by Imani King
"He's just my boss, daddy," I say, noticing that my voice has become unnaturally bright.
"Your boss?" He shakes his head. "No, from what she said, sounds like he's much more than that. Do you know another Nicholas?"
"I'm afraid he's the only one," I say. I look down at my hands, a little embarrassed. "But maybe one day he'll be more than that."
"Your boss at the restaurant?"
"No, he's the boss at Cor Industries. Nicholas Corbett."
"That so? I think I saw him on the cover of one of the business magazines in the waiting room."
"Could be," I admit. "He's pretty high up in the business world."
"Handsome white man," he says.
"Yes, that could be him, or one of his brothers. The whole family is pretty powerful."
There's a moment where he digests this information. "You didn't mention that you got another job," he says suddenly.
"It's just a temporary thing." I hadn't wanted to make daddy feel guilty, but we needed money when he stopped, well, functioning. And to be honest, the money would count for more than just a birthday, but it’s easier to think that we’ll just need it for something nice. "It'll be over in a couple weeks. It came up and I thought I could use something to tide us all over for a bit."
"Well, you hold on to him," says my daddy. "If he's the one your mother likes, and he's set up in the business world, then you hold on to him and don't let go!" His lips form a line and he looks away, a pleased expression on his face.
"Oh daddy," I say, a nervous laugh escaping my lips. "It's just not that easy sometimes." I stare at my hands, suddenly feeling shy. How to explain my situation with Nicholas? We don't know each other too well, he's my boss, we've had sex, and he is the kindest person I have ever met? None of this is something I want to tell my dad.
But it doesn't matter. When I look up I see he is already drifting out of consciousness into a light sleep saving me from explaining the situation. To him, or to myself. Just better take it one day at a time. Still how did my dad pick up on him, if he didn't see my ghostly mom? Maybe one of the kids told him about Nicholas. Speaking of the kids, I should get them from the playroom, take them for a quick snack in the cafeteria, and then for their visit. Daddy will have a chance to rest. I kiss him on the cheek.
* * *
"Hey kids, I need you to listen for a minute," I say as I dole out some yogurt and some spoons. "Can you be good listeners?"
They bounce up and down in front of me.
"I can be a better listener than Chikae," says Darius.
"No way, I can be a better listener!" She's angry now. "Adisa, who's a better listener?" Her bottom lip is beginning to protrude, which is what happens just before the tears start to flow.
"You're both good listeners. But I need you to listen now!"
"Ok ok," they grumble, but then settle for a moment, big eyes staring up at me.
"Did either one of you mention my boss to daddy, at any time?" I ask.
“Boss man? Nope," says Darius. His brow is furrowed. “I wanted to tell him about the car today.”
"Not me," says Chikae. "When you dropped us off from school with him, that's when we found Daddy and he went to the hospital." She screws up her face. “He was uncon- uncon-" Chikae tries. "Uncon-stipated!"
"Unconscious!" Darius corrects, and then laughs until he falls over on the ground, rolling around clutching his stomach. “Unconscious!”
"It's a mistake anyone could make," I say, trying not to let my own amusement show. No need to embarrass the poor little one.
But that is true—Daddy was unconscious. And I’m pretty sure that he wasn't aware of his surroundings. So could that really mean—does my mother really know what's happening with me, with my life, with Nicholas? Could it be possible that my father really did see her during his operation? My mind boggles. I'll have to talk to the doctor if I get a chance. But of course, maybe dad was somehow aware and could hear people when he seemed completely out of it. Hard to know. I don’t want to sound crazy.
But I do feel like she’s with me sometimes.
"So are we gonna see Daddy now?" Darius says.
"Can we jump on his bed?" Chikae begs. At this, Darius shoots Chikae a superior look, eyebrows raised, brow furrowed.
"I don't think so, sweetie. This is the first time you're seeing Daddy since his operation and I just want to let you know that he's tired, and weak. And he might not look exactly like his usual self. But he's getting a lot better every day and I want you to focus on that." Poor little one. In some ways it’s hardest on her, since she’s got so little experience with this kind of thing and the experience she’s had isn’t good.
"We will," the two say in unison.
"Good." I gather them both in a quick hug, and I’m not entirely sure who it’s meant to comfort -- them or me. I guess it doesn’t matter, I think as I breathe in their scent.
When we get back to the corridor I see that they’re rolling him out of the room and to a new one down the hall. It’s been upgraded. It’s a single, there’s a TV, and a view of the city.
“Has there been some mistake?” I ask. “This looks expensive. You kids, stay here with daddy and I am going to talk to the nurse and get to the bottom of this.” I quickly walk back to the door. “No need,” croaks Daddy from the bed, which has been adjusted into a seated position. Extra pillows prop up his back. “Looks like we got ourselves a friend. Someone named Nicholas, says he knows you.” He winks, and then his eyes close a bit. “That the Nicholas that I heard about before?”
I gasp.
“Apparently there was a problem with my insurance,” Daddy continues, before taking a sip of water. “And this Nick person called up to check on me, and he paid the bill. I guess he must have got a deal on the room, because they wheeled me in here.” He takes another sip and clears his throat. “I hope that’s ok with you, Addy. I honestly wasn’t in much of a position to protest.”
