Chapter 30
Andi
Friends.
That’s what Nolan and I are. The last thing I need is to get emotionally attached to someone who’s leaving?
Maybe because I have a deeper understanding of him now, knowing what I know about his mom.
I never understood why he took the posting here in the first place if he intended to leave within a few months.
It all makes sense, the mixture of sad puppy and frustration on his face whenever he brings up his mom, the guilt in his eyes when he talks about leaving.
It’s easy to see how much he loves and cares about her, despite the past. The look of utter terror on his face when he got the call from his neighbor was proof of that.
All I wanted to do last night was hug him. Absorb all of his sadness. If anything, it’s even more of a reason things need to stay simple between us. He’s here for his mom. Nothing more. End of story.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about what happened at the River House and how badly I want to do it again, particularly when I’m alone and in bed, just me and my fingers.
And it’s more than just that. It’s his smile, his relaxed, self-assured laugh, all these little things about him that I shouldn’t care about.
I’ve been strangely jittery and distracted all day at work.
So much so, I even messed up Gretchen’s morning coffee order, which has been the same every day for the past three years.
I thought I’d be able to make out with Nolan in the lake and move on with my life as normal. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day, the way he felt against me, being on the verge of coming from the pressure alone.
It takes me a solid hour to pick out what to wear for his mom’s (sort of) birthday tonight. In my defense, dressing to have dinner with someone’s mom is not easy. Most of my work clothes give off a “devout Sunday school teacher” vibe.
I don’t know why it’s weighing so heavily on me, or why I’m so desperate to impress Nolan’s mom.
Eventually, I settle on a thick-strapped, square-neck, fitted black midi dress I bought years ago for one of Gretchen’s galas.
I pair it with black strappy heels I rarely get the chance to wear, because work demands more comfortable, supportive footwear.
Simple and platonic, I murmur to myself, my heart lurching into double time as I enter the restaurant.
Nolan stands immediately when he sees me, and my stomach does a barrel roll.
I’ve seen him in slacks and a dress shirt countless times, but it hits different tonight.
Maybe it’s the way his eyes wander over me, electrifying my spine, or the way he wraps his arms around me in a greeting, pulling me snugly into his chest. There’s something softer, gentler about the way he presses us flush together, his palm steady on my back, our breathing syncing.
“You look insane in that dress,” he whispers.
His breath ghosts my neck, and I sigh into the warmth.
And then he does the unthinkable: He plants a soft kiss on my cheek. My knees nearly buckle. I know it’s bad, but I let myself sink into him. Because if I can’t actually do anything with him, I can at least take advantage of the times we’re pretending to be together.
Friends, I repeat, my attention turning to his mom.
She doesn’t seem to remember meeting me last night, evidenced by the way she springs from the table as I approach. “You have no idea how happy I am to finally meet you.”
I’m a little taken aback at first by how alive she is tonight compared to last. She’s in full color, vibrant and sharp-eyed.
“Likewise. Nolan doesn’t stop talking about you, Mrs. Crosby,” I say, hugging her back, relishing how warm she is.
It occurs to me that I don’t think my own mother ever hugged me like this.
I don’t know what I expected, based on everything Nolan told me about her, but it certainly wasn’t this. A surge of guilt rockets through me as I struggle to reconcile the mother she was to Nolan with the woman in front of me, who so clearly loves her son.
“Call me Lorna,” she insists, adjusting the leopard print shawl around her bony shoulders.
Nolan pulls a seat out for me across from his, but Lorna shoots him a look. “Remember what I said? Same side.”
“I don’t mind—”
“I insist. It’s good for couples to sit on the same side at restaurants,” Lorna informs us.
Nolan swallows and nods, ushering me to the seat next to his. It’s a cute little wood-fire pizza shop with seating in a courtyard with vines snaking up the side of the brick building. Lorna’s favorite, according to Nolan.
The conversation flows easily. As we eat, she asks me a lot of the same questions she did last night about where I grew up, what I do for work, my hobbies, though I don’t mind, because she genuinely seems to want to get to know me.
When she tells me she loves reading and recently joined a book club, I’m tempted to tell her about my writing.
