CHAPTER 2. Connor #3
“Listen,” Noah says, turning toward me. “When I told my mom I was bringing a boyfriend, she kind of lost it a little. So don’t be alarmed if she’s…a lot when we get there, okay?”
“Alright.”
“She’s probably going to ask you a million questions about your life and your job. And then she’ll tell you a million stories about me as a kid. So—sorry in advance.”
“Okay.”
He hesitates, then keeps going. “And she’ll hover.
Like, make you eat even if you’re full. Tell you not to stand in the wind.
Stuff like that.” He rushes on before I can respond.
“My dad’s not like that, but he might be intense.
He’ll ask a lot about your work. Not in a bad way—he’s just genuinely interested. ”
I glance at him, putting the pieces together. “Am I the first boyfriend you’re bringing home?”
The color drains from his face for half a second, then comes back twice as strong, the pink spreading down his neck.
“Well, yeah. The only serious relationship I had was Rick, and I couldn’t tell them about him.
So they’ve sort of assumed I’m…alone. My mom especially.
” He huffs a quiet breath. “That’s why she might be extra.
” He glances at me quickly. “You can tell the truth about your job and everything. Like you said—it’s probably easier not to lie about stuff we don’t have to. ”
“Alright.” I nod. Then, because it feels only fair, I add, “Is there anything you’d like to know about me?”
Noah goes still for a second.
“Shit,” he says under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t even—I’m sorry. Of course I should’ve asked you things too. It’s going to look really suspicious if I barely know anything about you.”
“It’s okay,” I say calmly. “Just stop apologizing so much.”
“Sor—” He catches himself. “Right. Okay.”
“It’s fine,” I repeat.
“I’m usually much more organized about serious things,” Noah says, not quite looking at me. “I normally plan weeks ahead. This was really short notice.” He exhales, shoulders easing slightly, then nods as if resetting himself. “Okay. So. What should I know?”
I consider that. What does a boyfriend of a few months know? What would I have told him if this were real?
“I’m from a small fishing village in Ireland,” I say. “Moved to the States eight years ago for med school. Now I’m an attending physician at St. Vincent’s.”
He blinks. “Right. What specialty?”
“Internal medicine.”
Noah pauses. “Okay, I have no clue what that means.”
“I mostly take care of hospitalized patients,” I say.
“Oh. Okay. Do you like it?”
“Most days.”
He considers me for a moment, as if he’s trying to guess what kind of days the other ones are. Then he shifts gears. “Do you have siblings?”
“An older sister, Sarah.”
His expression softens. “Older sisters are elite. I stand by that.”
I smile despite myself. “Agreed.”
“Are you close?”
“Yeah. We talk a lot. I don’t see her often, though. She still lives in Ireland. Comes over a couple of times a year.”
Noah nods slowly, absorbing that.
“Okay,” he says after a second. “Is there anything else that might come up? Something I should know so I don’t accidentally say the wrong thing?”
I think about it for a second. “Nothing major. I’m a pretty boring guy.”
His mouth twitches. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
He looks me up and down. “You’ve got too many tattoos to be boring.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “That was my teenage attempt to look more masculine.”
“More masculine?” Noah scoffs softly. “Are you serious right now?” He gives me another slow once-over. “Are you trying to make me feel bad?”
“I’m not,” I say. “I used to be a gangly, skinny kid. Braces, bad hair, terrible skin—the whole package.”
“I don’t believe that,” he says, still studying me, like he’s trying to reconcile the image in his head with the person sitting next to him now.
His eyes don’t move right away, and I’m suddenly very aware of it—the way his gaze lingers, curious rather than awkward. There’s a small, unfamiliar tug in my chest.
“I used to be a major dork,” I say, looking back at the road. “Still am, to be fair. I’m just a doctor now, so it’s mostly limited to my days off.”
“Excuse you,” Noah says, a smile in his voice. “Playing video games does not automatically make you a dork.”
“Please. It absolutely does.” I pause, then glance at him. “Wait. How do you know I play video games?”
He lifts a brow, grinning. “Did you forget our walls are basically made of tissue paper?”
“Sorry about that.”
“I don’t mind. What are you playing?”
“A little bit of everything. Lately it’s mostly Dead by Daylight.”
“Oh, cool. You like horror games?”
“Not really. Just that one. Have you played it?”
“No, but I’ve heard it’s very gay,” Noah says, clearly entertained. “Apparently there’s something about sprinting away from masked murderers that really speaks to queer people.”
“Probably just feels familiar,” I say mildly.
Noah giggles.
I glance at him. “Do you play anything?”
“Yeah,” he says—then immediately hesitates.
“What?”
He stares straight ahead for a second, visibly weighing something, before blurting, “You know farm simulators?”
I nod slowly.
“I’m obsessed with stuff like Stardew Valley and Fields of Mistria.” He says it like he’s confessing to a crime.
“The ones where you grow crops and date the villagers?”
He nods again, looking faintly scandalized by himself.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I say. “I used to play Dinkum. Put, like, two hundred hours into digging in those mines before I realized my sleep schedule was beyond saving and had to delete it.”
Noah’s face lights up. “Oh my God, I love Dinkum. Thank God you’re not judging me.”
“I would never.”
“I also love The Sims,” he says after a moment.
“Alright—that’s where I draw the line,” I say, and Noah bursts into laughter—real, unguarded laughter that crinkles the corners of his eyes and changes his whole face. I end up laughing with him, the sound filling the car.
After a while, we drift back into silence, but it’s different now. Noah doesn’t seem tight or awkward anymore. He slips off his other shoe and pulls both knees up to his chest, curling into the seat.
“Wake me if I doze off,” he says, resting his head against the window.
“You’ll be out in, like, five minutes,” I say, because he’s already blinking slower.
“I won’t.”
He does. A minute later, his eyes are closed, his breathing even as the highway stretches out in front of us.