“Well, sure, I guess,” I say. “But I’d like to know more about it. What’s this about a problem with your insurance?” I prompt him, but he doesn’t take the bait. “There’s a problem, but we’ll talk about it later hon.” I guess that’s fair, as he’s just recovering from a heart attack, but at the same time, Nicholas shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of everything that’s gone wrong with this family. And why is there a problem with the insurance? Daddy must have lost his job. I don’t see any other possibility there. Nicholas
“Saint Nicholas,” says Darius knowingly, nodding his head, and I silence him with a look.
Chikae scrambles up onto the chair-bed and snuggles in beside our dad, who grimaces a little in pain before giving her a little kiss on the top of the head.
“Easy with daddy, now, Chicky,” I caution her. “He just had an operation. You need to be very still and careful with him.” “I am!” she protests, but his twisting face says otherwise. I go to remove her from the bed but daddy shakes his head weakly.
“I need the hug,” he says, and along with the pain, there’s a little twinkle in his eye. Or maybe a tear.
“Ok,” I say, and I hug him myself. My poor daddy’s been through a lot. But I still have to admit to myself that my head is swimming. Why did Nicholas do that? What does he expect for such a grand gesture? How does he see me? I hope he doesn’t feel sorry for me, or that he can buy his way into my pants. Or my life. I adore the man, maybe even love him—but I can’t pretend that this doesn't put a lot of pressure on our relationship, if we even have one. I also can’t say I am not uncomfortable at the idea that he could want something from me for this.
Even if I do want to give him everything, I don’t want it to seem conditional.
“Ok, Darius you take care of Daddy and Chikae,” I direct him, trying to keep the illusion that I am in control. I have to talk to Nick.
He salutes. “Will do Mommy Sis,” he says back. Lord, this child. Makes me laugh every day.
Once my dad is looking alert and everything seems secure, I beat
a hasty path to the nurses’ office. I am not sure who I should talk to first. Nicholas, or them? But it would be best to talk to Nicholas with all the facts, so I figure I’ll get the scoop from the RNs and then call him.
The nurse wastes no time directing me to the billing department. I tap my toe impatiently in the elevator. I’m feeling increasingly pressured by such a large gift. After all the stress lately, for some reason this very sweet gesture seems to be making the knot in my stomach worse.
I knock on the door and there sits a bespectacled lady who explains to me that a nice man called Nicholas Corbett phoned and arranged to pay all of the medical costs, the room costs, and any incidentals that might add up. But I have only one question to ask her:
“What’s the problem with the insurance?”
She shuffles her papers and clears her throat. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but apparently the insurance card you presented had expired. We still need to treat your father of course—as his condition was serious and you were right to take him in right away—but to be clear, the insurance your father had at one time was terminated when his employment was terminated. That’s the usual process, I’m afraid.”
My eyes widen and my breath is caught in my throat. So all my worries weren’t for nothing. Dad hadn’t been going to work, and wasn’t on some kind of leave. He was let go—maybe even fired. Suddenly I am filled with a white-hot anger.
We’re all grieving! I want to shout. How dare you abdicate your responsibility to this family? Why leave it all on me? It’s not fair and mom wouldn’t have wanted this!
“I see.” My voice is gravelly. I clear my throat.
Aileen looks up, sharply. “But you don’t have anything to worry about, dear. As I said, the costs are covered by one-” she lifts up her papers again and reads the name that I don’t want to hear. “Nicholas Corbett. He was very insistent, arranged that everything would be taken care of. So you have nothing to worry about.” Her eyes crinkle over her glasses.
“Yes, Nicholas.” I can’t take such a gift, I can’t. What would my mother think, if I were to just take his money?
But he has so much money. More than anyone I’ve ever met, or known. And how can I say no? I’m not in a position to say anything. An operation like this, it could impact my whole life. I can’t afford to pay for such a thing. But can I afford to be in debt to a man who took it upon himself to pay? Without even checking it with me?
“Thank you, Aileen,” I finally choke out through my confusion and anger.
“My pleasure,” she says. Her eyes are warmly professional -- they don’t betray any sense of curiosity. She just straightens up the papers, smiles, and stands up. “Let me know if I can do anything else for you! We’re here for you and your family.”
I can’t get out of the room fast enough. Even so, I am still stuck here at the hospital. I can’t leave the kids with Daddy for long, since he’s the one who needs taking care of -- and I don’t want to lean on the neighbors too much by dropping the kids off every few hours. I just have to take care of them myself.
So for now, I’ll just leave it.
Or text him. Maybe I will text him. My phone feels hot in my hand.
18
Nicholas
"Nicholas, did you pay for my father's care? He’s been moved to a new room.”
I’m playing with my phone when the text comes through. Shoot, I didn't mean for that to happen so quickly. I thought I’d be able to explain what was going on before she could get blindsided by my decision. I hope she’s not angry.
"Perhaps we should meet up and talk about it?" I suggest.
"I really wish you had have discussed it with me beforehand," says the text that comes through immediately. I can almost taste the wounded pride in her words.