I’ve never had an impulse to share that secret with anyone else, aside from Nolan.
But I manage to keep my mouth shut, instead asking about her favorite books and authors.
She also spends half the meal telling me all about Nolan when he was a kid.
I give him a reassuring smile when he begins to look uncomfortable.
“As a baby, he was such a little cuddle bug. From day one, he only wanted to contact nap. If I tried to get him to nap in his bassinet, he would just howl until I held him. He also absolutely hated wearing a diaper. Much preferred being totally naked.”
Nolan’s face turns a deep shade of crimson. “Mom,” he groans.
She flashes me a funny look. “He’d throw a tantrum whenever I made him wear clothes. One time, when he was around two, we were at the mall and he marched right into the middle of the food court and stripped, proudly showing everyone his belly button, among other things.”
I throw my head back in a laugh, imagining it.
Nolan buries his face in his hands. “We are not having this conversation.”
“He ran circles around and over the tables until I could finally catch him and toss a blanket over him. You should have seen the looks some of those old ladies gave me. They thought he was absolutely feral. I guess he kind of was.”
“Is this something I should be on guard for? You randomly stripping in public if the mood strikes?” I ask, pushing my empty carbonara plate away.
Nolan cracks a smile. “Yup. This is your fair warning now.”
Lorna bursts out laughing. “Nolan was always a little daredevil. Never wanted to be still or do anything that didn’t involve a thrill.
It got him into trouble around town. That’s why his grandma and I were so happy he went into the military after high school.
It really gave him the discipline he needed. ”
“Okay, Mom. No more stories.” The more she talks, the more agitated Nolan is getting. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s embarrassed.
By the end of the night, Lorna is getting tired and is starting to forget some of her words. She also becomes agitated when Nolan reminds her to finish her food. Soon after, he decides it’s time to get her home.
I wait in their living room while he gets her into bed and arranges for Katrina to come over while he drives me home. We make a quick pit stop for gas on the way. And when he smiles at me through the window as he fills the tank, my soul leaves my body.
“Sorry for the pit stop,” he says, sliding back into the driver’s seat.
My brow quirks. “No worries. I’m not in a rush to go back home.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m alone. Because I want to stay with you. “I don’t know. The silence. It stresses me out. Makes me think about all the things I need to do.”
He drums the steering wheel, his eyes narrow, deep in thought. “Want to go somewhere?”
“Where? It’s a Tuesday night.”
“I know a place.”
· · ·
We drive up an old street in a neighborhood on the south side of the city near Carleton University.
It’s a mature, quiet area lined with little brick bungalows backing onto woods.
As we approach the end of the street, I spot a charming little house that stands out among the rest. It’s set back from the road, its siding butter yellow, with little white shutters and trim, and a gray porch that looks like it used to be white.
It’s the perfect size for a little swing, or a pair of Adirondack chairs.
Someone is home, because the lights are on inside, casting a warm orange glow over the lawn.
I imagine the inside of the house smells like caramelized sugar, vanilla, and a touch of nutmeg.
“This is the yellow house,” I say, in awe of it. No wonder he was so drawn to it as a kid. It looks straight out of a storybook, surrounded by lush greenery, including a large willow tree in the front yard.
He nods. “It is. It’s a little more run-down than I remember.”
“It’s twenty years older,” I remind him, opening the car door.
“Where are you going?”
“You said there was a magical forest back there,” I say, hopping out of the car.
I’ve never seen him unbuckle his seat belt so quickly. In a heartbeat, he’s out of the car, and taking my hand to lead me down the worn trail only wide enough for one person at a time. I don’t miss the childlike giddiness, the hop in his step.
Despite the pink-and-orange sky, it’s already dark back here, with the tall ancient trees canopying the trail, blocking out the remaining August daylight almost entirely. Back here, the world fades away and disappears.
It’s quiet. No more sounds of city traffic or barking dogs in the neighborhood.
Just us and the satisfying sounds of our shoes crunching the leaves, pine needles, and fallen acorns.
The hum of crickets and the burble of a stream ahead.
The air is also cooler, filled with the earthy scent of damp leaves and moss.
I can picture young Nolan with messy brown curls, getting lost in his own little realm.