Chapter 19
NOEL
I knock on the door and no one answers.
Because of course. Why wouldn’t that happen to me?
Scurrying footsteps, the muffled rapping of Amelia’s toenails as she comes trotting up. I can see her through the sliver of window, wearing her narrow doggy smile and wiggling with excitement. Crouching down I touch my finger to the foggy glass, and her tongue furiously swipes at the pane.
“Tell your mom to let me in,” I say.
She boofs a few times, which might be an attempt to do just that, but still no one comes.
And when I knock again that’s still true.
Her sedan’s in the driveway so it’s not like she isn’t home, unless she went for a quick jaunt to the 7-Eleven on the corner on foot.
Being that she’s heavily pregnant and prone to bouts of vomiting, though, I somehow doubt it.
I call through the door and knock again, but there’s simply no one to come greet me but an increasingly frantic Amelia.
Her whines are audible squeaks. So, fuck it, I try the knob and it’s unlocked.
After the briefest moment of hesitation I step inside and shut the door behind me, rubbing the greyhound’s funny little ears as I call out for Demi again.
Nothing. No sounds of anyone moving in the house, no sign of anyone being in here at all.
There’s a brief spike of panic that I gotta choke back because what if something happened?
A pregnancy thing? I didn’t know much about pregnancy complications, haven’t actually ever known a pregnant person personally, but Luca’s told me the last few months have been rough on her.
Maybe she’s, I don’t know, rolling around in preterm labor agony somewhere on the floor, help I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
Oh, god, I didn’t sign up for this shit today.
Maybe Luca should’ve walked me to the door.
Though surely Amelia would be more upset, if that were so, and do something doggy-heroic like seize my hand in her teeth and lead me straight to Demi. Instead of standing at my side the way she is, with a mangled plush giraffe clamped in her jaws, its head having been liberated from its torso.
Quickly I dart through the house, peering into every single room as I go, including her bedroom that’s shut tight.
I find no one. No pregnant women in distress.
No pregnant women, period. But as I near the sliding door to the back deck I hear voices and I catch sight of her sitting there, her long black and blonde-streaked hair cascading over the chair back.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she’s saying into her phone. The slider’s ajar, the screen door pulled across the opening. I can hear her almost perfectly. “It’s a mess, all of this. You think I’m not miserable?”
Amelia pushes her head beneath my hand. She’s gnawing at her giraffe, but if it ever had a squeaker, she’s ripped that out, too.
“I know. I know.” I hear her blow out a sigh. “I almost wish I’d never said yes. But you weren’t around, so what was I supposed to do? I’ve been sick as a dog—I thought the second trimester was supposed to be easy. If he hadn’t been here, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
I’ve suddenly got the distinct and uneasy feeling I shouldn’t be overhearing this conversation.
Not in the sort of way that eavesdropping in general is supposed to be bad, yet unavoidable when half the people on the train decide to air their own dirty laundry for the entire car to hear—you get used to that, annoying as it can be.
This feels private. It feels like a secret.
“Jacob, I’ve gotta go. My husband’s boyfriend—stop laughing—will be here any minute. I miss you, too, honey. I’ll swing by in a bit.”
Honey? Well, well. I guess Luca’s not the only one with an extramarital partner, not that it really matters at the point. I wonder if he knows. He would’ve told me, I think.
I take a deep breath and I knock on the doorframe, and Demi rockets out of the chair with a gasp. “Jesus,” she says, her hands flying to her belly as she turns toward the door. “Oh, Noel. How long have you been standing there?”
“Like two seconds,” I lie. “No one answered the door, so…”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear it.” She comes back inside, shutting the slider behind her. Amelia drops the toy at her feet, which she promptly nudges aside with her toe. “I was just talking to a colleague. He’s covering some of my duties for me at the firm today.”
If I ever worked at a firm, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be calling any of my coworkers honey. “All good.”
Demi leads me to the kitchen, her ends of her long hair flicking back and forth as she walks.
She’s developed a bit of a waddle, I suppose from her round belly on her otherwise small frame.
At the kitchen table she indicates for me to sit down, then slides a paper and pen in front of me.
The top of it reads PETITION TO SEAL, all bold and underlined.
