3. Three
Three
Lennon
“ I need Noah’s number.”
It’s a shameful declaration, but alas, we are here.
After receiving a brief message on my second Instagram last week, the one where I forgot to block him, I decided that I probably need more information. I’ve got a plethora of questions for Noah Ashwood–questions he will answer as penance.
For starters, what the fuck?
And also, are you actually fucking kidding me right now?
“Oh, how the turns have tabled,” Ellis says, tapping a finger on the bathroom vanity.
I stand up, looking into the back of the toilet like I have any idea how to fix this thing. The guy on YouTube was very convincing when he explained what my problem was and why it wouldn’t flush, but for some reason, nothing is working.
I turn to Ellis. The smirk on her face looks like she knows something even though there’s nothing to know.
My face scrunches as I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans, click on my contacts list, and get ready to add one very annoying professor to the list of people I don’t want to talk to. “He tried to reach me through my Instagram. You know, the one where I have documented this whole process.”
With brows raised, Ellis picks her own phone up off the counter. “Really went the extra mile, did he?”
“He’s persistent. I’m not entirely convinced he isn’t from Utah and on a very particular kind of mission.”
A text pops up on my screen: Noah’s contact information. Despite my stubborn attempt at staying far, far away from the man, I add him to the phone and shoot off a text message—risking a Mormon conversion.
Me: First of all. What the fuck, Noah?
I hope I was clear enough because, honestly, Noah wasn’t clear at all. I’ve been looking at the message nonstop, wondering what possessed him to send he was married and on a date with you out of nowhere. And to follow that very short message with you deserve better, Lennon .
Stupid.
Ellis leans over to look inside the toilet, where a small amount of toilet paper floats in the bowl. Thank God I didn’t take a shit in the thing before discovering it didn’t work.
“Any ideas on how to fix it?” I ask. “YouTube University is failing me right now.”
I blow out a breath, and Ellis scrunches her nose. “I could call Griffin and ask, but I’m at a loss here. It’s getting late, and I need to go, but I’ll ask him.”
“It’s not even six o’clock.” I close the lid to the toilet and sit down, my hair flying in all directions as it attempts to escape the bun atop my head. It looks exactly how I feel with this damn house. Maybe I was in over my head.
No .
I can’t think like that. If I think like that, Dad wins.
“I have to babysit Eloise for B, so six is, in reality, very late.” Ellis types something out on her phone before shoving it in her pocket. Eloise happens to be Ellis’s niece–the little girl she babysits constantly. After the death of her mother, Beatrice took Ellis in as her own. Being so young, the woman didn’t get married until Ellis was older and properly positioned as full-time babysitter.
It’s not malicious–just frustrating.
“I guess it is late if you have an entire babysitting gig. Don’t you work tomorrow?” I turn to face her, noting the tension through her shoulders. Ellis has always had trouble saying no –something I make up for in strides.
“Well, yeah,” she starts. “B was kind of in a pinch. She’s dropping Ellie off at my house.”
I look to the toilet–a lost cause. “Tell her I can do it,” I say.
“What?”
“I’ll watch Eloise here. There’s a working toilet upstairs, so that’s a nonissue. You can take the night to have a loving phone conversation with your sometimes long-distance boyfriend who is touring the state with that weird indie band.” A small smile tugs at my mouth when I see the tension slowly leech from her body. “You are all welcome at my house. Anytime. Eloise is no different.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ellis waves a hand. “I’m welcome as long as I fix something.” She smiles, and I know I’ve got her.
I nod. “Exactly.”
Grabbing her phone again, Ellis types out another message while muttering a soft, are you sure .
After a generous amount of reassurance, she grabs her things from the very empty dining room and heads out for the night, letting me know B will be by in about an hour.
She will probably snuggle Griffin’s cat, Simon, make a snack, and have the best evening of her life.
I, on the other hand, sit in the bathroom with a broken toilet, waiting for my five-year-old supervisor to arrive and save me from boredom. That is until I receive one very confused text message from the last person I want to be talking to.
Noah: Who is this?
Classic
Me: It’s Lennon, you asswipe.
I hit send before setting my phone down and standing to wash my hands in the sink. At least the faucet works.
The house was destined to be a fixer-upper. I’d saved enough for a down payment and renovations, but the budget is tight. Especially with all the debt I’m acquiring to turn this place into my dream business. I can feel the stress tightening my shoulders already.
My phone vibrates on the counter.
Noah: You text exactly as I thought you would.
Me: What is that supposed to mean?
Noah: Just as brutal on the phone as you are in person.
Noah: What’s up?
He has to be kidding. This is one sick joke. Does the man not remember sending me a message where he stated that the man I went on a date with months ago was actually married ? It’s kind of hard to forget and is obviously the only reason I am texting him after months of refusing to cough up my number.
If he’s going to pretend the message doesn’t exist, then so will I. Lure him into a false sense of security by striking up a friendly conversation. Then, and only then, will I force him to confront what he professed.
