Ten Noah
ten
Noah
Light streamed in through the window. Noah blinked and grumbled. His body felt like it was full of sand. Was this jet lag? Or just being thirty-eight?
He rolled over and scratched his chest. Maybe it was both.
Or maybe it was a hangover. Not from wine but from Ramin.
He couldn’t remember feeling so happy, so at peace, in a long time.
So like the version of himself he liked best. He missed being that Noah.
The Noah who smiled easily, who laughed loudly, who was excited for the future.
Who had friends and community and more going on than just keeping track of work contracts and Jake’s appointments.
He liked his job, and he loved his son, but last night was the first time in a while that he’d done something just for him.
And Ramin… Ramin hadn’t changed a bit. Well, he had, of course he had, but he was still the same smart, kind guy he’d been when they were teenagers. Except now his shyness was gone, replaced with the sort of quiet confidence that Noah had never quite managed. Confidence to be himself.
What kind of man could look Ramin Yazdani in the eyes—those beautiful eyes—and tell him he was boring ?
Ramin was the opposite of boring.
And Noah wanted to kick himself for not getting Ramin’s number. He’d been too distracted (and, okay, maybe a little buzzed) and hadn’t realized until he got back to the hotel that twice, now, he’d failed to ask.
He’d been lucky to run into Ramin twice, but what were the odds he’d get a third chance? And he wanted one. Desperately.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. His flirting game was so out of practice. Nothing had worked—not the smiles, not the brushes of their legs under the table, not the fleeting hand contact. Ramin just wasn’t into him.
Or—oh God—Ramin was still heartbroken from his breakup.
Noah groaned. He was an insensitive jerk. Of course Ramin wasn’t over it yet. Even if he liked Noah, Noah had plowed right over his hurt, smashed through his boundaries, made a total fool of himself.
But he couldn’t help it. Ramin was there. Right there. There was a spark between them. He knew it. There always had been, even if they hadn’t entirely understood it. And Noah hadn’t sparked with anyone in a long time. He’d let the warmth of it override his better judgment.
And now Ramin was gone again. It had taken all of one evening for Ramin to take up space in Noah’s heart again, and now he ached in the shape of that loss. They’d connected, Noah knew they had, even if only as friends, and now those threads were severed.
Again.
And Noah was alone.
Noah had to shampoo twice to get the smell of smoke out of his hair. Seriously, why was everyone in Italy still smoking like it was 1995? Last night’s clothes carried the distinct scent of Eau de Smoking Section at Perkins.
While Angela finished getting ready, Noah sat down next to Jake and they both pulled on their shoes. Noah missed when Jake still needed help tying his. Or even when he did bunny ears.
Yeah, he wasn’t a cool world traveler like Ramin. Yeah, he was divorced and estranged from his parents. Yeah, life had gone differently than he expected. But he’d never regret Jake. Jake was the best thing he ever did.
“Dad?” Jake’s voice was small.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“You’re smiling weird.”
Noah laughed and mussed Jake’s hair. “Just thinking how much I love you.”
Jake laughed. But then his face went serious.
“You remember that guy we met yesterday?”
“Ramin?”
“Yeah.”
How could Noah forget?
“What about him?”
Jake shrugged. “He had an awesome face.”
“He did.” He really did. “He was a good friend.”
“How come I never met him before?”
“I don’t know. We fell out of touch after high school.”
Jake frowned. “Are we going to fall out of touch?”
“What do you mean?”
“If I move with Mom.”
Whatever the emotional equivalent of stepping on a Lego brick was, that’s what Noah felt. Times a million.
“Never.” Noah pulled Jake into a hug.
He didn’t want his son to move. He didn’t want to lose Jake.
But even if they were half a world away, he’d always be Jake’s dad. He’d call every day. Twice a day. Whatever it took.
“You promise?”
That was one promise, at least, Noah knew he could keep.
“I promise.”
“Okay.” And then Jake stood, brushed off his shorts (even though they were clean), and let out a whole-body sigh, like he’d just finished a twelve-hour shift in a coal mine instead of an emotional heart-to-heart with his dad.
Sometimes his son was a complete mystery to him. But he wouldn’t change a thing about him.
