Seven
Beryl
The next few days both fly and drag by. I’ve never understood how that’s possible. Between deciding what to cook, I had to deal with one of my son’s rare tantrums. When we made the arrangements for his weekend with his Grammy, he was thrilled and excited. Until he discovered Noah was coming for dinner on Friday. Then all hell broke loose.
The immediate connection Devin felt with Noah relieves many of my concerns. If my son didn’t like him, there would be no way I could have a relationship with Noah. They’ll need time to get to know each other, just as Noah and I need time to reconnect. I simply underestimated the power of a nine year old’s determination to have his way.
Between a rare shouting match, tears, silent glares, and slammed doors, my kid surprised me. The determination and fortitude he displays in gymnastics worked as well in getting his way. He wore me down. Actually, I allowed myself to be worn down. There’s no reason why Devin can’t join us for dinner then go to Mom’s.
After Noah agreed to Devin’s eating with us, I sat him down and we had a long talk about his behavior. We both had acted poorly and he was the first to apologize. Hugs and smiles later, he returned to my cheerful, loving son. Thank god. This was probably good training for when he hits his teen years. I’m not looking forward to those challenges.
With a slight reworking of dinner—like saving the wine for later—we’re almost ready for company. Devin set the table and is creating place cards at the kitchen island. I’m finishing up the prep, trying to keep his colored pencils from rolling against my chopped vegetables.
He glances at the cutting board and sighs. “I don’t know why we have to have both broccoli and carrots. I had vegetables at lunch, too.”
“You’re the one who wanted to be here.”
He jumps up, circles the island and hugs me. “Thanks, Mom. For letting me stay.” He stands back and gives me a look so speculative and adult, I wonder if some fey creature had switched my child. “I like Noah, too. It’s okay if you want to date him. Or whatever.”
“Whatever?”
“Yeah, like kissing and stuff.”
Wondering just how much Devin knows about this stuff, I tweak his nose. “Not that I need your permission, kiddo, but thanks. I’m happy you like Noah.”
“I do. And not just because he makes yummy chocolate. Do you think he’ll bring any over tonight?”
A knock sounds on our door. “That’s probably him now. Why don’t you go ask him?”
With a fist pump followed by a somersault down the hall, Devin rushes to answer the door. Grinning at the rumble of conversation, I rest my hip against the counter and wait. Devin skips back into the kitchen carrying two Choco-Love boxes. “Mom, look. Chocolate for us.” He sets one box on the island then drawls, “And another box for me to take to Grammy’s house. Is that great, or what?”
“Very great. Go put that box with your stuff so you don’t forget it when Grammy picks you up.”
“Thanks again, Noah,” he says before running off. With that energy, and chocolate, I don’t envy my mother tonight.
I turn my attention to the handsome man hovering next to the island. “Thank you. Devin’s really looking forward to tonight.”
“Me, too. Anything I can do to help?”
“Keep me company while I finish cooking?”
He sits at the island and glances around the kitchen and small dining area but before he says anything, Devin is back, scooping up his creations. “I made place cards so we know where to sit for dinner.”
The meal goes smoothly with Devin monopolizing the conversation. I don’t mind, Noah and I will talk later. Noah must have done some research on gymnastics because he asks specific questions that Devin answers with his usual excitement. I can tell how much he needs this interaction and validation. Other than his coaches, Devin has few male role models.
Watching the two interact fills my heart. This is what my family dreams looked like.
My mom arrives at the scheduled time and texts from her car. She liked Noah when we were in college so I’m not sure why she doesn’t want to meet him today. Maybe she’s afraid to become attached to him again, too. Or she knows if she comes in, there will be less time for the two of us to be alone. Either way, Mom’s one smart woman.
Once quiet settles around us, I offer wine and we take our glasses to the living room. I sit on one end of the couch and when Noah pauses glancing from the couch to a chair, I pat the cushion next to me. He sits, sips his wine then sets the glass aside. “Good vintage.”
“I asked them down at Book Barrel wine bar what goes well with chocolate. They had to look up some possibilities. Especially for your date night boards, you should offer a list of pairings.”
“Good idea. I’ll suggest that to Tegan. I’m sure she’ll enjoy the research. Beryl, there’s so much I need to say, to make up for. I don’t know where to start.”
At least he’s not attempting to avoid this conversation. “I started with right after you left. Maybe you should do the same.”
“I was a complete dick back then.”
“A good share of men were at that age. The issue is whether you’ve matured or not.” Attempting to take some of the sting from my words, I smile. “Take Devin’s father for instance. He’s a mix of both boy and adult. His life revolves around a game. Because he’s famous, he can’t keep it in his pants. But he’s responsible enough to take care of the kids. You…I don’t know why you believed you had to leave. Can you tell me that?”
“I honestly don’t know.” He holds up his hands. “Before you go ballistic on me, let me try to explain.”
I’m not giving him any leeway. By the end of the evening I need to know why then and what about now. I don’t have it in me to fight over hesitations or semantics. “Just tell me what you can. I’m listening with open ears, Toots.” And an open heart.
His expression brightens a bit after I use my old nickname for him. “Nobody’s called me that, thank god, except you.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you’d had both beans and beer when I first met you.”
