The Heart That's Meant to Love You [COMPLETED]

Chapter 9: Routine

The door shut with a deceptively quiet click.

Naomi slipped out of her white flat shoes and into her house slippers. One of the few items of clothing that she owned in a color other than neutral. They were pink and frilly, just like the ones she had purchased on her fifth birthday. 

"Dinner should be ready." Her mother didn't bother to look at Naomi to announce it. "Let's eat." 

Ms. Rowe didn't wait for an answer, nor did she expect one. This condo was her turf, never mind that Naomi also lived there. When at home, what Naomi's mother said was law. 

Naomi stopped by her room to drop her bag at her desk. It flopped into the desk chair with a satisfying clunk. Things like that, little sounds and tactile responses, reminded Naomi that she was alive. Some days, it took those things to remind her that she still breathed. 

With a sigh, Naomi put all the bad feelings and harsh realities into the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. They could stay there, hidden and unnoticed. None of them mattered.

Naomi turned from her tumultuous thoughts and marched down the hall toward the dining area. 

Mrs. Haversham placed one final dish in the center of the long table, then gave a half-bow and retreated. Naomi couldn't blame her. Mrs. Haversham had worked for the Rowe women for years, and though Naomi cherished her, Naomi's mother didn't seem to be of the same mind. 

Oh, of course, Ms. Rowe remained civil toward Mrs. Haversham, but they weren't close. Ms. Rowe didn't get close with anyone, even her own daughter.

Naomi took her seat at one end of the table. The distance between that place and her mother's felt longer, tonight. Perhaps, if Naomi played her cards correctly, they could reconcile. Life ran much smoother when Ms. Rowe and her daughter got along. 

Ms. Rowe served herself portions of the food, then rotated the turntable so Naomi could do the same. 

As usual, Naomi served herself small portions of each dish. Who would have an appetite under these circumstances? Who should speak first? What should they say? Would any words cure the annoyance over Naomi's new acquaintance?

Ms. Rowe lifted a steamed vegetable from her plate. "That girl..."

"Is an acquaintance from my art elective. Nothing more." 

Lies. If she allowed herself, Naomi could be friends with Claire. Claire had the type of personality that went well with Naomi's quiet, backwards behavior. Besides that, she intrigued Naomi. A woman fully confident of herself, of where she stood in the world. Someone who desired to show Naomi a path diverging from the one she walked. It sounded... lively. 

Ms. Rowe nodded as slowly as she chewed her food. 

Naomi had never been able to tell what went on in her mother's head, good or bad. Ms. Rowe kept a straight face better than a professional poker player. Something else Naomi shouldn't know about. If her mother found out that Naomi knew the very word poker, Naomi would be grounded for at least a week. 

"Don't get too involved with her," Ms. Rowe cautioned again. 

Naomi poked at a piece of chicken. "I didn't plan on it." 

"You have goals and potential. Don't forget either of them in favor of a momentary high." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Even if Naomi had wanted to argue, she wouldn't have. Her mother had very specific ideas about how Naomi's life should go. Naomi couldn't say she was wrong, since Naomi had agreed to the ideas and plans every step of the way. It seemed like a logical plan to a steady, stable future. Overbearing and overwhelming, of course, but logical. A step-by-step plan to happiness. 

"Eat, then." Ms. Rowe motioned her utensil toward Naomi's plate. "You have so little. Will it be enough?" 

"I have a small stomach." A half-truth. Naomi didn't feel like eating, so she took just enough to appease her mother. She wouldn't starve herself, but who would have an appetite in this atmosphere?

Naomi didn't have to visit the arctic to know what frigidity felt like. She experienced it often enough to know the prick of ice against her skin. The shiver of impending disaster down her spine. Who would stay there any longer than necessary?

Ms. Rowe didn't seem to detect the fib. All for the better. Naomi didn't want to sit through a lecture on health and nutrition. She had heard it too much as a child. 

"Naomi, eat all your vegetables, they're good for you."

"Naomi, you must eat less. You don't want to get bloated or gain weight, do you?"

"Spit it out, Naomi. Do you realize how many calories and sugars are in that?"

Now, Naomi didn't dare to upset the balance. If she stayed in line with The Plan, everything ran smoothly. Everything remained in balance over the fine line that no one dared cross. 

"Your health is the most important," Ms. Rowe pointed out. "Just let me know if you need to go see a doctor or a specialist. If anything at all is wrong-"

"I understand." Naomi tossed a tight smile at her mother. "I'm fine, really. Just tired. It's been a long day for me."

"Then you should sleep early. You have to get up so early in the morning tomorrow, it's better to retire earlier tonight." 

Okay, that hadn't been in her plans. At all. Naomi lifted a piece of her chicken to inspect it. "I don't have any classes until eleven." 

"A routine schedule is beneficial to one's life and health. Besides, we have a meeting with your new academic advisor." 

"What?" When did that happen? Naomi didn't know that she had fired her academic advisor. They had been together for three years now. Why would she fire her? "What happened to Mrs. Rothschild?" 

"She was neglecting her duties, so I dismissed her." Ms. Rowe went on eating as if she hadn't dropped a bombshell. 

Naomi rolled her lips together. She had liked Mrs. Rothschild. The woman had always been kind and understanding, easy to talk to and a firm believer in innate talents. How had she neglected her duties? It didn't seem right, but Naomi didn't dare ask. What if she started the Inquisition all over again? 

"Who's the new advisor?" A safe question. One Ms. Rowe would expect. 

"It doesn't matter, he's better than Mrs. Rothschild." Ms. Rowe took a drink of water. "So, sleep early and be ready to go by eight. We want to leave plenty of time for our meeting." 

Naomi dropped her hands into her lap and bunched her hands in her skirt. Why didn't her mother tell her things like this? It involved Naomi's life, not just The Plan. So why did she keep it a secret? That didn't make sense. 

But, then, out of Naomi's entire daily routine, what parts truly made sense anymore? Routine. That's all it was. One foot in front of another to kill time over the course of another day. 

Would she never escape the madness?