Chapter Ten Noah #2
“Okay . . . sorry, I veered. I’m locked in now—you just gotta get on his level. It’s easy.”
He does a mic drop motion with his hand.
I wish I could drop him . . . from a bridge.
“And I do that how?”
He laughs like I’m clueless. “Dads love to talk about three things.” He starts counting them out on his fingers. “Barbecue. Lawn care. And the price of gas. You can’t go wrong. Just wind him up and sit back. Trust me. He’ll love you.”
I run my hand through my hair, feeling sicker by the minute. “Chase . . . they live in a condo in downtown Portland and drive an electric car.”
His mouth pulls at both sides with an uh-oh look, but then he snaps his fingers and points at me.
“You still got barbecue, dude.”
“Uh, so,” she interrupts, “my dad’s vegan.”
I shake my head, trying to run from the memory.
“I’m so fucked.”
“I’m telling you, they’re going to love you,” she breathes out, lifting to her tiptoes to kiss my chin. “Just remember the stuff I told you.”
I’m nodding like I’m getting a pep talk before a big game.
“Your mom’s part of a rose club; her favorites are the cabbage ones.
And she hates Joanne for winning best garden because she uses store-bought chemicals.
Your dad builds model cars and occasionally likes to run half marathons.
They just got back from Paris, where your mom discovered she was suddenly late-in-life lactose intolerant. ”
“Yes, but don’t mention I told you that she hotboxed everyone with her ass in a packed elevator all the way up to the top of the Eiffel Tower.”
I grin. “That one goes to my grave. And should’ve gone to yours . . . You’re a terrible daughter.”
“Shh.” Goldie smooths the only necktie I own down my chest. “This is an especially nice touch, Adler.”
“You think? I thought it said ‘respectable’”—I wink at her—“and not ‘I do dirty things to your daughter.’”
She chuckles, picking up where I left off. “Absolutely. Who doesn’t like a suitor in a tie? It’s a universal green flag. See, you’re already nailing the job as my parents’ fave.”
My hands land on her hips as I walk her backward toward the wall behind her.
“Am I nailing it? I guess I should spend tonight really hammering it home.”
Her hands lie flat against my chest as I cage her in. She licks her red-lipsticked pout before her voice gets raspy.
“You know, I’d be happy to arrange a good pounding . . . of information . . . tonight.”
Fuck. Her eyes, and those lips. I’m a goner. We’re lost in our flirtation. Faces inching closer because we’re about to kiss until Evie’s disgust fills the room.
“Eww. You’re not even whispering . . . and/or clever. Both are rude to subject me to.”
Goldie presses her lips together, trying not to laugh, as I release her from the cage I had her in.
“Sorry,” Goldie offers insincerely, still smiling at me.
Before any one of us can make a joke, there’s a knock at the door, making Goldie and I swing our heads in that direction. Evie walks between us, leaving only me standing in possible panic before Goldie and I look back at each other.
“They could hate me. Even with the tie.”
Goldie’s hand slips inside mine. “Won’t happen. You’ve got this. They’ll love you . . .” Her lips pull into a soft smile, but she suddenly looks nervous before she adds, “Because I do, Noah. I love you.”
The wind is knocked out of me as I stare back into her eyes.
She loves me.
My lips part as I begin smiling back at her, but her finger covers them as she shakes her beautiful head. “No.” A small, huffed laugh escapes her like she’s giddy. “Don’t say anything. Find a better moment. Knock me off my feet.”
Neither of us says another word as we turn at the same time to face the door like two lovesick fools, but Evie winks back at us with her hand resting on the doorknob.
“I may have told Mom that most of Noah’s tattoos were inked in prison . . . That’s for trying to set me up with the STD. Twice. Happy New Year, guys.”
Fuck me.
“You remind me of your mom,” I say quietly as I adjust myself on the couch so my body’s facing hers a little bit more.
Goldie does the same. I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, letting my knuckles brush over her birthmark. Man, she’s beautiful in this light, with the fire going.
What am I talking about? She’s beautiful always.
“Noah, I don’t know if you know this,” she deadpans, “but I’m adopted.”
“You’re such a smart-ass.”
She says nothing, just takes a sip of her wine with a sly grin, and I get a little more lost in her and this moment as the conversation flows around us.
I inhale, dragging my bottom lip between my teeth before begrudgingly turning my attention back to the room.
Evie and her dad are going head-to-head in Scrabble as their mom keeps reminding them to keep it clean.
“‘Twat,’” Evie blurts out. “That’s eleven points.”
