Chapter Nineteen
Now that Noah knows he’s going to London in August, he’s working more, saving as much money as he can. We’re able to meet up and hang out now and then, but it’s most often a last-minute, spontaneous event.
Noah:
Teacher in-service today, right?
Faith:
Yep. 1pm dismissal.
Noah:
My 1:15 class got canceled! Coffee at Grady’s Grind?
Faith:
Sweet! I can be there by 1:30, no prob.
Noah:
Look for the nerd drinking the out-of-season cinnamon latte.
Faith:
I like that cute nerd.
Noah:
He kinda likes you, too.
Noah:
Except minus the “kinda”
It’s tax season, so my mother is working long hours, including most Saturdays. I know I promised my brother I would tell Mom and Dad about Noah, but during tax season? Mom’s highest stress season of the year? Umm . . . no thank you.
I still haven’t told them when Ryan and Danielle drive down for lunch on Easter Sunday.
After lunch, while Dad lightly snores in his recliner, supposedly watching a tennis match on TV, Ryan and I play chess in a corner of the living room.
Danielle and Mom share the couch and are flipping through bridal magazines.
Gretchen is spending the long weekend with her new boyfriend’s family in Chicago.
“Checkmate.” Ryan says and then lowers his voice. “Have you told them yet?”
“Um, no. Not yet. It hasn’t come up.”
“It hasn’t come up?” His tone holds a warning. “I thought better of you than that. Of Noah. He knows he has to meet them.”
“I know, Ry. But I’ve barely seen Noah lately, and we agreed it would be super weird for him to come down to meet them when I’m not home.”
“He can’t be that busy.”
“He’s had to work extra shifts every weekend to make up for all the people who covered for him during The Sound of Music and the trip to Des Moines.
We talk every day. But it’s not like I’ve been sneaking around or hiding anything from Mom and Dad.
We haven’t even gone out on a real date yet, so it hasn’t been an issue. ”
“You promised me, Faith.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But you know how they are. And it’s tax season, too.” My voice is barely above a murmur. “I have to pick just the right moment.”
“The longer you put it off, the harder it’s going to be.”
“I know.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No time like the present, right?
“Fine.” I turn. “Mom?” I call across the room. “Dad?”
Dad snorts awake and looks at me, blinking rapidly.
“Hey, guys, I’m dating Noah Spencer now, okay? Just thought you should know.”
“You’re going out? On Easter Sunday?” Dad un-reclines. “While Danielle and Ryan are here?”
“I’m not going out on a date today. I’m dat-ing. You know. ‘Going Steady.’ Like the song in Bye, Bye Birdie.”
I sing the refrain of the song.
“That’s cute.” Danielle grins. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”
“We did it my freshman year,” I say, silently thanking her for changing the topic. “I was only in the chorus, though.”
“Noah.” Mom sets her magazine in her lap. “He’s the one who went with you to Des Moines, right?”
“Right.” Oh well. Nice try though, Danielle.
“And now you’re dating him?”
I nod.
“So why haven’t we met him yet?”
“Because we haven’t actually gone out on a date yet. Like I said, he works on the weekends. We haven’t gone anywhere together since we went to Des Moines.”
“Doesn’t sound too steady to me.” Dad leans back in the recliner and closes his eyes. “But you know the rules. We have to meet a boy before you go out with him.”
“I know.”
“He was the Nazi in that community theatre thing, right?” Mom’s tone implies he may not have been acting.
“Yeah. He played Rolf.”
“You kissed him in that play.”
“My character, Liesl, kissed his character, Rolf. It’s called acting.” I almost roll my eyes . . . and then mentally kick myself for nearly giving in to the impulse. My tone was bad enough.
“Faith,” Ryan warns under his breath.
“If you’re kissing a boy, we need to meet him.” Dad shifts again. His eyes pop open. “Noah Spencer. I thought you said he was studying drama in England or some crazy thing. What’s he doing kissing you in Iowa when he’s supposed to be in England?”
“He’s transferring to a school in London in the fall.” My mouth goes dry. “He’s still here for a few more months.”
“So he goes to high school in Leopold, right?” Mom’s eyes narrow. “But you said he’s transferring to London, which usually means . . .”
“He’s enrolled at the community college right now,” I supply. “And he works two jobs.”
I’m selling it too hard. Shut up, Faith!
Mom tilts her head. “How old is this boy?”
“Nineteen.”
“He’s a freshman, then? At the . . . community college?”
“Uh . . .” I squirm. “No. He graduated with Gretchen.”
Mom makes a sound caught somewhere between a gasp and a grunt. “He was in Gretchen’s class?”
I nod.
“Are you hearing this, Joseph?”
“Mm-hmm . . .”