“Mom! We’re ready!”
Noah held Jake’s hand and followed Angela to the subway station. Noah thought maybe she’d want to rest more, but no. After a good night’s sleep, she was ready to begin the Death March of Fun: Day Two.
Stucco buildings hemmed them in on all sides, painted white and red and pink and amber and occasionally lilac. Heat and humidity pressed in on them, even in the shade, as they dodged bikes and scooters and power-suited business folks talking on phones and smoking cigarettes.
“Are we there yet?” Jake asked with a sigh as they followed Angela down the stairs into the subway station.
“Not yet,” Noah said. “I thought you wanted to ride the subway?”
Jake used to like trains, at least.
“I’m hungry.”
“We’re headed to lunch,” Angela said. “A place Nonna recommended. Near the Duomo.”
“What’s that?”
“The big cathedral.” Noah rubbed his cross. He’d never been Catholic—his parents had been firmly Baptist, and he was nondenominational himself—but he was excited to see the Duomo. He loved architecture.
They hopped onto the crowded subway, passed a few stations, until the automated announcement came in Italian and then in English: “This is Duomo. Doors open on the right.”
Angela took Jake’s hand and Noah followed close behind, up more escalators than he could count, down long corridors, emerging into blinding daylight at the final staircase up to the Piazza del Duomo.
Noah’s jaw dropped.
Pinnacles and spires reached for the clear blue sky. White marble with blue-gray swirls shone in the daylight. Statues dotted every flying buttress. High above, barely visible, a golden cross and statue of the Virgin Mary gleamed.
The cathedral was enormous .
His own church back home was a converted Popeyes Chicken that had gone out of business (Pastor Josh always joked it would’ve been too on-the-nose if it had been a Church’s Chicken), but it was perfect to Noah: cozy, humble, with room for Jake to play with the other kids, a flagpole out front flying a Progress Pride flag, and, most importantly, a version of God that meant loving everyone instead of controlling them.
Noah loved his church. But the Duomo… well, the Catholics certainly knew how to make a statement.
He wished he had his sketchbook with him. And that Angela had budgeted time for him to sit and draw it.
“So,” Angela said. “How was— ack! ”
She flinched as a pigeon zipped by her head. Thousands of its fellows strutted along the gray and white stones of the piazza. Tourists snapped photos, admired the Duomo and surrounding buildings, tried to feed the birds. Jake clung to Angela’s side as another one zipped by, but then he laughed.
“You all right?” Noah asked.
“We’re fine.” She oriented herself and started cutting through the crowd, a gentle but firm grip on Jake’s hand. Over her shoulder she called, “What’d you end up doing last night?”
Noah pulled out his phone to snap a few photos. “I actually ran into Ramin again at a little restaurant. We ended up eating together.”
Angela’s eyebrows slowly raised, a move he remembered all too well. It meant she could tell there was more there but was waiting for you to say something she could use to pin you down. It was probably why she was such a great lawyer.
“You didn’t tell me!” Jake frowned. “I wanted to have dinner with Ramin!”
“Jakey, you were asleep.”
“You could’ve woken me up.”
Noah looked from Jake to Angela, whose eyebrows had gone from skeptical to bewildered.
“You’re always doing things without me!”
“Jake…” Noah didn’t know what to say. His whole life revolved around Jake. The only things he did without Jake were work and the gym.
Where was all this coming from?
“Jake,” Angela said. “Your father’s allowed to have friends.”
“I guess,” Jake muttered. But he clung to Angela as they made their way through the piazza.
Noah prayed it was just Jake’s hunger talking. Or jet lag. He didn’t understand it. Truly.
Noah and Jake had always been close. All through Jake’s childhood, Noah had been the one who did most of the parenting.
He was around more, and he was more suited to it, too.
Angela had never been the most patient. Her decisiveness had always served her well as a lawyer, but Jake wasn’t a witness to be deposed.
He was a child, and sometimes he needed to get his feelings out, even if those feelings didn’t make sense.
Sometimes he needed to make his own choices, even if they were different from those Angela or Noah would make.
Sometimes he just needed to try and fail at things, because how else was he going to learn?