Their mom scoffs, but Goldie’s father, Stephen, kisses her cheek. “It means ‘incompetent man’ or ‘fool,’ honey.”
“Oh, I know what it means, and right now, you’re the epitome of it.”
The room laughs, including Goldie, who’s smiling wider. It’s like a scene from a movie. Something semi-wholesome and heartwarming. And nothing I’ve ever experienced.
I motion my chin toward her mom. “What I was saying is that you remind me of her because you’re both dry and witty. And you make people feel warm around you. You’re like cozy people.”
Goldie plays with the button just under my collar, staring up from under those long lashes.
“Am I your blankie?” She swipes her tongue over her bottom lip, collecting a drop of red wine.
I chuckle. “Something like that.”
Glancing up to make sure nobody’s looking, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Now that I’ve passed meet-the-parents, do I get to do dirty shit to their daughter?”
She shivers. “Maybe . . .”
“Why maybe?” I protest, pulling back and staring into her eyes.
She shrugs, and it’s all the foreshadowing I need to know she’s flirting with me.
“Because they were so easy on you. I was kind of hoping they’d believe my sister and put you on the stand. Really grill ya. Peel back the oni—”
I raise my brows, and she changes her direction. “Artichoke.”
“Thank you.” I quietly clear my throat as she mouths, “You’re welcome.”
“But I wonder if Camilla and Stephen know what a bully their daughter is. I should take my present back now that you’ve outed your true self.”
She feigns surprise. “‘Camilla and Stephen’? Really?”
I nod with audacious confidence. “Yeah, we’re best friends now. Duh. I’ve seen all the Facebook albums.”
She laughs, and I memorize it. Her palm touches my chest.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Mom really loves those roses. And don’t you dare threaten to take away my beautiful journal. How else will I record one of my many genius thoughts that will eventually lead to my literary greatness?”
I chuckle quietly. “So humble.”
Her tongue runs just over her canine tooth as she grins with a small shoulder pop. Damn, when she flirts like this, it drives me wild.
“Baby, that’s nothing I’ve ever aspired to be.”
Before I can ask if her aspirations align with my dirty thoughts, her dad disrupts the moment.
“Noah, I don’t know if my daughter told you, but I have this rule . . .”
Oh shit. I suddenly feel like I’ve been caught in my underwear half out her bedroom window.
“No, sir. What’s that?”
Goldie laughs because I’m back to “sir” just as Evie throws her hands up, griping over their dad’s Scrabble word.
“‘Caziques.’ That’s three hundred and ninety-two points,” he says with a grin before turning his attention back to me.
“As I was saying. We started this tradition back when the girls would come home to us every school break. They were notorious for bringing home friends.”
I teasingly cut my eyes at Goldie when he says “friends,” grinning when she elbows my ribs.
Stephen chuckles, winking at her as he continues.
“We asked they share what traditions are dear to them, whether it’s prayer or a dish they love.
We like to incorporate small acts to make people feel at home.
I’m a firm believer that family is a choice you make”—his gaze moves to Goldie, and there’s so much love—“so anyone under a Monroe roof becomes ours. So, tell us. How can we make you family tonight?”
My lips part, but nothing comes out. Because, damn. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. That’s nothing I expected him to say, and I feel unprepared to answer.
Not even a lie springs to mind quick enough.
I search the space, not really focused on anything as my brows draw together. I can feel their eyes on me, but all I can do is swallow and look down at my hands. I don’t go back there . . . to my past. To my memories. All I have of myself is now, but I can’t say that.
“Dad,” Goldie rushes out, shaking her head, silently admonishing him. “Too sensitive. You know his mom—”
I kiss the top of her hand, cutting her off. “It’s okay. Seriously.”
Stephen frowns. “I’m sorry, Noah. That was inconsiderate of me. It’s just I read once that people who lose someone never get the opportunity to speak about them because others always assume they don’t want to, and I was trying—”
I shake my head, stopping him as Camilla puts her hand on his shoulder. The way they’re both looking at me, I don’t know how to describe it . . . I think I just wish my mom were here to see it.
“No. No, it’s okay. Thank you. It’s kind of you to ask,” I say, genuinely meaning it. “There’s this part of me who wishes I could talk about her all the time. I loved her.”
I pause, saying all the rest in my head.
But if I do, everything around me dies like flowers without the sun. I don’t get to be Noah anymore, and I’ve worked too hard to go back to a roomful of locks.
“Grief is such a bastard,” Camilla offers, and I nod. “Someone once wrote that it takes more than just the people we love. Sometimes our memories become so painful we lose the time we lived with them as well.”