My stomach sort of twists at the sight of it and I don’t know why, really.
It’s a good thing. Moving on from this thing that I’ve already long moved on from, except now it’ll be permanent, legal, and pose no more threat to my future.
“It’s actually pretty easy,” she informs me as she sits across from me. “Pretty basic information to fill out, nothing crazy. And after that I’ll mail it off to the probation office.”
I pick up the pen and dutifully print my name, date, and social. It’s straightforward as promised. I don’t even need my case number. But when I get to the line that demands the name of my father, I pause. “Um—”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t actually know who my dad is.”
Her dark eyes settle on me, and her mouth twists from side to side. “What’s on your birth certificate?”
“Unknown.”
“That’s no problem. Just put that.”
So I do, but I feel even more unsettled now, the weight of what I perceive as her judgment heavy where it lies on the back of my neck.
And I hate it, this weird little inferiority complex being around her gives me.
Knowing she sees me as lesser. Criminal.
Dirty plaything of her sperm donor. She doesn’t know anything about me and it’s pretty bullshit, but I don’t owe her my tragic backstory, either.
Have no interest in reciting it for her.
And, whatever, all I have to do is be cordial. Which I can do, as long as she plays ball.
I lift my head to see her watching me. She is quite pretty, all told—big, dark eyes made all the bigger and more dramatic with the sort of smoky makeup I never have the excuse to wear or skill to apply, her lips a glossy pout.
The rippling fall of her hair belongs in an expensive shampoo commercial.
“All done?” she inquires.
“Uh, almost.” My gaze flicks back down to the table.
There’s a beat of silence between that and when I set my pen to the paper again, and then she speaks. “I’m sorry, Noel. For the way I behaved at the lunch—there’s no excuse. I feel awful about it.”
I chance another glance at her. She’s found her own pen from somewhere, the pad of her thumb clicking the end of it in a gesture that seems nervous.
I wet my lips. “Oh. Well, I mean...” I actually feel awkward, being apologized to.
It doesn’t happen all that often. Aside from Luca throwing himself at my feet, and that was fine, I deserved that, needed it.
But from other people it seems strange, off.
Like I’m the one doing something wrong for even allowing myself to receive it.
“It’s true I’m worried about who will be around my baby.
” Her voice turns sort of wistful, her free hand taking up residence once more on her bump.
“I’ve wanted to be a mom for so long, and the way it’s shaking out—well, it’s not really going how I expected.
” She tries to smile at me. “I always imagined when I finally had my first baby, everything would be absolutely perfect. Instead…”
“That’s not your fault,” I say.
Demi shakes her head. “I should’ve known a long time ago. About Luca.”
And, well, now I’m all fucking ears because it’s Luca, of course, and I wanna know everything about him, even if it’s from his wife. I sit up straight. “How do you mean?”
“That he was gay.” The way she smiles is sort of regretful.
“I had the sense of it for the longest time. Our sex life—” She pauses, as if considering whether this is TMI or not.
She plunges ahead as if deciding fuck it, both of us have had this man inside us so what does it matter?
“It was never good. Even from the outset it was like he was somewhere else. Wishing I was someone else. And I was always trying to figure out who or what that person was, trying to be them, but it never worked—deep down, I think I always knew, but I loved him too much to ever push it.” She clears her throat and looks down. “You probably think I’m an idiot.”
I find myself thinking of all the stupid and desperate things I did to earn the attention of those who would discard me. “Not at all.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry. You probably didn’t want to hear any of that from me.”
“No, I—” I hedge, then start again. “He’s talked about that before, a little. Straight sex as a gay man. I told him it was a messed up thing for him to do, pretending you were someone else.”
“It is, but somehow I can’t be all that mad at him for it.
” She sets the pen down on the table and clasps her hands on her belly.
“I was a little at first, but mostly I understand. I understand him. That’s what sucks the most, I guess.
He’s got all this damage from his upbringing and his father, so of course it makes sense why he’d stay in the closet. ”
“But he created a lot of collateral damage,” I observe. “Doing that.” Me. Her. Himself.
“He did,” she agrees quietly. “But I still feel like I’m the one who failed him. For not pushing sooner, for not handling it better. For—” She gestures to her stomach. “This.”