Hemi
I’d done it wrong, so I tried harder. That was the only possible response. I started coming home in time to eat dinner with Karen most nights, and I did encourage her to have her friends over, exactly as I’d promised.
That bit wasn’t too bad. Her time in New Zealand seemed to have helped along those lines. I wouldn’t call my home “pristine” anymore, but at least she was making her bed and putting her dishes in the dishwasher, and her shoes generally got left in the entryway. The rest of it, I could live with.
I made the supreme sacrifice, too. Two weeks after school started, I suggested that Karen invite Noah the Unattached Buddhist to join us for dinner on Saturday night, since he didn’t seem to be going away. That would give me a chance to meet him, and it would give Karen a chance to cook and to be a real hostess in her home. I was fairly proud of thinking of it, actually.
As for Noah . . . I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but it had probably involved more listening and definitely more deference, the kind I’d have got from a nephew. Unfortunately, Noah wasn’t Maori, and I wasn’t too sure about the Buddhist bit, either.
He turned out to be good-looking in a soulful-WASP sort of way. Tall and lean and beach-and-ski-slope tanned, with dark hair that fell over his collar and tended to drop into one dark-lashed gray eye. I’d have bet he played the guitar, and that he’d look into a girl’s eyes while he sang her a song.
You could say that I met him and hated him and not be too far off, but I did my best. I asked him about his plans for university and the future, for example, which made Karen sigh and say, “Old-fashioned much, Hemi? I mean, for Question One?”
I just looked at her. None of the responses I could have made seemed particularly helpful. Noah didn’t seem fazed, though. He said, “I’m going into medicine.”
“That what your dad does?” I asked.
He looked at me pityingly. It wasn’t a look I got very often, and I wasn’t enjoying it now. “Both of my parents, actually. Women can be doctors, too, you know.”
“Mm,” I said, not rising to the bait. “Takes a bit of doing, medicine.”
“If you mean I’ll have to go to med school, well, yes, obviously.”
“Takes getting in as well,” I said dryly. “A few stages of that, I reckon.”
“Noah’s in the top twenty percent in his class,” Karen put in. “He’s built houses for the poor in Central America. He’s got an amazing resume.”
“Aren’t you in the top ten percent?” I asked her.
“It’s a lot easier as a freshman,” Noah said. “Before most of your class gets serious.”
I’d had practice controlling my temper, and I called on it now. “Not too easy with a brain tumor, though. And I’ve thought at times that universities might want to look a bit more at students who’ve been poor themselves and less at ones who’ve built houses for them. Two different experiences, eh.”
“I never said Karen didn’t work hard,” Noah said, not sounding quite so Buddhist. “Admissions committees take family circumstances into account, too. Maybe too much. The scholarship students I know are some of the best prepared in the school. Lemuel Sanderson—he’ll probably be our valedictorian. He’s African-American, and everyone knows he’s on scholarship. Here’s another way to look at it. I’ve had more temptations and distractions than some people, and I’ve stayed focused anyway. Or maybe we should ask somebody who actually is poor and see what they say.”
Before I could tell him that “more temptations and distractions equals hardship” was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard in a lifetime of listening, Karen said, “Of course being poor is harder, Noah. I mean, geez. You don’t have any idea.” Which told me she hadn’t gone all the way over to the dark side. “Hemi knows that, too. He was poor, and so was I. That’s just lame.”
“I’m just saying,” Noah said, digging himself in deeper, “that people should study the admissions criteria before they judge, like I have, and consider all the factors. I do realize I’ve had advantages. That’s why I plan to do some good in my practice.”
“Planning to work in the inner city, are you?” I asked. I’d bet not.
“No,” he said. “Cardiologist. My parents are dermatologists. I’m not going to spend my life making rich people’s wrinkles and zits go away. I want to fix real problems.”
I considered saying that there was another kind of problem that could be even more real. Things like untreated diabetes and high blood pressure, mums who sat in the emergency room for hours with their feverish babies. Or young women who couldn’t get anyone to order the tests that would diagnose their little sisters’ disabling headaches.