I blink, feeling the truth of that statement almost viscerally. “Who wrote that?”
“My daughter.” Camilla nods to Goldie.
I look down at my girl, feeling way too fucking seen. She really has a way of doing that to me.
“What was your mom’s name?” Goldie says sweetly. “You’ve never told me.”
For a second, I almost speak it like I haven’t forgotten how. But then I blink, and the moment’s gone.
“Mary . . . her name was Mary.”
Goldie smiles, and it was worth the lie. I turn my attention over to her father.
“My mom loved holidays, but she was a complicated woman, so we didn’t have much in the way of tradition.
A lot of love, just not a lot of festivity.
Although, there was one thing we did. Tonight .
. . on New Year’s Eve, right at the stroke of midnight, we’d yell a word to try and be the first person to say it in that year.
It was silly, but for a kid it was special.
I’d spend hours trying to think of the one word nobody else would say. ”
“I love that,” Camilla breathes out, clapping her hands together once. “May we do that?”
I swallow hard, my throat thick as I nod and smile. “Yeah, of course.”
“Then it’s settled. For Mary,” she adds, lifting her glass as everyone follows.
Goldie lays her head on my chest, laughing as her sister immediately begins arguing about which word she’s claiming. But I’m lost in my thoughts.
It’s really fucking hard to process getting everything you ever wanted. And that’s what this is . . . everything I’ve ever wanted. I close my eyes for a fleeting second, and the memory is just as long, but the feeling doesn’t leave even after I open them.
Mom would’ve loved this.
“Noah, no. What are you doing?”
My chubby little fingers stay working, trying to unlock the next lock on the door as I press higher on my tiptoes on the chair. But my mom wraps her arm around my waist and plucks me off.
“What have I told you? You can never unlock the doors. They keep us safe.”
I blink up at her, tears starting to brim my six-year-old eyes as she grips my arm.
“But . . . but . . .”
“No ‘buts’ and no exceptions.” She looks so mad. My lip quivers.
“But Mommy, how will Santa get inside? We don’t have a chimney. And everyone at school says he comes through the chimney.”
She lets out a sigh and crouches down so we’re on the same level, rubbing my small shoulders.
“Noah. There are monsters in the world. Scary monsters. And if you unlock that door, they will come and get us, baby. Promise Mommy you’ll never unlock the doors again.”
Tears spring from my eyes, but before she can grab me, I run. I run as fast as I can to my room and throw myself onto my bed, face down.
“Santa won’t come. He’ll never come. I hate those stupid locks.”
I feel her hand on my back, rubbing small circles. “Hey . . . hey, now. Don’t say bad words. There’s no need to cry, little love. You didn’t let me finish. Your friends are wrong. They’ve never heard of the magic of Santa.”
I sniffle, still face down but listening.
“He doesn’t need a chimney. That’s just a story. He can turn himself into sparkle and dust to get through the cracks.”
“Nuh-uh,” I mumble.
“Yes huh,” she pushes back. “I even have proof.” I lift my head as she continues. “I happen to know that for the best little boys and girls, he leaves a present out early.”
My eyes grow wide while I listen on bated breath as I sit up. She winks at me. I try and do it back, both my eyes closing.
“I bet if you checked your stocking . . .” she says, drying my eyes with her fingers.
That’s all it takes for me to scramble off the bed and tear into our small living room, right to the long green secondhand stocking I got from a yard sale last year.
I reach inside, feeling my heart almost explode as I smile from ear to ear.
“I got one. I got one.”
My mom’s standing in the door, watching me with that sad look on her face that never goes away.
“See, baby? There’s magic all around. And one day, maybe you’ll even be free of those locks and live a beautiful life.”
Everyone’s on their feet in Goldie’s living room with hats on their heads and party horns in their hands, yelling at the television as the ball in Times Square gets lower and lower. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.
Goldie’s hand finds mine, her smile wide as she looks up at me. I feel like I could die today, and nothing would beat this moment. Six. Five.
Everything I want to say to her begins to bubble to the surface, and I can’t even count as I look down at her, feeling my chest rise and fall faster. Four. Three.
I turn and face her. Two. My hands cradle her face. One.
“Happy New Year!” rings out, along with everyone’s silly words: Pewter. Arachnoid. Moist. Everyone groans as they look at Evie, but I pull Goldie’s face to mine, our lips almost touching.
“Noah,” she says quietly, making my name her word, but I say the only thing I can’t hold in anymore.
“Goldie . . . I love you too.”