Thirteen
I have had my hot bath, but didn’t need to meditate. The turmoil of earlier has completely gone, thanks to my father showing
up with his unconventional apology. I am about to get into bed in a pair of Jerome’s boxer shorts and one of my oldest, most
favorite T-shirts when I hear Lucy come in.
She yells my name and I pad out into the living room, where Lucy is already pouring three tequilas, bouncing with excitement
as I walk in.
There is a man with her, and I am instantly embarrassed at what I look like. My T-shirt frayed at the neck, men’s boxer shorts,
hair piled up on top of my head in a giant clip. Not that I should care, for this is one of Lucy’s conquests, but I would
still have liked to have looked a little more presentable.
“Hey.” I reach out a hand to the man. Damn, he is fine. Of course. Lucy always lands the most handsome men I have ever seen, men who would never give me a second glance. Not that
Jerome isn’t good-looking, but it is quieter, more preppy, more classic American boy next door.
This man is all brooding eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and broad shoulders.
I note his white teeth because he is smiling at me and making me a little uncomfortable.
He’s tall, with chin-length messy dark hair, a faint beard, and a guitar slung over his shoulder.
If I wasn’t so happily ensconced, I’d tell you this man is pure sex appeal.
But I am happily ensconced, and this man belongs to Lucy.
As he takes my hand, I say, “I’m Missy. Lucy’s roommate.”
He starts laughing, as does Lucy.
“Missy!” she says. “It’s Noah!”
I turn and stare at him, my mouth dropping open in shock. “Noah, your brother Noah?” I look from Lucy to the man, trying to find the little boy, the teenager I loved from afar for so many years, and
there he is, the crinkle in his eyes, the break in his nose from when he fell off his skateboard while trying to show off
his unmastered skills.
He slides off the guitar, placing it gently on the ground, before opening his arms. I step in for a hug that feels so warm,
so safe, I’m not sure I ever want it to stop. Turning my head to the side, I lean it on his chest, wondering how he got so
grown-up, how he got so gorgeous. I can feel his hands on my back, and I need this to stop.
“Jesus.” I step back and look up at him. “You’re all growed up.”
“Me?” he laughs. “The last time I saw you, you were all gawky legs and skinned knees. What happened?”
I do a deep curtsy to the floor, hoping to hide my embarrassment. “As you can see, I blossomed into a swan.”
“You did,” he says without a trace of irony.
“Isn’t she so cute in her little boxer shorts.” Lucy pouts, sliding a glass of tequila over to me. “But hands off.” She turns
to Noah. “She has a boyfriend and it’s serious.”
Shut up, I want to say. Don’t mention my boyfriend to Noah. I remind myself that I am no longer a lovestruck fourteen-year-old,
that the twitching of my heart is simply the vestige of my childhood crush, a Pavlovian response, I think, to being close
to someone I once thought I loved, back when I thought I knew what love was.
“When was the last time we saw each other?” Noah asks as we toast each other and sip our drinks, moving over to the living room.
“Years ago.” I don’t want him to know that I know exactly when we last saw each other. He was eighteen, and off to the Berklee
College of Music. I was sixteen, and madly in love with him, convinced I would never see him again. It was his graduation
party. His parents had (illegally) provided a beer keg, and all the graduating seniors had taken full advantage. I found Noah
in the kitchen, polishing off a tray of pigs in blankets.
“Hi,” he said through a mouthful of pork and pastry, steadying himself against the kitchen counter. “I’m trying to soak up
the alcohol.”
“Is it working?” I took a Diet Coke from the fridge.
“Not yet.”
“Are you excited?” I focused on opening the Diet Coke because I never knew what to say to Noah. The power of speech seemed
to leave me whenever he was around, so I stuck to generic questions and tried to get away as quickly as possible. Ironic,
given that I wanted to be near him all the time.
“Yes and no. I can’t wait to get to the East Coast, but there are some things I’m really going to miss about home.”
“Oh yeah? What kinds of things?” I tried to ignore the way he was looking at me, the way my heart fluttered in the most unexpected
of ways. Don’t be silly, I told myself. This is Noah who has spent years teasing you alongside his sister. He sees you as
another little sister. That’s all.
Noah stepped closer to me. He was so close, I could smell the beer on his breath. It smelled sweet, like strawberries and
possibility. He dipped his head and looked at me.
“Like pretty dark-haired girls with dimples who are very good at skateboarding.”
His head moved closer as my heart leaped. And then he shook his head and stepped away.
“Jesus,” he said to himself, under his breath. “I’m drunk.” He looked at me. “Sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . Sorry.”
