The McCain Marriage Contract

"I'm getting married, dad. To Raymond McCain," I blurted.

I hoped for a gasp of surprise, a shriek, a cold stare even -- anything at all to indicate that he heard me, that he was still with me. All I got was the continuous beep from the monitor indicating ongoing cardiac activity. And while it was different from what I hoped for, it was reassuring. It reminded me that I was making the right decision for my family.

Raymond Thayer McCain was once the only boy I had eyes for. We grew up together in the heart of Jacksonville, Florida and our parents were great friends, even though his mother always threatened to leave his father because of his serial womanizing. Raymond and I attended the same schools up till sophomore year. Always walking hand-in-hand and slipping each other cute notes, we gave the other kids in school relationship goals to aspire to. But that was until the day of the Spring Dance when I had the accident that scarred me terribly; I found out that the McCains suddenly and discreetly relocated to Washington, DC and severed all contact with my family. Shortly after, rumor had it that Tony McCain, Raymond's father, gained recognition from Microsoft Corporation for some incredible apps he developed and he became filthy rich. I couldn't help but think that the vanishing act they pulled on us was not unconnected to their newfound wealth; maybe they didn't want to mingle with poor folk anymore.

Anyone would be thrilled to settle down with their first love, to live out the kind of romance that only existed in books. But I wasn't. I was getting married to Raymond purely for money. A whopping sum of $800,000 that I could never make from my job as an ordinary blogger, an amount that would afford my father the best health care possible. I was no different from a full-time prostitute, except that my arrangement would be legal and binding to one man only. It wasn't a decision I was proud of but I no longer had use for my pride. I just wanted my dad to live.

Sitting beside my dad's hospital bed, I cringed at the sight of the tubes that went in and out of different parts of his comatose body. I sighed and took his hand in mine. It felt sort-of cold. When I ran my finger over his hand the hair on my skin stood. His skin felt dry, almost scaly, like old leather. It looked even worse; it was pale, rumpled, and stripped of its elasticity. And it didn't help that I saw Tony's well-manicured hands four days ago, a strong reminder of how my dad's used to be. It did not matter that my dad had been in the hospital for nearly two weeks following the stroke and the coma that ensued, and that I held his hands every single day; this new look and feel would always be foreign and unwelcome to me. My mom died in an automobile accident two years after the McCains moved. I had just turned seventeen then. A part of me hoped that Raymond would show up and apologize for his behavior and sweep me off my feet, but I was disappointed. Then after the funeral, dad had us move to San Fransisco to start over. But it was just one health condition after another and soon I had to ditch my desk job as a sales rep and work from home, on my beauty blog. As the years passed, we forgot all about the McCains. Until four days ago when I went to get a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria and saw Tony on TV, talking about how technology was taking over the world. It turned out that his new company -- McCain and Partners -- had its headquarters in Potrero Hills, right there in San Francisco, just a few minutes away from me!

In my excitement, I forgot all about the sandwich and rushed out of the hospital to take the next bus. It didn't even occur to me to call his office and book an appointment. All I could think of was that the universe was working in my favor; that Tony would loan me the money I needed to give my dad the best quality of life possible. Maybe I would even get to see Raymond and milk the explanation I deserved from him.

When I got to the office Tony's rude secretary with the overly large behind wouldn't let me see him. I was so sure he was screwing her on the side, for her to possess so much effrontery. I was starting to yell at her when Tony walked out of his office, looking very important and shaking the hand of another important-looking man. Without thinking I screamed, "Mr. T! Mr. T! It's me, Valerie!" His heavy-assed secretary tried in vain to shush me. Tony's eyes met mine and they shone with recognition. "Valerie Jensen? Come here, girl!"

I blew a raspberry at his secretary and left her scowling as I sauntered over to him. He enveloped me in a bear hug the second I got to him. "How are you, dear?" He asked, and without waiting for a response he invited me into his office. "Hold all my calls, Sylvia," he said to his secretary. "This is family business."

I didn't mind it that Tony referred to me as family even after eleven whole years of silence. I didn't feel upset like I used to that he never called or visited even when my mom died. All of that was in the past now, and I needed to let go of the past if I expected any help from him.

His office was bigger than my entire house, and it was even more tastefully furnished. Everything about it reeked of money, as was expected of a billionaire like him, and it was quite difficult for me to reconcile the financial state of the Tony I was seeing now to the one I used to know.

"My, Valerie. You have turned into such a goddess!" he said, waving me to a seat.

As I sat down I impulsively tugged at my dress, ensuring it was well below my knees. I wasn't sure why I did this, whether to ensure the disgusting scar at the back of my leg was not visible in the slightest thereby making a mockery of his compliments, or because I remembered how much of a womanizer he used to be and I didn't want him to have any ideas.

He beamed at me. "It's been such a while. How's old J. J.?" J. J. was his nickname for my dad, Jimmy Jensen. The question brought a sharp pain to my chest.

I shrugged. "He's seen better days."

Tony nodded, still smiling. "So how come you thought of me today? What's going on?"

I paused for a minute before I started. I had worked on my pitch on the bus and the lies just rolled out of my tongue: I was sick of being an employee and wanted to tow the entrepreneurial path. I wanted to launch my brand of female beauty products and I needed his help with the capital. As I spoke I hoped he was buying the lies, like he always did when I was younger. But even if he didn't, I was confident he'd help me; he had a lot more money than he knew what to do with. There was silence when I finished talking and he appeared deep in thought. Then he clasped his hands together and sighed. "Honestly, I'm hurt you're here just because you need a favor; I thought you missed me or something. Anyway, I can't loan you any money."

I looked at him. The hot tears in my eyes were threatening to fall. He was my final hope, my last resort.

He continued. "I will give you the money; it's the very least I could do given our family relationship."

My mouth opened in pleasant surprise. I wasn't sure if to bow, kneel or prostrate in appreciation. I decided to do all three, but just as I got up from my seat I heard him say something I never saw coming. "But you have to do something for me in return: marry my son, Raymond."

I didn't hear much else of what he said, but I remembered him giving me his personal phone number and cab fare.

But what I remembered most of all was the stunningly handsome figure of Raymond McCain standing outside the door as I was leaving.