"You're right," I text back. "It was presumptuous, but I heard the nurses talking about your father's case and I felt that I should do something. Not to brag, but things are easy for me in some ways, and I don't want you to have to worry when I can help.”
"That's very nice of you," she answers after a pause. "But you know, I don't like to be beholden to anyone, and this is a huge gift. I don't know that we as a family can accept it."
My heart drops.
All I want to do is make things better for her. Adisa with an A, the woman I have grown to love. Sure it happened fast but at the same time, this feeling wasn't something that I could prevent. She's shown herself to be everything I need. And because of that I want to make sure that she has everything she needs.
"Why not?" I type tentatively, and press send.
Suddenly I wonder if I have really messed up. She's right. I shouldn't have just stepped in without discussing it with her. She’s doing an amazing job taking care of her family. But I guess on some level I knew that she wouldn't be that comfortable with taking the money, even if to me, it hardly means anything at all. Well, it means something. It means that I want her and her family to be ok, not to be broken by a matter that I can so easily fix—with only money. I know what it is like to be poor and that's something that she doesn't need to know. I want her to have everything that she requires to find herself, to be everything that she can be, and being hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt is not part of that scenario. No, it doesn’t mean anything on its own to me, the money, that is. I have enough money to last me my life and far beyond. And why should it be sitting there in some bank account, in some investment firm, when it could be doing some good.
"It makes me uncomfortable. I am not after your money, and I can't be bought."
My head starts to ache a bit. This isn't the reaction I had hoped for, as unrealistic as that hope may have been. I thought she understood that I respected her, even if she doesn't yet know that I also love her, need her. Want her.
"Of course not and there's no way I would ever think that. Please accept it, as it is given completely unconditionally."
I imagine her sitting there at her phone, tossing her unruly curls, a flash in her dark eyes, biting her soft lip in consternation. All I want to do is go meet up with her and gather her in my arms.
Oh, Adisa.
She still hasn't answered. I see the three dots flashing, telling me she's typing, and then stopping. Flashing and stopping again. Finally I can't wait any longer, and have to take charge of this situation.
"I'm coming to meet you. Where are you? The hospital?"
Her answer is one word. "Yes."
I grab my jacket, run out the door and hop into the car. It's leather cradles me as it roars into life and I take off.
* * *
It's funny, you know, Stephanie would have just accepted this money as a matter of course. It's not that I want to continue to compare them, and I don’t even like to think about Stephanie anymore—frankly—but it's amazing how different they are as women when it comes down to it. Adisa is beautiful but she doesn't seem to care too much about things like brand names, trends, anything that might be thought of as superficial. Her house is warm, and beautiful, but worn and comfortable at the same time. It doesn’t shine with a newness but with a patina of care. When Stephanie went to decorate our place, it was all about how things looked—regardless of how they felt. I remember her one time in Texas, laughing at my brother Rowan's shoes. She was not outright telling him that adult males shouldn't wear Uggs, but at the same time, she made it clear, at least to me, that such silliness wouldn't be tolerated by her in our home. Image is everything. She was all about superficiality and I never saw it. I guess I was blinded by what I thought of as... her sophistication? She was the kind of woman that I couldn't have ever found in Texas, and I suppose that was part of the exotic appeal.
But Adisa, she is timeless. Not placeless however -- the girl's from New York, that's certain. That smart, no-nonsense shell covering a romantic soul. But she has a sense of being more of the earth, more rooted in reality.
Maybe the kind of girl that gets offended rather than pleased when you take care of her dad's hospital bill
s without asking.
Arg. I hear myself sigh heavily as I step on the gas, urging my way through traffic to the hospital. Screwing this relationship up is the last thing I want to do. But I guess I'm a typical man… the kind of man who sees a problem and wants to fix it if he can. Honestly, a couple hundred grand isn’t too terribly much to me. It’s an amount that I give away pretty often when circumstances dictate. For example, to my bro's non-profit, to a fund raiser, to buy a seat at the NYC ballet, any worthy cause that presents itself. But for most people that's not the case. And for Adisa, it's definitely not the case. She clearly doesn’t want her family to be seen as a worthy cause. Which I guess I can understand. And if she now feels obligated to me, that's a problem.
I want her love for me to grow naturally. And that may never happen, and it might have happened already. But if by helping her family I have screwed that up, I don't know what I'm going to do.
My phone rings its alert. Might be Adisa again but I don’t want to text with her. I want to look her in the eye. I want her to see my heart.
19
Adisa
Tears are filling my eyes.
But they're not tears of sadness, they're tears of powerlessness. Of anger. Emotions that I have felt a number of times. Emotions that tend to make me feel cornered.
I don't want to feel that way toward Nicholas.
Adisa, comes a voice in my head. What would you have done, if you were saddled with this debt?
I know that voice; it's the voice of my mother. A voice that I wish I could count on, in person, right now. I miss her so much! I don't want to have to be so strong, it's too hard. I can't always be the one to take care of everyone. I need someone to take care of me.
And that's what he wants too, says my mother's voice. That's what he's trying to do, and he's able to do it. Not too many people can say that. And he is a kind man -- a good man.