He rubs his stomach drawing my attention to his long fingered hand, and lower. That’s long, too. Giving myself a mental shake, I focus on his face. Thank goodness he’s not looking at me. Still staring into the far corner of the room, he starts softly.
“A few weeks before graduation I realized I didn’t want to be an architect. I knew I would be mediocre at best. I’d lost any enjoyment in doing that kind of work. I…” He sighs and leans forward. Elbows on his knees, he scrubs his fingers through his hair making it stand on end. “I believed if I wasn’t the professional I’d planned to be, I couldn’t give you the life you were dreaming of. I couldn’t be the man I thought you loved. I’d failed at everything important.”
Resisting the urge to touch and comfort him, I clasp my hands tightly together and wait silently.
He turns his head to look at me. “I couldn’t face the failure in myself. And I sure as fuck couldn’t face you. The disappointment in your eyes would have destroyed me. I figured sooner or later you’d come to hate me for spoiling your dreams. So, I ran. Didn’t know what to do, so I couch surfed. Finally my family got tired of my morose ass and intervened. I went to work for my cousin in Nebraska. Discovered the family passion for chocolate. I traveled to Europe and studied there.”
“Did you ever think of me or how I might have felt?” One day I’ll tell him how deeply I suffered. Tonight is for his confession, his opportunity to start his emotional cleansing.
“I tried not to think of you at all. It was damn impossible when Mom kept forwarding your letters. Then they stopped coming and that nearly broke me again. God, Beryl. I was such a fucked up mess.”
“Did you read my letters, or throw them out? Burn them?” I really hope for the later. I wrote some horrible things in my anger and despair.
“Hold on.” He reaches over the arm of the couch and lifts a leather messenger bag. He holds it on his lap a long moment before reaching inside and pulling out a thick stack of envelopes held together with rubber bands. He hands them to me.
“Here are your letters.”
I run my fingers along the edges and lift one corner of each. “They haven’t been opened.”
He shakes his head. “I couldn’t read them. Imagining what you wrote was bad enough. And I couldn’t destroy them. I thought these would be the only thing I’d ever have of you. Now, even though our paths were different, we’ve ended up in the same town. That’s got to mean something. Doesn’t it?”
Hugging the letters to my chest, I nod. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Maybe this is a second chance for us. To get us right this time.”
He points to the letters. “What about those? More important, what about Devin?”
Despite what I think I remember I wrote, I believe the letters are important for our future. I set them on the coffee table next to our wine glasses. “It’ll be damn difficult, but I think we need to read these someday. Together. Don’t know how, but I believe doing that will help in the long run. Not now. Not soon. You’ve kept them safe all these years. Will you keep doing that?”
“If that’s what you want. I’ll return them to their hiding place until we’re really ready. Devin?”
My snort laugh surprises him and he offers me a tentative grin. “Can’t you tell how Devin already worships you?”
“He does? I don’t deserve?—”
“Doesn’t matter if you do or not. In his eyes you’re the man. Listen to me, Noah. You leave or hurt me again, that’s on me. You break my son’s heart and you’re dead meat. You understand what I’m saying?”
To my surprise, he smiles. “I understand. I, uh, feel the same way. I want to protect him. Keep him from harm. That urge is right here…” He touches his chest. “Here in my heart. I feels like it’s always been there, waiting. Anyone hurts him will be on my shit list, too.”
Not that many words have been spoken, but we’ve taken a giant leap. While Noah returns the letters to his bag, I add a little more wine to our glasses and open the box of chocolates. The bonbons are pristine in form and decoration. “Which one should I try first?”
“Tropical fruits still a favorite?”
That he remembers something so insignificant warms my heart, although it makes me wonder how much we’ve stayed the same over the years, and how each of us has changed. “You’ve got a good memory.”
“About you, yeah, I do. Try this one. It’s still in development so only Tegan and I have tasted it so far. Now you. I want your honest opinion.”
The candy is shaped as a long, narrow oval covered in shiny dark chocolate. “Do you want me to taste first or tell me the flavor first.”
His eyes drop to my lips. “Taste first.”
Slowly I lift the piece and let it rest against my lower lip. His breath catches. I probably shouldn’t tease, but I do, touching the tip of my tongue to the salty top. Finally, I bite it in half and concentrate on the exquisite flavors filling my mouth.
“Oh my god. This is…unbelievable.”
He moves closer. “What do you taste?”
“First the salt. The bitter chocolate is more intense than is usually used, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Good catch. Is that off-putting?”
“No. The filling and salt tame the sharpness. Mango? And banana?” I pop the second half into my mouth, close my eyes, and savor the flavor combination as the chocolate softens on my tongue.
Noah remains silent until I open my eyes. He’s inched closer. His pupils are large and dark against his blue eyes. “Yes, mango and banana,” he whispers.
“What… what’s the smokey, spicy note,” I whisper back.
“Chipotle. Beryl, my sweet Beri, I need…”
“To kiss you, too, Noah.”
The slow meeting of our lips feels like this is our first kiss. In a way it is. I sigh as his tongue traces along the curve of my lip. Before my thoughts are consumed then chased away by his exploration I wonder if he tastes the flavors of his chocolate.