by Portia Moore
“Ms. Carlisle, my job is to make sure you’re safe.”
“I’m going to see my family, which is the safest place I can think of. You work for Vincent, not me. He’s made that perfectly clear. I am going home, and you are not to follow me. I will call Mr. Jamison and let him know.”
April’s face is blank and still, and I don’t wait for her to respond or to see if she’s going to call Vincent. I hurry towards the elevator, already calling an Uber.
The minute I’m in the car, I dial Vincent’s number.
It rings and rings with no answer. Heart hammering in my chest, I try to sound as sweet and innocent as possible as I leave him a voicemail. “Vincent, I know you’re going to be upset when you hear I’ve left, but I need you to understand. My dad is really sick. I got the call after you’d already left. I can’t wait long enough to get ahold of you. I have to go home and help my mom.” I take a deep breath. “I won’t be gone long, I promise. Just please…don’t be angry. This isn’t about you, or us. It’s about my family. I don’t know how long my dad has.”
The tears that make my voice quiver at the end of the voicemail aren’t an act. They slide down my cheeks as I slump back against the seat of the car, closing my eyes and hoping that the phone call will be enough.
Still, I try Vincent three more times on my way home. He doesn’t answer any of the calls, and I take out some cash from the ATM to have on me, just in case. I slide the three hundred dollars into my wallet and realize that very soon, if Vincent doesn’t take my side, this might be all the money I have left in the world.
Not only that—but I still love Vincent. The idea of never seeing him again, of never kissing him or feeling his body next to mine—it makes my heart constrict painfully in my chest, my eyes welling up with tears again. The cruel Vincent who stood over my chair and screamed at me a little while ago isn’t the man I know. And it’s breaking my heart because the Vincent I remember, I still love with all of my heart.
We can get back there, I know it. I tell myself that there must be some stress that I don’t know about, something with his business or some other reason why he’s so on edge. Why he keeps insisting he needs my undivided attention and support.
We’re just passionate. He loves me so much it drives him over the edge and makes him yell and lose his cool sometimes. It’s just because he’s afraid to lose me.
But still, I can’t help remembering what my once-best friend had told me, years ago, when I’d been in tears over my parents fighting—that they’d been madly in love once, too, or must have been. Before my mother found out who my dad truly was. Before he failed to be the man he’d promised her he’d be.
The ringing phone interrupts my thoughts. When I see it’s Vincent, I answer it with shaking hands.
“Poppy?” His voice is sharp and cold. “April called and told me that you’d left. You know what I said, Poppy. Did you think that I didn’t mean it?”
“Vincent, no.” I can feel the tears threatening again. “Didn’t you listen to any of my voicemails?”
“I just talked to April.” The harsh, frigid sound of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. “If you have an explanation, Poppy, make it quick.”
I can’t help it. I burst into tears, even though I know crying frustrates him. Through gasps and sobs, I manage to explain. “Please don’t be angry, Vincent,” I beg, keeping my voice low. “I left, yes. My mom called and told me that my dad is sick. He has liver cancer. My family can’t afford the kind of treatments he’ll need, and there aren’t very good doctors here…” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop. “I don’t know how long he has, and I need to be with my family…” A fresh sob spills from my mouth, and I try to catch my breath before I hyperventilate.
“Poppy…”
“Please, Vincent, I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t wait for you to come home, not with this happening.”
“Poppy!” His voice cuts through mine, interrupting me, but it’s softened. “Poppy, of course you couldn’t wait.” His tone is soothing now, gentle. “ I have a meeting but I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
The relief at his sudden lack of anger is overwhelming, almost dizzying. “Thank you. I love you,” I whisper into the phone.
The line goes dead, just before I realize he didn’t tell me that he loves me in return. But he is busy. He has a meeting. It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, as I get out of the Uber and head into the hospital. Everything will be fine.
He understands.
Seeing my father in a hospital bed is a bigger shock than I could have imagined. Erin isn’t there, but my mother is sitting beside him, her face and lips pale. She looks up quickly when I walk in and stands, hurrying towards me as she envelops me in a hug.
“Oh, Rain, sweetheart. I missed you,” she says into my hair as I squeeze her tightly. “I’m sorry we fought, I just…”
“You were worried about me. I understand,” I tell her gently. And I do. After all, haven’t I had some of the same fears lately? “I shouldn’t have been so upset with you, either. You were just looking out for me.” I look at my father, sleeping there hooked up to machines. “How is he?”
“The same.” In all the years of her supporting our family, I’ve never seen my mother look so drained and tired. “Erin is staying with friends. She’s been here a lot, but it’s really frightened her. I think she needs some space away from it.”
“That’s probably good. You should go home for a little while too, don’t you think? Have a shower, get some clean clothes. I’ll stay with him.”
My mother shakes her head firmly. “No, we can both go to the house for a little while. They gave him some strong painkillers. He’ll be asleep for a while.”
I’ve seen my father in many different states over the years, all usually involving some form of being drunk. But I’ve never seen him quite like this, and it’s more shocking than I expected. He looks so frail—almost as if he’s already started to disappear.