While I’m still pissed off at him, it doesn’t stop my curiosity or my desire for more details. At the very least, Noah is pleasant to look at. At the very most, he’s fun to insult.
It could be fun.
I snap a picture of the broken toilet, the lid to the back still missing. After sending the photo, I type out an accompanying message.
Me: Trying to fix this
His response is almost instant.
Noah: Do you even know how to fix a toilet?
Me: YouTube is a very useful resource.
Noah: I’m glad
Me: It’s not working though. Might need to pay a plumber.
Noah: Hopes and dreams not all they cracked up to be?
I roll my eyes, the smile still forcing its way to my lips. I must be one lonely bitch.
Or maybe I’m just ovulating and thus remembering the way Noah looked in the coffee shop as he strolled away.
Me: There has been a bit of a struggle.
Noah: Want some help? I might be able to fix it.
Staring at the message, I think, very briefly, that it would be beneficial if I thought through my decisions more. Ellis is cautious and tends to err on the side of safe . I do whatever feels right. I guess I’m just following the vibes.
And right now, the vibes of saving a few hundred bucks sound super appealing.
Plus, he’s nice to look at, and I’m enjoying this conversation.
Me: For free?
His next text takes longer to come through and gets me worrying that help might not actually exist out there.
We are all in this alone. I don’t care what Zac Efron says.
Noah: Not free. I’ll fix your toilet if you talk to me.
Pressing my lips together, I stare at the screen. This is it. He’s addressing his insane Instagram message.
Me: Is this about what you said on Instagram last week?
Noah: I’m assuming that’s what your opening text was about.
Noah: And yes. It’s about that.
So, he is not an idiot, then.
I weigh my options. One conversation with a hell of a view for a working toilet? Seems like a deal to me.
Me: Fine. But only if you fix my damn toilet.
Noah: So demanding.
Me: This is a business arrangement, Professor Ashwood. I’m a paying customer. I just so happen to be paying with my time.
Noah: Point taken. Send me your address.
I wince, quickly typing in Ellis’s number and regretting it the moment I hit send. It’s not like I thought the entire thing through. Volunteering to babysit immediately before inviting a strange man to the house to fix my toilet?
“Hello?” Ellis answers, clearly confused as to why I’d be calling her so soon after her departure.
“Do you think B will mind if Noah is here fixing this toilet while I watch her kid?” I ask. “I swear it’s not weird. He offered to help, and he owes me. Plus, Eloise would be a great buffer. I can protect her from harm. She can protect me from exchanging my granola aesthetic for something more akin to dark academia. I wouldn’t be good with trousers, Ellis.” I place the phone between my shoulder and my ear before walking to the kitchen and gathering supplies for peanut butter cookies. I’m sure Beatrice will appreciate sedation via sugar. “Can you even imagine me in a pantsuit?” I add.
“Noah?” Ellis questions. “Why would Noah be coming over to fix your toilet?” She sighs. “You know what, I don’t even want to know, Lennon. Let me text her since I just pulled into my driveway, though I’m sure she won’t mind. It’s not like she hasn’t met the guy. He practically lives with Griffin when he’s home.”
There’s a brief pause, the annoying sound of tapping, and then she’s back. “Yeah, so it’s fine. For whatever reason, my aunt trusts you.”
I smile, pulling the phone away from my ear and touching the speaker icon. “She has great taste. Besides, I’d throw myself on a fire before I let any harm come to that little squirt.” I type out my address, feeling satisfied.
“Hey,” Ellis starts. “Thanks,” she says, sincerity laced in the word. “You’re actually doing me a huge favor.”
“I took some time off to deal with the house. It’s really not a big deal, and you know I only pretend to hate children.”
Ellis snorts. “Don’t make it weird, though. Things are weird between you two. Don’t you dare make it weird on little Ellie.”
“You got it, Captain.” I press my tongue into the side of my cheek, staring at my phone in the hopes that another text will come through from Noah. My stomach flutters with nerves, and I’m suddenly aware of my body betraying me.
The last time I saw Noah, I’d still been mad at him. I’m not saying that his very vague justification for doing what he did absolves him from any wrongdoing. I am, however, acknowledging that if he knows how to fix a toilet, I would hear him out. Some of my anger might fizzle away with that grand gesture.
My pocketbook will thank him.
“Love you, Lennon.”
I smile. “That’s gross.”
When I hang up, I get a text from B that she’s on her way with Ellie, and the spike of nerves eases. With Eloise running around the house, I will have the perfect excuse to ignore Noah should things be anything but completely normal.
Maybe the presence of a small child will push him into a sincere apology–soften him.
After all, he ruined my date. He should beg for my forgiveness.
I’d like to see him beg for forgiveness.
I pocket my phone and grab a glass from the cabinet. With that very unhinged and intrusive thought, I can't help but wonder if letting Noah Ashwood into my home will become some sort of grave mistake.