Chapter 12
LUCA
Noel looks so good when I go to pick him up on Saturday afternoon.
It’s nothing terribly formal or anything, just so precisely him: shorts he must’ve cut himself over fishnets and a chunky pair of boots, a loose black shirt and several necklaces layered over that, bringing attention to his pale, slender neck that’s mostly healed of the marks I left on it.
He’s wearing black eyeliner and a dove-gray shadow on his lids that makes his brilliant tawny eyes look like smoldering embers.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say as he climbs into the truck’s front seat and resist the urge to lunge across the center console.
He grins, preening. One thing I really love about his smile—his canines are pushed slightly further forward than his front teeth. It gives the impression of little fangs. “Hey, yourself.” His gaze flickers towards the truck’s display screen as text messages begin to flash across it. “What’s that?”
You’re breaking your father’s heart with this foolishness.
You know how fragile his condition is.
Call me ASAP!
I clear my uncle’s latest tirade from the screen. “Uncle Drew’s in his feelings again. Variations of the same shit he’s been spamming me with the last couple of days.”
“Ah.” His lips twitch. “Want me to reply to him?”
I smile back. “Funny as that would be, no. Let’s not stir the pot.”
“Okay, okay…”
He reaches over and touches my hand where it rests on the gear shift, and it almost hurts to see how much effort he’s put into his appearance for this: meeting my pregnant wife, who may or may not be looking for reasons to dislike him.
I can’t exactly guess at her motive; I’m trying to trust that it’s maternal and nothing sinister.
Maybe if and when she got a new partner of her own I’d also be demanding to interview them.
I promised Noel that Demi would be nice.
And she is when she comes to the door before I can open it, all congeniality and simpering that I know is totally fake.
This isn’t how she usually is with guests she’s actually comfortable with.
Amelia’s weaving around our knees excitedly with her favorite stuffed bear in her mouth, either oblivious to the tension or because of it, as Demi bustles us inside like I don’t live here and he’s never been here before.
She invites us to take a seat in the living room; she’s putting the finishing touches on lunch.
“Do you want any help?” I ask her.
“No, I’ve got it. Just another ten minutes or so.”
Noel’s gaze flies to her stomach as she touches it briefly, and I see his throat work as he swallows. His face doesn’t change as he watches her recede into the kitchen, holding his hands out for the greyhound to enthusiastically sniff.
“Okay?” I ask him. He nods, gives me a faint, anxious smile that says don’t worry, I’ll behave.
This has to be incredibly weird and probably awful for him, seeing the proof that I have known Demi in a biblical sense writ large on her body.
He’s prone to jealousy that is sometimes irrational, but I couldn’t blame him for it now, even if it happened before I ever knew him.
I don’t think I’d like it very much if the roles were reversed.
Well. I know that I wouldn’t. Even that silly hypothetical from the other night—what would you do if you saw me tied up in a club?
—made me feel like breaking something. It’s childish and pituitary, but that’s what he does to me.
There’s a part of me that’s glad he wasn’t seeing anyone else in the meantime, glad that he didn’t get anywhere with his random app hookup. He is mine.
He bears his own possessiveness a lot better than I do these days. He bears a lot of things way better than I do.
“It’s okay,” I say, touching his knee. “Pretty sure she just wants to get to know you.”
He strokes Amelia’s head. “Yeah. It’s fine, Luca. I’m fine.” But I think he’s a little intimidated. Or confronted. It is definitely confronting.
I hear plates clatter in the kitchen and I get up, telling Noel I’ll be back in a minute before I join Demi. She tries to shoo me out, but I take the stack of plates from her. “I can set the table, Demi. I’m not exactly a guest.”
“But then he’s out there by himself,” she frets.
“So what?”
She averts her gaze and even before the word, “Nothing,” leaves her mouth, I know it’s not nothing. It is definitely something. There is no reason to worry about that otherwise.
“Hey.” I set the plates down on the island countertop and study her face. “What’s the problem, Demi? You know something that I don’t? Or is this some weird ageism thing?”
“It’s fine,” she mumbles, turning towards the stove. “Don’t worry about it. Just set the table.”
“I lived with him for two months, remember? He’s not going to steal anything.”
“Okay, Luca. Whatever you say.”