Noah had always, always done better with Jake. So how had it come to this? Why was Jake suddenly mad at him all the time?
“It’s just a phase,” Angela said softly as she studied the map on her phone. “Don’t take it personally.”
“I know.” That didn’t make it any easier.
They skirted the edge of the piazza and the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, an enormous glass-ceilinged shopping center with open arches wide enough to drive a semi through.
They passed high-end fashion stores, a gelato cart (thankfully Jake was looking the other way), and even a busker playing an impressive rendition of “Shine On You Crazy Diamond,” before turning down a narrow side street.
“Here we are.” Angela looked up from her phone. “Oh.”
Oh was right. There was a line of people down the block and back up, all waiting to get through a set of double doors leading into a literal hole in the wall.
Angela frowned and looked back at Noah. Had she factored in lines when scheduling the Death March of Fun?
He shrugged. “Nonna said it was good, right?”
Angela nodded and tucked her phone into her tactical satchel. “She said to try the panzerotti.”
“Dad?” Apparently Jake was talking to him again. “Did you and Ramin have mac and cheese for dinner?”
“No. We both had risotto.”
“Oh.” He sighed, like Noah had just dropped the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I guess that’s okay then.”
“Thanks, buddy. He owns a restaurant back home. Maybe we can visit when we get back.”
“Yeah? Do they make mac and cheese?”
Angela met Noah’s eyes. Her nostrils flared and her lips pressed together, a sure sign she was holding in a laugh.
Noah grinned. Angela always looked cute when she was trying not to laugh, which thankfully didn’t work that often.
It was the first thing Noah fell in love with, back when they were young and first dating, and she’d made that face when Noah told a terrible joke.
He didn’t miss those days. Not exactly. And he didn’t exactly miss being married to Angela. But he missed the version of himself that had been married. A man whose life was on course. A man who knew what he was doing.
Not a man dwelling on a twenty-year-old unrequited crush while waiting in line for fried dough.
Finally they made it into the bakery.
“What d’you want, Jakey?” Noah asked. “Mozzarella and tomato?”
“Yeah!”
“What about you?” Angela asked.
“Hot salami?”
Angela ordered for them in halting Italian—when had she picked that up?—and Noah collected their orders.
“Don’t burn your—” Noah began, but Jake had already bitten into his panzerotti. He curled his lips back and breathed through his teeth.
“—mouth,” Angela finished. She met Noah’s eyes and they shared a long-suffering sigh at their son’s expense.
Noah bit into his own panzerotti—a pocket of fried dough filled with tomatoes and mozzarella and hot salami—far more carefully.
The pastry was short and crunchy and salty, the filling spicy and savory, though he could feel the oil escaping the paper wrapping to trail down the outside of his hand.
He should’ve grabbed napkins; instead, he had to lick it off.
They found a quiet spot of sidewalk to enjoy their panzerotti, Jake sitting on the curb, Noah and Angela standing above him.
“This is nice, huh?” she asked.
“Mm-hmm,” Jake mumbled around his food.
“I love how walkable it is here. Everything’s so easy to get to. Plus the subway.”
“Yeah.” It was nice.
If Milan hadn’t been so walkable, he never would’ve bumped into Ramin again.
“I don’t know if I’ll move here or close to Bellagio, like Nonno and Nonna. I’ve still got a lot to decide. Plus I need to figure out the whole school situation.”
Ah. She didn’t mean nice as in nice to visit. She meant nice as in Wouldn’t it be nice if I moved here with Jake?
And maybe it would. It was nice here. Milan had a good vibe. Everyone seemed happy, and no one was in a rush (except for other tourists on their own Death March of Fun).
It was nice, but Noah didn’t want it to be. He wanted to argue with Angela. He wanted to point out that it was far from home. That none of them spoke the language. That Jake didn’t know anyone here. All his friends were back home. His school. Heck, Angela’s own parents and siblings were there!
Noah was, too.
But he had to be objective about this. Give Italy a fair shake.
He wasn’t his parents. He’d do what was best for Jake. He’d ask Jake and let him decide what was best for himself. Even if it hurt Noah.
That’s what being a dad meant.