While I was working to set that aside, Noah said, “I’ve got a question for you, too.”
“Go ahead,” I said. Hope would have told me not to put Noah’s back up, or Karen’s, either, so I took another bite of Karen’s chicken and made an attempt to keep an open mind. Not easy. My mind tended to make a decision fast and stick with it, and that decision had already been made.
“Why isn’t Karen allowed to swear?” he asked. “She says it’s because of you. Don’t you think that’s an outdated vestige of the patriarchy?”
“No, but you do, clearly.” Maybe this kid was book-smart, but that was where it stopped. I reckoned “pathologist” would be a better career choice. That way, his patients would be dead already. He might have enough bedside manner for that.
“Women aren’t delicate flowers who need protection, though, are they?” he said, cheerfully going on to dig his grave. “Men who say they’re protecting women by treating them differently—aren’t they just holding them back, keeping them from full participation and equality? You could call it a virtual burkha.”
I wondered if he’d thought that one up all by himself. I’d have bet not. I looked at Karen. “Right, then. Participate fully. You don’t need Noah to speak for you. Tell me what you think.”
She was looking particularly pretty tonight. She hadn’t quite grown into her slightly oversized mouth and eyes, but once she did, she would be a striking woman. And a woman who deserved better than this bloke.
For once, she didn’t rush into speech. “I don’t know. I mean, I thought so before, that you and Hope were ridiculous. But I noticed that my cousins—I mean, not my cousins, but, you know, the cousins—they don’t swear around their parents, either. And nobody swears around Koro.”
“Why do you imagine that is?” I asked, keeping it calm. Keeping it deliberate.
“Well, a Maori thing, obviously,” Karen said. “And maybe a respect thing? You know, respect for your elders and all that. Which Maori are super big on,” she told Noah.
“Words are just words,” he said as if he’d invented that idea, too. “And people should meet each other on an equal playing field, not with all that status attached to them. Money, power, age, gender, race—it’s all the same thing. Artificial distinctions so people can feel superior.” Which would have made me laugh if he hadn’t been pissing me off so much. If anybody had ever felt more superior than this kid, I hadn’t met him.
I didn’t laugh. I said, “Right thought leads to right speech, which leads to right action. Seems to me I heard that somewhere. Seems to me it was Buddhist, too.”
“That isn’t what it means,” Noah said. “It means not saying hurtful things. It’s not about whether you swear or not. It’s definitely not saying you shouldn’t speak up and make your point directly instead of being all polite and passive-aggressive about it. Saying ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ isn’t any different from the word Karen uses instead. ‘Geez.’ How’s that different? It would be one thing if you were calling a woman a cunt, but unless it’s a racial or sexual slur, a word only has power if you give it power.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t think of anything better than, “Right, you. Out of my house now,” and I didn’t think that would meet Hope’s test.
Finally, Karen said, not sounding happy, “Hemi means it’s his house, so h
e gets to decide.” Which told me Karen was heaps smarter than Noah, but then, I’d already figured that out.
“It’s our house,” I said. “But you don’t make the rules in it, and neither does Noah. Hope and I do, and she’s in nobody’s burkha. Telling the truth doesn’t require bad language, and ‘respect’ and ‘politeness’ aren’t four-letter words.”
It wasn’t a brilliant evening, no, and Karen didn’t have much to say about it afterwards. But I might have made her think a bit.
Speaking the truth was only half the battle. The other half was giving it time to sink in.
Hope
You could have called Hemi’s divorce three weeks after our meeting with Anika an anticlimax, if it hadn’t been for the undercurrents.
I’d driven up to Auckland—yes, I’d driven, and in a blowing rain, too—together with Koro and Tane to meet Hemi, who’d flown straight there. Koro had come because he’d wanted to be there almost as much as I did, and Tane had come because he would be driving Koro home again. It couldn’t be me, because Hemi and I had someplace else to go afterward, somewhere we’d need to fly to reach in time. I’d had to schedule it for today, since Hemi wasn’t even staying overnight.
