Chapter 13
Noah
When Noah tired of his cold war with Grace, he went home early. His dad worked summers, but his mom was off, and she was crawling around on the floor after little Hana again.
“Where’s Nami?” he asked. “Wasn’t she off work today?”
His mother nodded. “I insisted on taking Hana for a few hours, though. Give Nami a little time to herself.”
Noah, exhausted from his workday, shrugged. “Doesn’t Nami have a lot of days off in the summer?”
His mother gave him a pitying look. Hana was chewing on a little toy monkey, gurgling.
“Hardly off, dear. She has a baby.”
“Yes, time off to spend with the baby.” Noah had been gone when Hana was born, which was probably for the best. Every time he saw Nami, he had trouble understanding her choices.
A lot of their conversations seemed to focus on how poorly she was sleeping at night or how hard it was to get anything done during the day.
He always wondered why she had a baby if she found it so tiring.
“You know I don’t say this lightly, Noah,” said his mother, and he rolled his eyes.
“Let me guess. If I ever have a ch-child, I’ll understand.”
“Close,” she said, her tone clipped. “My son, I have tried my hardest to raise you with feminist ideals. But the truth is unless you become a woman then have a child then deal with all the crushing expectations surrounding all of that, you may come close to understanding. Until then, forget it.”
He would have responded, but his dad chose that moment to come home. “You are a saint, dear,” he said to his wife, kissing the top of her head. He was carrying two large canvas bags, which he put on the kitchen table. “Dinner is served, but we’ll start without you if you’d prefer.”
“Yes,” she said, “I will lie down for just a moment. Noah would say it’s unreasonable, as apparently my adoration for this baby is supposed to make me some sort of fountain of youth, but I’m exhausted.”
“Mom,” he complained, but she put a hand on his arm.
“Worn to a raveling,” she said as she patted Hana on the back. The quote was from one of the Beatrix Potter stories she used to read him and a peace offering. She blew him a kiss as she headed off to her bedroom.
“F-Fine,” he muttered. “Dad, what is this?”
He was looking through the bags, finding all sorts of glass containers full of food.
His father put away his suit jacket, added his tie to the hanger, and nestled Hana into her high chair. The thing looked like a piece of expensive modernist furniture, the type of thing that Noah would buy in LA then come to quickly hate.
“We started doing this with the Changs a while ago,” he said. “Nami said hot food in plastic is bad for you, and it saves them a bit of money.”
Hana started banging on her tray, and her grandfather kissed her before passing her some little cup contraption. Hana sucked down the milk then banged the new toy on her tray.
“I’m in trouble with mom,” confessed Noah.
His father chuckled. “Of course you are. You haven’t given Nobu your answer yet.”
Noah frowned. “What do you mean?”
“His engagement party,” said his dad, carefully mixing a bit of soup into some rice before spooning it into Hana’s mouth. The baby stared at him.
“Does he want me to sing?” asked Noah.
There was silence for a moment. “No, son. He wants to know if you’re going.”
“Okay. I mean, some people are interested in my music.”
Noah’s dad expertly used a mere corner of a napkin to get some stray grains of rice off the baby’s chin. “Yes. Well, that part, I can’t speak to. Are you going to the party?”
“Of course I’m going to the party,” Noah grumbled. “I don’t know why Nobu is even asking. Or why he’s asking you.”
“Most likely because you did not RSVP,” said Mr. Kato, ever the diplomat. He had inherited the Japanese ability to argue politely.
“Okay, well, it’s not like I would miss it,” said Noah.
His dad smiled. “Well, you miss things sometimes. You’re busy. He and Hunter simply wanted to know.”
Noah pulled out his phone. “I’m going to text him now,” he said.
“Plus one?”
“No,” Noah said. “Just me. I mean, I could ask Grace.”
“Grace has already been invited,” said a voice, and Noah’s mother appeared around the corner. “She RSVP’d right away, of course.”
“Yeah, yeah, she does everything better than me.”
“Except sing, perhaps?” said Noah’s dad. “Or is she an expert in that too?”
“Apparently not,” said Noah’s mother without waiting for him to answer. “And it’s a good thing, too, or she would put our son out of a job.”
Noah served himself some of the Changs’ soup. His mother and father, without speaking, switched places, and his mother began feeding baby Hana.
“In some ways, it might be fun to try another job,” said Noah lightly. He didn’t want his parents to worry about the very real possibility that his career was going down the tubes, but he imagined they had seen the same celebrity gossip everyone else had.
“You could take care of Hana for a day,” said Noah’s mother, a wicked smile on her face. “Generally, all it takes to root out a bit of deep-seated misogyny is a nice long chunk of time during which one is solely responsible for a helpless baby.”
“Now, dear,” said Noah’s dad, patting his wife’s hand. “Hana is far from helpless. If she were helpless, we couldn’t leave her with her uncle.”
“Of course not,” said the proud grandmother, making a shocked face at the baby, who giggled.
“I don’t need to be a nanny to take care of her,” said Noah. “And I don’t think I have too much misogyny that needs rooting out. Thanks, Mom.”
His parents exchanged looks, and his father nodded.
“Well, then. There’s a reading-intervention training Nami wanted to do. It’s after the festival, so maybe you could take one of those days. Your mother and I were going to split them.”
Noah shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”