain when your daddy is CEO of a huge company and your mommy’s a lawyer. Can’t they afford to send you to school? Did they make you get a job?” She grunted as a nasty smile spread across her lips.
Fighting the urge to throw hot water in Alyssa’s face, Naomi pursed h
er lips shut. The longer she scrubbed and stared at the bubbles skimming across the top of the water, the more she remembered Stacy’s comment that she needed to let both pieces of her life come together. Jesse had tried to separate it all and ended up sliding back into his old habits. The whole point of her getting a job and learning how to work and stand on her own two feet was to move forward and create something new out of who she already was. The point was not to run away and ignore things.
She let go of the dish and watched it sink to the bottom of the huge stainless steel tub. Turning to Alyssa, she pulled her arms out of the water and dried them on a towel tucked into the front pocket of her apron.
“You know, it’s people like you I’ve been hiding from my whole life,” she said in a calm, even voice. “You judge me and push me around and you don’t even know me ... and the worst part is I let you do it.”
Alyssa looked up, her lips twitching as if she couldn’t decide if Naomi was serious or not.
“Yes, I was kidnapped,” she continued, “and yes, I’m a ‘rich girl’, but that’s not who I am. I’m working here because I’ve never had a job before and this was all I could get. I want to work in a kitchen and learn how it all functions. Someday I’m going to be a chef, and you’ll still be standing here scrubbing dishes and feeling sorry for yourself.”
Alyssa opened her mouth, but Naomi wasn’t about to let her get a word in edgewise, and kept going.
“As for me, I’m sick and tired of feeling sorry for myself, so if you have questions about my past, ask them and I’ll answer, but don’t expect me to stand here and take it while you make fun of me.” She leaned forward. “Got it?”
Alyssa closed her mouth as she searched Naomi’s face. The stupid colored streaks in her hair didn’t make Naomi angry anymore. She didn’t care if they reminded her of Carly. She had no right to hate Carly, anyway. If she was what Finn wanted, so be it. She would move on and do whatever would make her happy. Period. And right now, as strange as it seemed, that was washing dishes.
Smiling to herself, she dipped her hands back into the water and started scrubbing the dish again.
Pieces (The Breakaway #2) Page 21