I wanted him to hang around longer, you bet I did. But being apart had been my idea, not his, and he had important things to do. Some parts of our life could change, but not every part. I was realistic enough to know that. At least I hoped I was, because otherwise, I was setting myself up for a lifetime of disappointment. I’d have him today, and today counted. Today was important.
He was waiting for us under the protective overhang in front of the Auckland District Court, mere blocks from the lingerie shop where I’d first discovered he’d been married before, when all of this had begun. But then, Auckland wasn’t very big.
My mind was skittering off to that insignificant detail because I was nervous. Not for me—for him.
Do you think he looked nervous, though? Of course he didn’t. He looked as cool and controlled as ever in his usual black suit and white shirt. Tailored and barbered to perfection, and betraying his emotions by not so much as a muscle twitch in his set face.
Until he saw us approaching under our umbrellas, that is. Then his face changed and he was coming forward fast, greeting Koro with a hongi, the Maori salutation that was both hug and kiss. A meeting of forehead and nose, a grasp of a shoulder. After that, he put his arms around me for a too-brief moment before shaking his cousin’s hand. He kept his arm around me, though, as if he needed to hold me. Which was good, because I certainly needed to hold him.
That was about as exciting as it got for a good two hours. We sat in a half-empty courtroom and watched a judge run through one civil case after another, a fair percentage of them divorces. None of the other marital parties seemed to be in attendance, or if they were, they didn’t do anything. An attorney presented the case, the judge ruled the marriage dissolved, and it was done. No testimony and no arguments, just two people’s once-bright hopes and dreams becoming their past.
The weight of it sank more and more deeply into me the longer it went on. This was meant to be a positive occasion for the two of us, wiping Hemi’s slate clean so we could start again. Instead, it felt dark and cold, and I could tell from Hemi’s face that it was exactly the same for him. He was remembering what it had felt like when his parents had been divorced, probably, and the blow when Anika had told him she wasn’t joining him in New York. He was thinking about his mum and his wife telling him he wasn’t worth keeping, so they were setting him aside. Letting him go.
He’d never say that, but he didn’t have to. I held his hand and tried to let him know his new truth, doing my best to send the message from my body into his.
That was then, and this is now. This is us, and it’s forever.
At last, his name was being read out. His and Anika’s. And in less than five minutes, it was over. The judge’s gavel hit the bench with the sharp crack of finality, he said, “Next case,” Hemi’s New Zealand attorney turned to leave, and Hemi stood up so fast, I nearly stumbled getting to my own feet.
The rain hadn’t abated one bit in the past two hours, either, I found when we were back in the lobby. It was blowing straight across the windows as Hemi shook hands with his lawyer, who headed off again at once. Job done, bill to come.
Tane watched him go, then asked, “How much did he charge you for two hours of sitting and five minutes of standing? Too much, I reckon.”
Hemi cracked his first smile of the morning. “Let’s say it was worth it.”
“Well, congrats, cuz,” Tane said. “I wouldn’t normally say that to a bloke about his divorce, but I’m saying it about this one. I’m saying, break out the bubbly. Or maybe I’ll say what June did. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish.’”
Koro said, sharply for him, “You don’t celebrate misfortunes and endings. You know better, my son.”
“Probably right,” Tane said. “Sorry. Time for lunch, eh. Wash the taste away.”
“We don’t have time, unfortunately,” I put in. “We’re on a schedule here.”
“She tell you yet what her surprise is, mate?” Tane asked Hemi.
“Nah.” Hemi still looked shut down, and no wonder. “Only that we need to fly to Tauranga for it, and that it wasn’t at Koro’s.”
Tane looked smug at that. Koro looked satisfied himself, but all he said was, “Go on, then. You don’t want to be late.”
Hemi hesitated. “Wish I could stay the night, but . . .”