She’s irritated, I can tell by the sound of her voice, but now I am, too. I put my hands on the counter and lean down, trying to catch sight of her face. “No, really. What’s the deal? Do you not trust him to sit quietly by himself in the living room? He’s been here before, you’ll recall.”
She drops the big stirring spoon into the pot with a clatter. “Can we not do this right now? I’m busy.”
So I let it go and take the plates and cutlery to the tiny dining room adjacent to the kitchen. I see Noel hovering in the hallway, biting on his thumbnail and probably ruining his polish. I beckon him to follow with a jerk of my head, and he does so, looking relieved.
“This is weird,” he mutters to me, taking the silverware from me and arranging them alongside the plates. “It’s not just me, right? The vibes are so off.”
I’d love to tell him it’s just him, but now I feel weird, too. The best I can do is give him a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry. I know this is the last thing you want to do on a day off.”
His shoulders skim his ears. “It’s not that. I just feel like I’m about to meet your parents who already fucking hate me.”
I shudder to even think of that nightmarish scenario. With luck, it’ll never, ever have to happen. “I’m not going to ask you to meet my dad.”
“I would,” he says. “If you wanted me to. I don’t care. He can’t be any worse than your average bigot.”
“I think you’re forgetting the fact that he did actually commit a violent hate crime against my ex-boyfriend.”
“Okay, but he’s not going to do that now.” Noel is oddly assured, fingering one of the cloth placemats. He adjusts it to line up with the edge of the table. “He’s decrepit now, isn’t he? Heart’s gonna blow up if he rages too hard.”
I want to tell him my fears have nothing to do with logic.
That I do still feel as if somehow my father will get ahold of him, if I am not careful.
Instead I nod and tell him he’s right: my father can’t hurt anyone anymore, the way he is now.
At least, he can’t hurt anyone the way that he used to. There are always other exciting ways.
Then Demi’s coming in with the food, and I hurry to help her bring it all in—lentil soup, bread and olives, and a pitcher of ice water.
“Sorry there isn’t any wine,” I hear her say to Noel as I go to grab a few glasses.
“I hope that’s okay.” I don’t hear Noel’s answer, but I know it’s not a deal-breaker for him.
“Is this a Greek dish?” he asks as we all sit down, indicating the soup.
“It is,” Demi says. “It’s called fakes.” She enunciates it slowly and precisely, fah-khes. “Luca told me you haven’t had much in the way of Greek cooking.”
“I’ve had, um—” Noel’s searching for the word. “What was it that you made on my birthday, Luca?”
“Moussaka,” I put in.
“Right. I thought that was good.”
Demi claps her hands together. “Well, dig in.”
We do, and for a few minutes the table is quiet except for the clatter of cutlery. Noel is across from me, and I catch his eye as he very demurely ladles soup into his mouth. I nudge his knee with mine. He grins, covers his mouth and sets his spoon down, shaking his head.
“So,” Demi says, patting her lips with her napkin. “Tell me about yourself, Noel.”
“Um.” He recovers quickly from being put on the spot. He sits up straight with his shoulders pressed against the chair back. “Well, I’m twenty-three. I just graduated from MassArt in May. Illustration major with a minor in biology.”
“How interesting.”
“I’m a medical illustrator,” he says. “Right now I’m doing some work for a company that publishes anatomy textbooks.”
Demi shoots me a look. “You never told me that.”
“I’m pretty sure I did,” I say, sipping my water. “Just the other day, in fact.”
She looks impressed against her will, almost. “That sounds like a cool job.”
Noel smiles. It’s one of his genuine smiles, beatific, bringing out dimples and everything.
He really is so adorable when he forgets himself and warms to a topic like he is now.
I love to see it. “It is,” he says enthusiastically.
“One of my professors put me onto it in my freshman year and helped me get a job before I graduated.” He glances at me.
“I’m going to a conference in a couple weeks, actually.
Continuing education, networking, that kind of thing. ”
“Really?” I say, surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Yeah. It’s in Baltimore.”
Noel’s left Massachusetts exactly once, and that was with me when I took him to Vermont earlier in the year. He’s never flown. Baltimore is but a puddle jump away by plane in Maryland, but still. I don’t want him to go alone.
“Eventually I want to get certified,” he goes on. “But I need a few more years in the field before I’m eligible.”
“What’s the benefit of being certified?” Demi asks. “If you’ve already got a job.”
“More variety and better pay. I’d like to get into med-legal.”