“Let’s go,” I tell my mother firmly. “You need some space from all of this, too.”
While my mom takes a shower, I go to the kitchen and heat up some leftover chili that I find in the refrigerator. As I set out cheese and sour cream and hot sauce to go on top of it, I get a good look at how full the fridge is and realize all over again that it’s because of how much I’ve been able to help that it doesn’t look bare, the way it did when I was younger.
But not because of me, not really. Because of Vincent.
The hard, cold truth is that without him, they would have none of this.
My mother finally comes out and sits at the table, her blonde hair damp around her face and wearing leggings and a long shirt. She sits down. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she says gratefully as I set the hot food down in front of her. “It’s been longer than it should have since I ate.”
We’re halfway through dinner when there’s a knock at the door. My mom sighs and yells that it’s open, and then there’s footsteps in the foyer. I glance at my mom. “Erin?” I start to say, and then my eyes go wide when I see Vincent come around the corner.
“Mrs. Carlisle, I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this. No, don’t get up,” he says quickly. He crosses the room to me, dropping a kiss on my forehead as his hand squeezes my shoulder, and then he looks at my mother.
“Vincent? I didn’t think you’d come here,” I start to say, but he’s not paying me any attention.
“Poppy told me about Mr. Carlisle,” he says, his face full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Carlisle.”
“You can call me Jenny,” my mother says. “After all, you’re about to be my son-in-law, right?” Her smile looks a little forced, but it’s more from tiredness than anything else.
“I am. So, you should call me Vincent, as well.” He sits down next to my mother, his hands between his knees as he leans forward. “Poppy tells me the situation is critical. That the cancer is advanced?”
My mother nods, the lines around her m
outh deepening. “It’s moving into the late stages. The doctors say there might be something out there, some experimental treatment that might help, but it’s nothing we have access to here. Even chemo and radiation…” She looks away.
“My mom works full time,” I say softly, looking at Vincent. “And my sister is still in school. There’s no one really to help, but I could stay and care for him…” My face is pleading as I look at the man I’m supposed to marry. The man who wants me by his side at all times. Trying to care for my father with everything already on her shoulders will break my mother. I know it.
“That’s not necessary,” Vincent says calmly.
“Vincent—”
“Poppy.” His voice is firm but kind. “Jenny, there’s no need to worry about your husband. I know an excellent doctor in Seattle, one of the best oncologists there is. His team is cutting-edge. I’ll pay for you and your husband to go there, and for all the treatment necessary. I trust you’re able to take family medical leave from your job?”
My mother nods, her eyes filling with tears. “Vincent, you don’t have to…”
“This is family, of course I do.” He says it as if there was never a question, as I stare at him in shock. “Whatever you need, Poppy and I will provide.” He beams at me, and I can’t find the words to speak.
My mother looks as if she might pass out. “Vincent, this is too much, really…”
“Not at all. What good is wealth if you can’t use it to help?”
My heart begins to climb up from the pit of anxiousness it was trapped in, and I feel terrible about all the thoughts I’ve had, the doubt, the anxiousness.
He loves me. Actions show love, not words. And this…this is better than a million rings or houses. My doubts are flying out the window, one after another. I’ve been wrong not to believe in him, in us. Everything else was, like I said, just a rough patch. This is the Vincent I love, the one I promised to marry. This is the man I know.
My mother flushes, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry I was unkind to you, Vincent,” she says quietly. “I hope that you can understand that I was just worried about my daughter. My children mean everything to me. I’m sure you’ll understand one day if you have them yourself. But still, there’s no excuse…”
“No need to say a thing,” Vincent says smoothly. “Water under the bridge. Just focus on caring for your husband, and I’ll take care of everything quickly and have my assistant make the travel arrangements. I want him healthy and home as soon as possible.”
“You’re too kind,” my mother says, her eyes glistening. “Like some kind of guardian angel. I’m really glad Rain has you in her life. I know she must be safe with you, if this is the way you treat her family.”
“I always treat her as she deserves,” Vincent says, with that same easy smile.
“I’m sorry that I missed your engagement. Which reminds me, I still haven’t seen your ring, Rain!” My mother looks at me, momentarily distracted from the seriousness of everything. Anxiety sweeps over me as I try to think of what excuse I can give her.
“She doesn’t have it right now, it’s being resized,” Vincent says smoothly, covering for me. For us. “She’ll have it back in no time, though.” He looks at me, and I can see the meaning behind the words.
“Well, I was hoping to see it, but I’m sure I will soon! I’m so happy for you both.” She smiles at Vincent. “I’m going to go get Rain’s old bedroom set up for the two of you, okay? Rain, get Vincent something to drink. I’ll be right back.” She sweeps out of the room, leaving me looking at Vincent with my heart racing.