She turns her gaze on Ryan. “And you encouraged this? Did you know how old this Noah Spencer was when you agreed to take him on an overnight trip with your baby sister?”
“Yes, I did. That’s why I wanted to meet him. But he’s a good guy. They’re really cute together.”
“Cute?” The word clicks with a cold, staccato T. “Cute? My little girl is dating a college sophomore, and you think it’s cute?”
Blood pounds at my temples, thrusting heat through my skin. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Mom. I’m almost seventeen.”
“Your birthday isn’t until October. You are not ‘almost seventeen.’” Mom turns her gaze on Ryan again. “Tell me, Ryan. What reasons might a twenty-year-old man have for chasing after a young girl like Faith?”
“He’s nineteen,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Well, he can’t be nineteen for much longer if he graduated with Gretchen. She’s been twenty for several months now.”
“Noah is still nineteen, right?” Ryan asks me, frowning. I don’t think he cares, but he is a stickler for having his facts straight.
I nod. “Until almost the middle of September.”
“There you have it. Noah is still nineteen for several months. If you’re going to nitpick Faith’s age, Mom, you have to nitpick his age the same direction.”
After nearly ten years out from under our parents’ roof, Ryan isn’t as easily cowed by Mom’s intimidation tactics as I am.
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Believe me, Mom. Dad. Noah Spencer is a solid guy. I really don’t think you need to worry about him.”
A vein twitches in Mom’s neck. Her lips press together as she pulls off her reading glasses. “Nineteen is still too old for Faith. End of discussion.”
“He’s a nice kid, Mom,” Ryan repeats. “I’ll vouch for him. Heck, I’ll vouch for both of them. Faith’s a pretty dang good kid, too.”
Ryan is the best. The. Best.
“I said, end of discussion.” Mom puts her glasses back on and picks up the magazine. “Faith, you are not to date this Noah character. Period.”
“You haven’t even met him!”
“And there is no reason for me to meet him since you are not going to be dating him.”
My chest squeezes as if my heart has collapsed in on itself. Even so, I hate the whine in my voice when I plead my case to my father. “Dad? Come on. If you’d just meet him, talk to him, you’d see that Noah is a—”
“You heard your mother.”
“Now,” Mom re-opens her magazine, “I intend to put this behind me and enjoy the rest of a rare afternoon with my son and his future wife.” Her words are clipped.
“Faith, I think you could benefit from some time alone in your room. I know I could benefit from you having some time alone in your room. Go.”
That’s it, then. After shooting a quick, silent plea toward my brother, I rise and do as commanded. As I make for the stairs, each breath seems to suck the atmosphere further into a black hole.
“Faith has a good head on her shoulders.” Ryan’s angry voice breaks the thick silence. “Why are you so much harder on her than you were on me and Gretchen?”
Go, Ryan! Out of sight, I pause on the stairs. I’ve never heard anyone speak to my mother in that tone.
“Every child is different. Faith isn’t like you or Gretchen. Faith is . . . sometimes I don’t even know where she came from.”
Gee, thanks, Mom.
“But then I remember exactly where her artistic, dramatic, musician tendencies come from, and I refuse to let her travel that destructive path.”
“Faith is not Aunt Becca.”
My hands clench into fists. I hate it when Mom compares me to her sister.
My mother loves structure and predictability.
She adores columns and numbers that add up to an expected outcome—and she prefers it when the people around her behave that way as well.
Her sister is exactly the opposite. A free spirit who thrives on chaos—most of which she creates with her own questionable life choices—Aunt Becca is, in a word, fun.
She’s really easy to like . . . but it’s not quite as easy to respect her.
We see her rarely, even less since she and her struggling band of middle-aged alternative rockers moved from Chicago to Denver—a move that came soon after the legalization of marijuana in Colorado.
“The tendencies are there, Ryan,” Mom continues. “If my parents had set clearer expectations and had been firmer with Becca, she might actually be a productive member of society now.”
“Maybe you should start paddling Faith with a big ol’ King James Bible, then. Isn’t that how Grandpa Hoffman punished Becca for her godless ways?”
“I am not like my parents, especially in that regard, and you well know it.”
Not like your parents? That makes two of us.
“And that’s another thing,” Mom says, sounding exasperated. “This Noah character, he’s too religious. I mean, his parents are missionaries off in Africa, or some crazy thing.”
“I believe he said Eastern Europe. But why does it matter?”
“It’s not normal. And you know what they say about preachers’ kids. Wild. Morally rebellious. Do you really want your baby sister dating the son of a preacher?”
“Wow, Mom. I had no idea you bought into so many stereotypes. Shouldn’t we want Faith to be with someone with high moral standards?”