And he shrugged, and left the room as I stood there shaking, knowing he was about to kiss me, unable to understand how it
hadn’t happened, convinced I just missed out on the beginning of the rest of my life.
Noah was the reason I was so determined to go to Harvard. I have never told anyone this before. My mother wanted me at Stanford,
but I wanted Boston, and the reason I wanted Boston, other than its history, and soul, and the brilliance of the college,
and the Charles River, and the sheer joy of walking through Harvard Yard on a summer’s day, was Noah.
Berklee College of Music was in Boston, and I had to get there as quickly as possible. By the time I started as a freshman,
Noah had dropped out and made his way to New York, already working as a session musician and establishing a reputation as
a talented guitarist.
He was in a band for a while that was huge in the UK and Europe, and he lived there before, last I heard, coming back to New
York. I followed him online as best I could in those early days, but haven’t seen him in the flesh since that night a long,
long time ago.
“I like your long hair.” I curl up on the sofa, putting a pillow over my legs so he doesn’t notice that it has been a few
days since they met a razor. I probably should care a little more about keeping my legs clean-shaven for Jerome, but it doesn’t
bother him, therefore doesn’t bother me. However, I definitely don’t want Noah to notice.
“This is just laziness,” he says. I had of course seen photographs of him when I used to follow his every move. You can’t hide these days, but the beard and long hair are new. “I like your boxer shorts. Who’s this?” He reaches over and picks up Harvey from his dog bed.
“That’s Harvey,” says Lucy. “He’s the only dog that we allow ourselves to have. We’re very irresponsible dog owners, but Harvey
doesn’t mind. How long has it been since you last fed him?” She looks at me.
“Years!” I say, and Noah laughs.
“Good boy.” He pets Harvey and lifts him up for a cuddle, holding him and staring into his eyes in just the way he stared
into mine, many years ago, and my heart again does that slight lurchy thing. Stop it, I think. Pavlovian response? Down!
“Lucy says you’re working for ipryy. How is that, working with your dad?”
“Depends on the day. It’s alternately fantastic, and awful. Depends on his mood.”
“So everything we read about him is true?”
I grimace. “Pretty much.”
“I always remember thinking he was the coolest man I’d ever seen. I remember that Mustang he drove. I thought you were so
lucky to have him as a father.”
Despite myself, I let out a bark of laughter. “He is the coolest man ever, but I’m not so sure I’m lucky. Sometimes I think
so, and sometimes it’s really, really hard. But enough about me. Tell me about music.”
“Nah!” Lucy lies back. “Don’t tell us about it, play!”
Noah laughs. “Is that an order?”
“Absolutely.”
We sit and drink tequila, adding wine and potato chips as Noah plays the hits he had with the band, then some new songs he’s
working on. His voice is sweet and soft, but probably not strong enough to make it as a singer. I am nevertheless entranced.
He moves into classics we know and love.
The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Amy Winehouse, Bonnie Raitt.
We drink more tequila, more wine, and before I know it I, who will not sing in front of anyone, am singing my heart out with Lucy and Noah, the three of us collapsing in laughter at Lucy’s failed attempt to harmonize.
“You’re staying, right? How long?” I make my voice neutral, hoping he won’t read anything into the question. Although there
is nothing to read into the question. I have a boyfriend. I am happy.
“If it’s okay, I’m going to stay here for a little while I look for an apartment.” He says he is back to co-write the new
album with Chad Barrett, and since Chad Barrett is here, he will be here too.
“How does it feel to be home?”
“I missed the sunshine,” he says. “And the smiles.” I don’t realize I’m smiling until he says that. I have no idea if he means
the sunny Californian personality in general, or me. I choose to believe it’s the former.
I frown suddenly. “Where will you sleep?”
“I’ll be on the sofa,” he says. “If that’s okay.”
“Sure.” I stifle a yawn. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”
Noah leans over and kisses me on the cheek before putting an arm around his sister, grinning at both of us. I feel fourteen
years old.
“What a great evening,” Noah says. “You know that thing where you don’t realize you’ve missed someone until you’re with them
again, and suddenly you realize there’s been a whole chunk of your life where you’ve missed them desperately?”
Yes, I think. I know exactly what that’s like.
When I wake up the next morning, headachy and hungover from too much alcohol and not enough sleep, I can’t figure out if Noah was a dream, or real.
I very quietly move through the apartment to the living room, where a figure is sprawled on the sofa, a blanket over him, a guitar on the coffee table next to a few empty bottles of wine.
I turn and pad back to my room to shower, with a large smile on my face. It wasn’t a dream.
The smile stays on my face for the rest of the day.