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My first few years in the league, I had a spreadsheet of eight friends and family members who received monthly checks from me to cover bills. From what I could tell, they really needed the help. Layoffs, kids, whatever. Life happened and if I could afford to help, I was more than happy to.
Of course, the more others heard about my spreadsheet, the more emergencies there were. By the time I was twenty-two, that spreadsheet had more than doubled and I rarely received a call from home that didn’t eventually become a sob story.
I wasn’t sure if there was a more disheartening feeling than laughing and catching up with an old friend for two hours before realizing it was all a lead-up to a request for money. If I made the rare call home to say hi, the call was treated as a lottery ticket. During my darkest time, during the year that Pattie’s cancer came back, I made the mistake of calling an old friend to talk. He ended up asking me for a loan to pay off his credit card debt. When I said no, he asked to at least borrow my BMW while I did my four weeks in “rehab.”
So now that spreadsheet was empty.
The last time I mailed just a birthday gift home to a cousin, I got ten requests the same day from other family members who had a sudden “emergency.” My cousin’s fridge was broken and the kids were stuck eating canned food. My uncle was in danger of being fired because he couldn’t get to work. His car needed repairs he just couldn’t afford. “Might even be cheaper to get a whole new car,” he said before sending me links to the ones he had his eye on.
Daycare money, diaper money, field trip money – there was always a story, and if I offered to pay directly to the school, shop or whatever, I’d get a guilt trip about trust that ultimately ended in, “Never mind, forget it, you’ve changed.” Either that or an invoice for a dollar amount way smaller than the original request.
Save for one or two, every relationship I had in La Palma, Florida – friends, family, old teachers and coaches – soured thanks to money.
So when Evie insisted that her mother wasn’t lying – that none of the money was going to Kaylie’s addiction – I was unapologetically blunt.
“You’re being naïve.”
“And you’re being judgmental. Again,” she countered. Her cheeks were pink and there was a fiery look in her eyes, but she was measuring her words, trying to sound unemotional. “Look, I may not know my sister anymore, but I know my mom. She has her flaws, but she doesn’t enable Kaylie by giving her money. She enables her by giving too many chances.”
“Please don’t tell me she’s just guilty of loving her daughter too much. You’re defending the woman who let you get physically abused.”
“She fought Kaylie herself after I got thrown down th
e stairs!” Evie argued heatedly. “She was furious. She cried for days. She just also tried to make peace between us after because she didn’t want to give up on all of us being together. I chose to leave solely because I needed to be safe from my sister, not because I hated my – ”
“Um, excuse me?”
We both sat upright when we heard a breathy voice. When I looked over, I saw a woman in her twenties right next to me, bouncing on her heels and wearing a bright, giddy smile.
“Hi. Mr. Maddox, I am so sorry to bother you while you’re eating, and I swear I never do this, but can I get a picture, please?”
“Here.”
Evie quickly offered to take it before I could bark no like I wanted to, and as the girl squealed with excitement, she flashed me a look that I had no trouble reading.
We forgot we’re in public. Let’s cool it.
I noted that, but as soon she took the photo and handed the phone back, the girl bombarded me with a barrage of questions about whether I remembered meeting her at whatever signing.
“I don’t,” I cut her off. “And I’m having dinner with my fiancée so please, I’d appreciate some privacy.”
It was at that point that the mortified hostess rushed over and asked the woman to return to her table. I noticed a hint of amusement in Evie’s eye as she twirled her earring and watched me sit back down. She looked at me for a second.
“That was convincing,” she finally mused. “And kind of hot,” she added in a reluctant mutter.
“What was?”
“‘My fiancée.’”
“Right,” I said, though I barely knew what she was talking about. I didn’t even remember what I said to the woman. All I remembered was being irate that she interrupted us at dinner. “What were we talking about?”
“Our impending nuptials. You said no to a destination wedding.”
“Funny. I think we were talking about you sending money to your mother.”
“Wow, look at that memory,” Evie marveled dryly. “Aly said you called her Ellie for the first year that you knew her, yet here you are, remembering exactly how to irritate me.”
“I don’t like to leave conversations unfinished.”
