Chapter 37 Noah
thirty-seven
Noah
My steps freeze in the hallway as I hear Marcy going on a rant about our family, again. Ignoring what she has to say about us, I turn silently away from the kitchen to slip into the office, where I’ll get some work done until she’s gone.
But Willow’s voice breaks through. Teary. Angry. Desperate.
I’ve never seen or heard her so undone. “Noah loves me,” she chokes.
I turn around. Whatever is going on, she’s not fighting this alone. Of course I love her, even if I haven’t told her yet in as many words. Hearing her say it out loud—it’s obvious.
“He does. He loves me,” she cries with desperate rage.
I struggle to stay calm as I sneak up behind my wife. “Damn right I love her.” I wrap her in my arms from behind and kiss her neck. Startled, she gasps, and her uneven breathing tears me apart.
Is she crying? Fucking shit. “Babe? What’s going on?” I turn her in my arms. I know what’s going on, but going all feral on Marcy right now isn’t the right move.
Willow gives me a poor excuse for a smile. “How was your meeting?” Her gaze holds mine, pleading not to ask questions. “Mom was just leaving.”
Marcy pushes herself from the stool and sighs but offers no explanation and no apology.
They say a quick goodbye, and Marcy sees herself out.
“Wanna talk about it?” I ask.
Lips tight, Willow forces a smile. “Nope.” Her anguish is visible, nearly killing me.
“Too bad.” I sit on a stool and pull her between my legs. “We’re still gonna talk about it.”
Her shoulders slump. “Same old, but with a twist.”
“Let’s hear it.”
She rolls her eyes, sighs. “This time, I’m gonna be taken out like yesterday’s trash when you don’t need me anymore.”
Yesterday’s trash? White rage boils inside me. “She said that?”
Willow shrugs. “It’s alright. She—she really thinks she’s looking out for me. Trying to save me from becoming her.” She’s bitter and I fucking hate—hate—the way she’s holding in her tears.
I pull her tight against my chest. “You’re not her.”
She nods but stays silent.
“You’re right about something else, though.”
She squeaks, a question without words.
“I do love you.”
I think she’s about to say something that’ll rock my world, something really fucking awesome, something I was afraid to tell her first because I didn’t want her to feel pressured.
But it’s out there now, and I get it. There’s an abyss between having a crush for someone and what I feel for Willow.
Even the greatest sex can’t bridge that gap.
There needs to be more and so far I don’t know if this is how she feels for me.
Maybe not, because the next thing she says is, “Mind you, she doesn’t know that our marriage is fake, or—”
I cup her head in my hands. “Our marriage isn’t fake. It might have been for a minute. It’s not anymore.” Panic suddenly seizes me. What if I’m just a fling to her? “At least for me it’s not.” My voice is raspy, my throat tightening. Was she putting on a show for her mother?
“Okay,” she says softly.
I’ll go with okay. For now.
The next day, I decide it’s time for me to pay my mother-in-law a visit and hash it out. I find her sitting outside on a plastic chair, stubbing out a cigarette which she tries to hide under some dirt. She tightens the scarf around her head.
“I brought you some coffee.” I hand her one of Easy Monday’s summer specials. “I think Millie calls it Turn Down the Heat. It’s got hazelnut and honey.”
She takes the cup with a nod. If she notices that I remembered her preferences, she doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t offer for us to go inside either.
Not wanting to crowd her, I flip an empty flowerpot upside down and sit on it.
“I’m gonna cut straight to the chase,” I say.
“I want Willow to be happy. I know you do too,” I venture.
“She’s hurt by your insinuations. Since they have to do with me, I’d like to give you the opportunity to tell me what you’re concerned about.
” Somehow I don’t think Marcy will mind me being forward.
She narrows her gaze on me, and it strikes me again how she’s like a dried up, bitter version of her daughter. “Willow set you up to this?”
Why would Willow do that? Sending her husband to fix her problems is not her style. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”
She takes a sip of coffee, then sets the cup on her lap, both hands around it as if this wasn’t a hot summer morning. “You lie to her already?”
My laughter is bitter. It’s hard to stay cool around Marcy. I don’t know how Willow does it. “I’m hoping to surprise her. Tell her I had a nice talk with you and we understand each other. That she doesn’t need to be concerned about… whatever was going on between the two of you.”
She looks me up and down, shakes her head. “Men,” she drops, then reaches down for the cigarette stub, flicks it clear of dirt, lights it again, then takes a long drag.
I wait for the rest of her answer. When it doesn’t come, I chuckle. “That’s it?”
She shrugs. “She’s a big girl. She’ll figure it out soon enough. Thought she knew better. God knows she used to tell anybody who cared to listen that she’d never marry, but… you come along and she thinks you’re different.”
My coffee is still hot but already my patience is wearing thin.
When she’s with Willow, her snark is directed at me.
But when she’s with me? It’s Willow who’s in her line of sight.
I stand and give her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
“I’m different, Marcy. You got that right.
” At least that part of Marcy’s anger didn’t rub me the wrong way.
Her fingers tremble when she brings the cigarette to her lips.
“I hope you’ll see that, with time.” I hesitate, then add, “Come by Lilyvale whenever you want. Just don’t make my wife sad, please. She loves you, and I love her. It’s that simple.”