Chapter 5

Mindy

"I'm so sorry, Mindy." Maurice is nearly crying on the phone. "This isn't what I wanted. It just happened. I'm so very sorry." His speech is slurred. What the hell? I pull the phone away from my ear and frown. This is not like him at all. My usually composed fiancé is drunk. Something must be seriously wrong.

"What exactly did you not want to happen?" I ask, but he doesn't respond. In the background, I hear noises - electronic chirps, whirs of spinning slot machines, and the occasional burst of triumphant music signaling a winning jackpot. 

"Where are you, Maurice?" I ask.

"I'm at Marble Monkey," he admits. 

I furrow my brow. Marble Monkey is undoubtedly the most fancy casino in the entire city. It's a playground for the ultra-rich, where they can indulge in their vices and gamble away fortunes in a matter of hours without batting an eye.

"And may I ask what you are doing there?" I ask, trying my best to sound calm.

"I’m… Just having a little fun." 

"What kind of fun?" I ask feeling the tension rise in my stomach.

I can practically visualize him at a poker table, holding a glass of top-shelf scotch, surrounded by rich men, all trying to one-up each other. That's how I picture Marble Monkey - guys going nuts and girls with fake tits giggling at them as they lose hundreds of thousands of dollars.

"Maurice?"

Silence.

"Mindy," he whispers after some time. "I lost the money."

He lost the money?

What money?

I'm getting impatient. "Maurice, can you please tell me what’s going on? Why are you at a casino and what money are you talking about?"

"I came here to –" I hear him gulp. "Well, you know, I come here sometimes."

I'm taken aback. "No, I do not," I say. "You never told me. You go to Marble Monkey sometimes?"

"Yes," he says. "I do. "

"Since when?"

"Since… I was sixteen or so."

My eyes widen. "Since you were sixteen? And why did you never mention this during our two-and-a-half years together?"

"Because… because there was no need," he explains. "I only came here today because of the IVF money." 

What?

He went to a casino because of our IVF money?

"Maurice, " I say, trying my best to not sound pissed-off. "Tell me, in coherent sentences, what the hell is happening."

"Okay," he starts, seemingly sobering up a little. "I only had half the amount for your IVF treatment."

"Ok, and then?"

"I panicked. I knew we needed to have all the money by Monday, so…" He goes silent again.

“So?” I urge him. “So, what?”

Maurice continues, "so, I took a chance. I came to Marble Monkey to double it, and… I lost the money.”

I try to maintain my composure. "Are you telling me that you went to a casino to double our IVF money and you gambled it away?” I nearly yell at him. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, Mindy,” he says. Silence hangs between us for a moment. “But it doesn't matter anyway. It’s over,” he adds.

“Over? What do you mean?” I press for an answer.

More silence.

“Maurice, what is over?” The tears start to well up in my eyes as I repeat myself.

"Us, Mindy. Our relationship,” he says flatly. “It’s over.”

I'm struggling to process his words. He lost the IVF money and now he’s breaking up with me? My mind feels cloudy and overwhelmed as I imagine a future without him, without children.

“Why? What happened?” I whisper, trying to process this.

Silence again.

“It's… your sex drive, Mindy,” he confesses. “I can't keep up. I tried but I just can’t.”

“You're breaking up with me because of my sex drive?" My voice shakes with hurt and disbelief.

Maurice hesitates before answering. “Well... we've been drifting apart for a while and it's finally coming to the surface. We've been in a rut for some time now, and we both know that.”

“Well, I tried…” I’m on the verge of crying. “I did my very best, Maurice, I really did. That's why I started sending you those… photos. They seemed to be working, and...”

“I didn't even like them, Mindy,” he interrupts. “Don't get me wrong, you have an amazing body, but when those photos showed up on my phone, I knew I had to… reciprocate. And I just didn’t want to. I’m not a sex machine.” He sighs. “We are not meant to be, Mindy. You need someone who can keep up with your libido… and that’s not me.”

A thought pops into my head. “You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?”

There’s a moment of silence before he responds. “That’s not what this is about.”

“So, you do have someone else.” I feel a surge of anger. Suddenly, I feel like I could strangle him. Okay, Maurice may not be the kind of guy who gives me butterflies in the stomach. But for the past two and a half years he was always there for me, he always listened to me and I was so sure we were going to have a great family. A happy life with a house, dogs, cats, and kids… all we have to do is go through with the IVF treatment, have the baby, twins perhaps and…

Nevermind that.

It’s gone.

All gone.

The family we were supposed to have, the kids I dreamed of, have all been swept away with a phone call. Just like that. My heart feels like it's being ripped apart, and an overwhelming sense of rage begins to consume me until I feel like I could explode.

“Who is she?” I ask, surprisingly composed. “Do I know her?”

I hear him sigh. “Honestly, Mindy, it doesn’t even matter. But for what it’s worth, you don’t know her. Goodbye, Mindy.” He cuts the call.

“Maurice!” I cry. “Don’t you dare put the phone down!”

But there’s silence at the other end of the line. He hung up on me. Just like that. I try to call him back a few times, but he doesn’t answer.

It’s over.

Maurice is gone.

He is not my boyfriend anymore.

No IVF.

No baby.

No family.

And no hope.

Nothing.

My mind is in a state of turmoil, my eyes soaked with tears, and my heart feels like it just shattered into a million pieces. 

So, to numb the pain, I do the only thing any normal human being can think of: I order a pizza. Not just any pizza, but an extra-large monstrosity, drowning in a sea of gooey cheese and laden with enough toppings to feed a small army. And because my heart is broken and my dreams of a future with Maurice are in tatters, I ask for extra mayonnaise, as a final ‘fuck you’ to the healthy lifestyle I’ve been wanting to start for a pregnancy that will never happen.