When she leaves, Vincent faces me. “I’m sorry this is happening to your family, Poppy. But I’ll do all I can. It’s going to be okay, I promise you. He’ll have the best possible care.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and I can feel my heart filling with love for him all over again, the love that I’d been afraid might have been lost. “I’m so sorry we fought, Vincent—”
“Like I said, it’s water under the bridge. Going forward we’ll do better, Poppy. But with your father so sick…” he hesitates. “Maybe you should think of putting off school for a while, just a semester or two. It just isn’t the best idea right now. I need you by my side, and your mother needs your support as well. Surely you can see how the pressures of school, the time it takes, the homework and classes…well, it just wouldn’t be good for you. Or for us. I’ll be there for you and your family, but you need to do your part for your mother. And going to school just isn’t where your focus should be. You can see that, right?”
How can I argue with that? My family needs me, and Vincent needs me. He needs a wife to support him. My mother needs her daughter to support her. He’s not saying forever, just a little while. Waiting a year won’t kill me.
Vincent isn’t trying to control me. He’s just trying to help me see clearly, the way a partner should. He’s trying to make sure I don’t overburden myself, stretch myself too thin.
“You’re right,” I say quietly, and I see his shoulders relax slightly at that. “I’ll pull my name from the waitlist. We can talk about school later, when things are less hectic.”
“Good.” He sounds satisfied. “There’s one more thing, Poppy,” he says, and I try to smile even though the reality of me not attending school feels crushing.
“I want you to promise me that you won’t be speaking to Mallory anymore. I meant what I said before I left. A person like that has no place in our lives. She doesn’t see what I do for you or how much I care for you and your family, and now you see that, right?”
Why is he bringing this up now? How can I deny him anything after what he’s done? I’ll convince him later that Mallory means well, that she’s a good friend and is only worried about me, but it makes no sense to argue about that now. And how would I feel if one of Vincent’s friends talked about me that way? Wouldn’t I be hurt?
“I like Dena,” he continues. “She’s perfectly acceptable. But I don’t want to hear about or see Mallory again, and I expect that you will do the same. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” I agree, nodding.
“Now, I brought this for you.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out the black velvet box with my ring in it. “I think now is a good time for us to revisit the question of you being my wife, isn’t it? After all, that is still what you want. To marry me, and be Mrs. Jamison?”
He opens it, and I see the brilliant, shining diamond. “But…you just told my mother…” I whisper, trying to think of how to explain it.
“Well, the resizing was done just after you left, and I wanted to surprise you with it.” He smiles at me, with just a hint of warning. “Would you like to have it back on your finger?”
I know what he’s asking. He’s asking if the messy business of my rebellion is behind us, if I won’t be running off to other friends when he upsets me, if I won’t argue with him about bodyguards, that I won’t speak to Mallory, or push him too hard about things like college and a job of my own. He wants to know that he’ll be in control.
How can I say no? Especially seeing him rush to my family’s rescue like this. Yes, he wants to be in control, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Still, my eyes are filling with tears. I nod wordlessly, and he slips the ring from its box, sliding it deftly onto my finger.
“You’ve made the right choice,” Vincent murmurs, leaning forward and grasping my hands. I can feel the back of the diamond pressing into my finger as he squeezes them. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Everything is working out just as it should be.” He kisses my forehead, his lips cool and dry against my flushed skin.
I close my eyes as he whispers, “I'm going to take care of you. I’ll take care of everything, Poppy.”
Everything is working out just as it should be.
I hear the echo of Vincent’s words in my head as we board his private plane the next day to head back to our home in Chicago. With the weight of my ring back on my finger, I try to think of it as “our” home a
nd not his apartment that I’ve been living in.
The truth is that it’s never really felt like my home—the penthouse is too upscale, too luxurious to ever feel homey to me. But there was a time when Vincent felt like home.
I want to go back to that, desperately. As we settle into the car, I reach for his hand, linking my fingers through his. I feel my ring pressing sharply against my finger as he squeezes my hand, but the sensation gives me some relief. He doesn’t pull his hand away; he isn’t angry with me. We’re going to go back to normal, the way we were before the fights and me going to Marcus’s and him demanding the ring back.
For better or worse. Those are the marriage vows, right? We just went through the “worse,” and now it’ll get better. His help for my family is proof of that, his giving me back my ring, his hand wrapped around mine right this minute.
A tiny, irritating voice in my head reminds me that my mom made those vows too, that “for better or for worse” led to the endless evenings at the kitchen table, the bags under her eyes growing darker and deeper by the day as she ground herself down to a husk working to keep a family of four with a roof over their heads and food on the table. That it led to where she is now, watching that same man that she made those vows to waste away from his own choices—the same choices that destroyed their marriage, our family.
I think about Vincent saving me from being arrested, him introducing me to a world I’d never even dreamed about being a part of, pampering me and showering me with every luxury, getting me a job at a high-end boutique, and asking me to be his wife. We’ve fought, sure, but it’s a far cry from the afternoons I saw my father passed out in his recliner, empty beer bottles or glasses coated with whiskey residue on the table next to him.
Vincent won’t ever expect me to carry the weight of our family on my shoulders alone. He just wants me to stand by his side, to support him, to compromise. And isn’t that what my mom should have gotten from my dad? Wouldn’t their marriage have been better if they had done that?