Koro waved his good hand. “Never mind. You’ll be back.”
The flight to Tauranga was mercifully brief, because the little jet bucked and pitched through the storm in a way that recalled all too vividly my arrival in New Zealand. I held Hemi’s hand again, but this time, I was receiving rather than giving comfort.
It wasn’t an omen. There was no such thing. There was no terrible surprise waiting on the other end. There couldn’t be. It would be too unfair.
When has life been fair? my treacherous brain mocked.
This mattered too much, though. This mattered more than anything. To me, and to Hemi. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and he’d told me I was that for him. Our bad luck was over. It had to be.
I breathed a little easier when we were on the ground again. And when we were in the car, which I was once again driving—“Part of the surprise,” I’d said, trying to sound cheerful and perky—Hemi started talking a little more, which meant that he must be breathing more easily himself.
“Karen wanted to come,” he said. “I said no.”
“I know.” I pulled cautiously out onto the main road from the Tauranga airport, my windshield wipers slapping furiously at the sheets of water, my headlights probing the murky gray. “I’ve been getting blow-by-blow details. I was glad you said no. No way she should miss two days of school to watch you get divorced. It would probably have scarred her for life, as depressing as that was. Anyway, I texted her that it was done.”
“I wondered,” he said. “And since you always say this, it’s probably my turn. Good job letting go of the control and letting me make that decision.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “Huh. I never even thought of it that way. All right, then. You’re welcome.” I turned onto Bethlehem Road, then into the drive of Mills Reef.
Hemi studied the curving, elegant sweep of the low, modern building, the warm golden light glowing in the windows against the bleakness of the day, then glanced at me quizzically. “This my surprise?”
“First part of it.” I felt more certain, suddenly, as I pulled beneath the portico, hopped out, and handed my keys to the valet. We walked through glass doors into a foyer that smelled like flowers and good food, and I breathed in the aromas and said, “I was afraid we were going to miss our booking when I saw that everybody else in New Zealand was getting divorced before you did, but here we are. And this is my treat, by the way. This is my present.”
“I’ve been here before, you
know,” he said. “If we’re having lunch, it’s likely to mean a day’s wages for you, or even more.”
“Fortunately, my future husband is both rich and indulgent.” I took his arm. “Which means I get to spend my meager earnings on whatever I want. Come on. I have a baby to feed, and it’s getting cranky. Or maybe that’s me.”
I got his second smile of the day for that, and in another minute, we were seated in a cozy spot in the corner of the wine estate’s sumptuous dining room, its white tablecloths and glittering modern chandeliers offering welcome cheer on this dreary day. And five minutes after that, Hemi had been served a glass of red wine and I hadn’t, and he was saying, “Koro said you don’t celebrate misfortune, but I’m celebrating this one all the same. Not saying that was fun, but I’m free, and I reckon both of us can celebrate that.”
“We can.” I lifted my water glass and touched it to his. “Congratulations. It was bad, but now we’re moving on.”
“Together.” He lifted his glass and drank. When he put it down again, though, he pulled out his phone.
I couldn’t help it. My heart sank. He had to check his messages now?
Apparently not, because what he said was, “I’ve got a couple surprises of my own for you, and here’s the first one.” And with that, he handed the phone to me.
It took me a few seconds to understand what I was seeing. The stone floor of Hemi’s terrace, the planters filled with roses around the edges, and something else. Something new.
“It’s not glass.” First came my smile, and then a laugh. “Hemi. The walls aren’t glass anymore. You did this? Did you do it for me?”
He looked proud, he looked pleased, and he wasn’t trying to hide either thing. “Yeh. Talked it over with Karen, and we worked out the design together. Concrete to three feet up, glass above that for another eighteen inches. So you can feel safe going up to the edge and cutting your own roses, and we can have the baby out there without making you nervous. I thought we could do a sandpit, and maybe a wee play structure as well. I was looking at a few.”
Found (Not Quite a Billionaire Book 3) Page 21