Chapter Nine
Samantha hoped to catch a minute alone with Naomi at sunrise yoga. But she overslept, arrived fifteen minutes late, and found the small group of early risers flowing through the stages of the sun salutation. There was no instructor, only the commands of an anonymous yogi pouring out through a Bluetooth speaker. Naomi was there, faithful to her bride-to-be aesthetic, in a white halter and matching yoga pants. Amelia sat cross-legged on the mat next to her. Jen and Chris were flowing side by side. Maya was there, groggily going through the motions. Naomi cheerfully waved her over. Samantha grabbed one of the last remaining mats and joined in.
Upward facing dog. Downward facing dog. Was Roman right? Warrior one. Warrior two. Was it too late to intervene? While Naomi had never seemed more serene, Samantha was wearing herself out, analysing a matter that was settled. Hands to heart centre. Was she meddling? Naomi was an adult and free to make her own choices, after all. Savasana. Maybe she ought to give it a rest. Then again, maybe she wasn’t quite ready to give up. After all, if the tables were turned, she wouldn’t want Naomi to give up on her.
The soft chime of a bell signalled the end of the practice. Samantha sat up on her mat and took in her surroundings. The Caribbean Sea spread out to the horizon, turning crimson where it touched the rising sun. Much to her surprise, she felt at peace for the first time since arriving on the island. She rolled onto her feet and dusted herself off. OK, she thought, hands on her hips. Let’s hope this feeling lasts.
It didn’t.
When she returned to the bungalow, her mother called with news. ‘I’ve done it at last, Sam!’
She unlocked her door with her keycard. Alarmed, she asked, ‘Done what, exactly?’
Diane had been hinting at renovating her old bedroom for years. She dreamed of turning it into a crafts room of some sort, a haven where she could pursue all her DIY dreams. It was selfish of Sam, who’d officially moved out at nineteen, but she wasn’t ready to give up her space quite yet. Where would she sleep at Christmas?
‘Submitted my official retirement request.’
‘Wow! Congrats, Mum!’
This was exceptional news. Her mother had intended to retire from the hospital where she worked as a nurse as soon as she was eligible yet kept postponing for one reason or another … or maybe just for one reason: money. They weren’t rich, and likely would never be. Her mother had been working since she was fifteen. The idea of stopping working altogether was unfathomable. When Samantha had pressed her on the issue of retirement, she said she had to get her affairs in order first. ‘Sounds like you’re going to die,’ Samantha teased. Her mother dipped another biscuit in her tea. ‘No difference.’
Her mother was a competent nurse, but she’d entered the profession out of necessity and started her training the year after Samantha was born. The goal was to make enough to afford a house. Her father worked in IT as a support technician. Steady work, but not enough to support a family of three and take on a mortgage. Samantha was five when they moved into the two-bedroom detached house in Manchester that she would forever call home. She quickly bonded with Naomi. They pledged to remain best friends forever. Over the years, when she wasn’t blogging on some social media site or another, whipping up homemade concoctions to tame her curly hair, or re-watching her favourite romantic comedies, she was hanging out next door. However, their mothers, Amelia and Diane, had never warmed to each other. To Diane, Amelia was merely the ‘diva next door’.
‘I did it,’ Diane repeated. ‘In three weeks I’m free. I can finally relax.’
It was well deserved. Her mother had worked through the pandemic and it had worn her out. She was not in the best of health herself, and would benefit from a slower pace.
‘We need to celebrate!’ Samantha exclaimed. ‘When I get back we’ll go out to dinner. I’ll make reservations.’
‘Or we’ll have a quiet night at home. I’ll make a cake.’ Samantha poured a glass of water in the kitchen and took it into the bedroom. ‘No, we’re having a proper dinner party. And you shouldn’t have to make your own retirement cake.’
‘My chocolate cake is special. Besides, what else will I have to do?’
She flipped on the ceiling fan and flopped onto the bed. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to retire just to catch up on your shows.’
‘What if I am?’ her mother retorted. ‘I’m going to bake, drink tea, work on my quilts, and catch up on my shows. When I tire of that, maybe I’ll join a gym. But that’s a big maybe.’
Samantha pinched the bridge of her nose. Her parents embraced a slow and quiet life, resisting excitement in all its forms. They never ventured far from home and refused to spend money on extravagances. They were stable and predictable and she loved that about them. Deep inside, Samantha worried she would turn out just like them. After university, she’d returned to her hometown and secured a job. Her friends had travelled far and wide in pursuit of exciting careers. This bothered her. She didn’t want a small, tidy and predictable life. She desperately wanted to break out of her box, chase wild dreams, and crisscross the world. Somehow, she’d fallen into the same patterns that had shaped her early life. Hadn’t she picked Timothy because he was safe and steady? Look how well that turned out.
‘I insist we go to London and celebrate properly. Invite your friends.’
‘My friends are organizing a surprise party in the nurses’ lounge, Sam. They don’t know that I know, but I know everything.’
‘Those are your co-workers, not your friends!’
‘When you work my schedule, your co-workers are your friends. Sometimes, they’re your family.’
‘Fine. It’ll be just us three.’
‘We’ll discuss it when you get back. Now, tell me. How is Naomi? And how are you? Are you having a rough time?’
Her mother wasn’t the only expert at dodging difficult conversations. ‘Can’t talk now. I’m late for our first outing. Exciting stuff.’
‘All right, doll. Send photos! Your dad says hi.’
Naomi’s stepdad had sprung for an air-conditioned bus to safely chauffeur them to and from their many excursions. The girls filled the front rows. When Roman ruffled Samantha’s hair on his way to the back of the bus, all the girls cooed.
‘I’m loving this!’ Jen squealed. ‘It’s like a high school field trip.’