10. Noelle
Chapter ten
Noelle
“Noelle!” Cal’s excited holler boomed over my Steven Curtis Chapman CD playing “Live Out Loud.”
“In the kitchen!” I scrubbed the hardened remains of spaghetti from the counter. Would it kill my sisters to clean up after themselves? We weren’t talking earth-shattering ideas here. Rinsing off the spaghetti sauce and putting your dishes in the dishwasher weren’t hard concepts.
If Olive could play every musical scale on the piano in less than ten minutes, surely she could spare thirty seconds to rinse out her canned salmon tin.
I gagged at the rancid odor, pinching my nose with a shudder. Don’t forget you promised to pick up Ruby from Vacation Bible School this afternoon.
My fiancé barreled into the kitchen and caught me around the waist, swinging me off my feet.
“Cal!” I shrieked, but the weight eased off my shoulders as I hugged his neck—strictly for balance—and a laugh bubbled out of me. Cal was good at making me laugh. “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here?”
He set me down so my feet touched the linoleum again, but he didn’t loosen his hold on my waist. “Ijustneededtoseeyou,” he mumbled into my neck.
My brain tried to decode the smooshed-together words without success. Unless he’d said “Eyes, needles, igloos,” which didn’t seem likely. “Come again, Cap?”
He chuckled at the nickname, warm breath puffing against my skin. “I just needed to see you, Holiday.”
“Here I am.”
Cal straightened, ocean eyes dancing. “Marry me?”
“You already asked.”
He lifted my left hand, wearing his ring, from his shoulder to his mouth, kissing my wrist. “Lucky me. Any chance we can elope?”
“And risk your family’s wrath? I don’t think so.”
“My family could never hate you.” Cal tucked a loose curl behind my ear.
The gesture sent tingles down my spine. “You okay?” He’d always been physically affectionate, but this was extra sweet.
“Just can’t believe we’re about to move to Seattle.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Five weeks till you’re all mine.”
A blush heated my cheeks, but I cupped his face. “I’m so proud of you.”
At the end of June, Cal, his parents, and I had traveled to the NHL Draft ceremony. He’d been drafted in the first round to Seattle, and we had to be settled in the city by the end of August so he could hit the ground running in September with training camps before the season started.
He kissed me softly but thoroughly. The man knew how to kiss. When he leaned back so our foreheads touched, he said, “I don’t deserve you.” He sighed and tugged at the apron strings tied at my back, winding them around his finger. “I have to run. Jules needs a ride.”
“Make it up to me tonight?” I teased, fiddling with his backwards cap.
He grinned wolfishly. “You and me. It’s a date.”
You and me. My favourite words. I rewarded him with a quick peck.
“Pick you up at six?”
I waved a hand around the dirty kitchen. “I’ll be here.” Talk to him. Just talk to him. “Hey, there’s something I need to talk to you about tonight.”
His shoulders tightened a fraction, and he rubbed his thumb absently against his jeans. “Oh . . . sure.” He shifted uncomfortably but, in a blink, shifted back to his sunny self, his grin blinding. “Love you.” Giving me another kiss, he bolted out the door.
“Love you, too,” I whispered, but he was already gone.
He was so energetic, my golden retriever of a man. Seattle. It would be nice to get away. I shook my head, berating myself for the thought. Not get away. Spread our wings without family involvement. Or more accurately, my family’s involvement.
Slipping off my apron, I straightened my messy curls and touched up my smudged lipstick. Always a kissing hazard. Time to grab Ruby.
But my keys weren’t hanging up.
I growled and called Olive on my cell. “Did you take my car?” I asked without preamble.
“You didn’t need it.”
“Olive, it’s my car! I bought it. You have to ask.” Chatter in the background echoed over the line. “Where are you?”
Olive tittered when a male voice murmured something. “You’re overreacting, Elle. I’m in Boise. Gotta go!”
“Boise!” I screeched, but she’d hung up on me.
Breathe, Noelle. Breathe. Don’t get angry. Good girls don’t get angry. My sixteen-year-old sister had commandeered my car and driven to Boise without mentioning it. With a man.
I shot my dad a quick text.
ME:
Olive took my car. Borrowing the truck to grab Ruby.
He gave the message a thumbs-up.
No reaction. Nothing.
Blowing out a breath, I locked up the house and hurried through the broiling afternoon heat towards the truck.
I couldn’t get out of this town soon enough.
Family Dinner Number 137 where someone was missing from the table.
This time it was three someones. Olive was still traipsing who knows where.
Dad was working late—again—and Mom had a committee meeting.
At least, that’s what she said. Part of me dreaded that was code for meeting with her paramour.
My stomach roiled despite the smile I tacked on as I scuttled three plates of spaghetti onto the table.
Phoebe grabbed her plate without a word and headed for the stairs.
“Eat down here please,” I called after her. The idea of spaghetti dishes staying in her room for days haunted my dreams.
“You’re not my mother,” Phoebe retorted.
I wasn’t, but I had to act like it most days. “Table or outside. No food upstairs. You know the rules.”
Phoebe shot me a dirty look but stomped back to the dining room, dropping into her chair and proceeding to poke her food. At fourteen, she was following in Olive’s footsteps—rebellious and sulky.
Just peachy.
Ten-year-old Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat and nibbled at her food.
Ruby was the only one who didn’t pick up on the tension or Phoebe’s stony silence.
She chattered amiably about her afternoon at VBS in between slurping up noodles, sauce smeared on her chin. Oh, the joy of being six and carefree.
I washed up while the girls finished. There was no way they were going to do the dishes themselves and I’d rather not come home after a date to be plunged back into the reality of soapsuds.
It was the same thing everyday. Laundry, cooking, dishes. Lather, rinse, repeat. And that was with two jobs on top of everything.
A single hot tear escaped my iron grip. One small crack in my armour. Just once, I wished my family could be a family instead of fractured individuals under a common roof. Just once I wished I was worth more to them than the work I did. But I was the family glue and wishing never solved anything.
As Phoebe said, “Who needs a man when you have Noelle.”
But what about me needing someone?
Only five weeks till the wedding and then you can go to Seattle.
I couldn’t wait.