But I don't stop there. I order dessert too, a giga-sized cake, all chocolate, sugar, and empty calories. If I’m going to wallow in my misery, I might as well do it in style, right? I want to eat until I can't feel anything anymore, until the ache in my chest is replaced by the dull throb of food coma.

When the doorbell rings half an hour later, I’m ready. I fling open the door, snatch the pizza box from the startled delivery boy, and retreat back into my sanctuary of heartbreak. I open the box and take a big whiff, inhaling the scent of melted cheese and greasy pepperoni. It's like wrapping myself in a warm, cozy blanket of deliciousness that will make me forget my misery.

Then I dive in. I shove slice after slice into my mouth, barely pausing to breathe. I add more mayo, slathering it on with reckless abandon, relishing the way it mingles with the cheese and the meat, creating a flavor explosion that almost makes me forget the pain.

Once the entire pizza is gone, I turn my attention to the cake. It’s a behemoth of chocolate chips and frosting that would make a lesser woman cringe. But I’m no lesser woman, not tonight. Tonight, I’m a woman on a mission, determined to eat my feelings away, until there’s nothing left but a dull, numb void where my heart used to be.

I’m halfway through the cake when I realize I forgot to order a drink. Fuck. I heave myself off the couch, my stomach protesting the sudden movement, and stumble to the fridge. And there, like a beacon of hope in a sea of despair, is a bottle of champagne. Betty’s champagne.

She’s left for the weekend, so I don’t even hesitate. I grab the bottle, fumbling with the cork until it flies off with a satisfying pop, ricocheting off the walls and disappearing into the depths of my apartment. I don’t bother with a glass. I raise the bottle to my lips and drink deeply, feeling the bubbles burn my throat and the alcohol course through my veins.

As I drink, the champagne works its magic, and the numbness takes hold. I feel the pain starting to recede. It’s still there, lurking in the depths of my soul, but for now, it’s muted, dulled by the alcohol and the enormous amount of food I consumed.

I’ll regret this tomorrow, I know. I’ll wake up with a hangover from hell and a stomach that hates me, but right now, I can’t care less. Right now, all that matters is that I’m not feeling, not thinking, not hurting. And if that means drowning my sorrows in a sea of junk food and expensive champagne, so be it.

I envision the conversation on Monday morning with my boss.

"Excuse me, Mr. Korolev, but I won't be able to come into the office today. Can I work from home?"

"Why?" he would inquire, as he doesn't believe in discretion.

"Because I drank and ate myself into a stupor."

"Miss Williams, why did you make that decision when you are aware of the potential consequences for the company?

Fuck the company.

"Well," I'd reply, "let’s just say that the nudes I accidentally sent to you instead of my fiancé, didn’t work. So now, my fiancé has dumped me. And on top of that, you’ve seen me naked, pleasing myself.”

"Well Miss Williams, that doesn’t sound like my problem. See you at the office.”

That’s what happens when you down an entire bottle of champagne. Having ridiculous thoughts about what your boss might say to you when you try to call in sick. But I’ll worry about Maron Korolev later. Right now, I’m feeling comfortably numb, and that’s all that matters.

I don't remember falling asleep but I must have. The empty bottle of champagne lies on its side next to the couch, and the remnants of my food binge are scattered across the coffee table. Sunlight streams through the half-closed curtains, making me squint. My head throbs, and my stomach churns uncomfortably. I groan, realizing it is morning and that I've spent the night passed out on the couch. As I struggle to sit up, fighting waves of nausea, my phone starts to ring.

For a split second, I hope it's Maurice, begging for mercy but reality crashes in when I hear my sister's, Alexis's, trembling voice.

"Mindy?" The urgency in her tone sets my teeth on edge.

"Alexis?" I mumble, instantly on guard. Alexis and I are not exactly on good terms, so a call from her screams trouble. "What's wrong?"

"It's Mom."

My heart plummets. "What happened?"

"She's in hospital," Alexis says, accusation seeping through her concern. "She got sick last night. Neighbors called an ambulance. I just talked to Dr. Walker."

As the news sink in, Alexis's unspoken blame stings worse than her words.

"Which hospital?" I choke out.

"St. Mary's. Oncology, Room 501."

"Thanks for letting me know." The formality in my voice surprises even me.

"You know this is your fault, right?" she spits.

And there it is. Classic Alexis, twisting the knife she knows exactly where to stick.

"Cut it out, Alexis," I snap. "I'm going to see Mom. Now."

She lets out a bitter laugh. "Don't bother. Mom doesn't need your fake concern. She needs a miracle, and we both know you can't deliver that. I'm just keeping you in the loop."

"Alexis-" I start, but she's already hung up.

I stare at the phone, replaying my sister's words in my mind. She knows exactly how to make me feel even more guilty for everything that happened. For what I’ve done.

Ever since that tragic day that changed our lives forever, she's been blaming me for it all. The car accident that took my twin sister, Emily, away from us, caused her own addiction to painkillers, and now even Mom's cancer – according to Alexis, it's all my fault. And the worst thing about it is that she’s right. I know I made a terrible mistake, -I drove that car- but does she really believe I wanted any of this to happen? The weight of Emily's death, Mom’s illness, and Alexis's resentment is something I carry with me every day. I wonder if we'll ever be able to move past it, if Alexis will ever see me as her sister again instead of the person who destroyed our family.

I take a deep breath, trying to push aside the flood of guilt and regret. Right now, I need to focus on Mom. I have to go and see her. With a pounding head and a churning stomach, I force myself off the couch. I'll deal with my pain over Maurice, the IVF, and Alexis later.

Right now, Mom needs me, and I won't let her down again.