8. Noa
eight
One Year Later
Levi refuses to hold my hand.
He’s eighteen months old and has recently decided independence is worth face-planting into concrete.
“Slow down.” I pick up my pace.
He glances over his shoulder long enough to make sure I’m following, then keeps marching along the Alki path with all the confidence of a tiny dictator who’s never once paid a bill.
His dinosaur rain boots slap against the pavement.
The hood of his little yellow slicker bounces with every determined step, dark curls escaping around his ears.
Objectively, he’s a physically beautiful child. Strangers stop us every ten minutes to tell me so.
His personality is what makes Levi special, though.
The way he wrinkles his nose before he laughs.
How he waves at every dog we pass as though they’re old friends.
His whole face lights up when he finds a rock worthy of adding to whatever imaginary collection he’s building in his tiny jacket pockets.
Suddenly, he squats beside a driftwood log, studies three pebbles with complete concentration, then proudly chooses the flattest one. “Mine.”
“Obviously.” I cross my arms and wait.
He grins at me. There’s sand on his cheek.
“Do you want me to take some of them for you?” I hold my hand out.
“No.” He pats his pocket protectively.
I stifle a grin. “No?”
“Mine.” He stomps his foot.
“I stand corrected.”
Behind me, Ingrid laughs. “I’ve been trying to convince Minnie shells belong on the beach. I give up.”
I turn. Her daughter, Minnie, wears pink leggings, tiny white sneakers and a ridiculous little crossbody purse covered in glittery strawberries. She’s spent the last twenty minutes filling it with shells, then dumping them onto the sidewalk before starting over.
“I like your purse,” I tell her.
She beams. “Pretty.”
“It is pretty,” I agree.
Ingrid hands her another shell. “There. One for the collection.” She looks at me and mock whispers, “I’ve created a monster.”
“You absolutely have.”
She shrugs. “It matches my parenting philosophy.”
“Which is?” I trot to where Levi is digging in the sand.
Ingrid holds her hands up. “We’re all making this up as we go along.”
“I thought teachers had all the answers.” I spin toward her. “I was counting on you.”
“Don’t. We fake confidence for a living.” She wipes a smudge off Minnie’s face.
Levi wanders toward us carrying a new rock with both hands. He stops in front of Minnie. Looks down at her purse. Then his rock. Solemnly opens the clasp and places it inside.
Minnie gasps. Reaches into the purse, pulls out the biggest shell she has and hands it back to my son.
Trade complete. Neither child smiles. This transaction is strictly business.
“I think they just negotiated a treaty.” I bite back a smile.
Ingrid slings an arm around my neck. “They’re better at diplomacy than most adults.”
God, my life has changed so much. A couple years ago, I’d wake up trying to remember where I left my Louboutin's. Count my cash. Shower off the previous night’s work.
Nowadays, morning means cuddles and diaper bags. Grapes cut into quarters. Tiny socks and convincing Levi pants are a requirement for public outings.
Turns out motherhood is a lot less exciting than chaos.
Infinitely better.
Especially on Tuesdays. I love my beach walks with Ingrid and our kids.
Today, the morning is cool enough for jackets. Ferries move across Puget Sound behind a veil of gray cloud while a kayaker drifts offshore. The smell of salt hangs in the air, mixing with coffee from the little stand near the mini Statue of Liberty.
Ingrid orders two coffees and two miniature hot chocolates.
I crouch beside Levi when the barista hands it to him. “Can you say thank you?”
He nods enthusiastically. Doesn’t say the words. Instead he offers her one of his precious rocks.
She accepts it with the seriousness it deserves.
“Thank you.” She grins.
We settle onto a bench overlooking the water. The kids sit side by side in their strollers babbling whatever invisible toddler politics currently govern their friendship.
Ingrid wraps both hands around her coffee. “You look happy.”
The compliment catches me off guard. I can’t remember the last time someone’s described me this way.
“Hmmm….” I take the lid off my latte and blow for second or two. “I think I am.”
“You hesitated.”
I shrug. “I wanted to make sure it was true before I said it.”
“I get it.” She leans back on the bench.
The breeze pushes a curl across Levi’s forehead. I smooth it back without thinking. He leans into my hand for half a second before focusing back on Minnie. “Babies are humbling.”
“You mean because they’re tiny terrorists?” Ingrid gestures to the kids. “Last week, I had a parent conference once where one of my students told me I looked like a bitch on wheels.”
“Ouch.” I wince.
“She was six.” Ingrid arches an eyebrow.
“What did you say?”
She laughs “Thank you for being so observant. And honest. Oh, and you’re in time out for swearing.”
Levi wriggles out of his stroller and climbs onto the bench beside me without asking. Crawls into my lap and presses one of his rocks into my hand.
“For me?”
He shakes his head. “Mine.”
“You want me to hold it?”
A nod. I slip it into my jacket pocket. He relaxes against me and I melt inside. Little moments like this continue to surprise me. Not necessarily my son’s affection.
More like my ability to receive it without any expectation of performance.
Levi’s love for me has no boundaries. He sees me in a light I’m coming to believe I deserve.
“You’ve changed so much,” Ingrid observes quietly.
I look at her. “You didn’t know me before.”
“No.” She smiles. “You’ve changed since I met you.”
Ingrid and I met in a mommy group at the community center where my M.O. was to sit in the back and answer questions using the fewest possible words.
She teaches kindergarten. Her partner disappeared halfway through her pregnancy and she’s somewhere between giving up on collecting child support and hiring a billboard to shame him into paying it.
Our lives couldn’t look more different on paper, but single motherhood has a way of stripping away résumés.
Somewhere between sleepless nights, teething, and being the only partnerless women in the group, she’s became one of my closest friends.
The only true friend I’ve ever had, truth be told.
“I don’t feel different.”
“You are though.” Ingrid touches my wrist.
“How?”
“You trust yourself.”
Her words permeate in a way I can’t explain. Maybe she’s right. Recovery hasn’t erased my past or made me forget what I’ve done. It certainly hasn’t turned me into some polished version of myself who wakes up every morning grateful for life’s lessons.
I think it’s taught me something subtle. To believe in myself. Trust my own gauge.
If I say I’m tired, it means I’m tired. If I’m feeling angry, it’s okay. When I don’t know an answer, I don’t pretend otherwise. It’s astonishing how much energy living in lies requires. “I’ve had good advisors.”
Levi buries his face against my shoulder. His breathing slows almost instantly. I kiss the top of his head. He smells like baby shampoo, sand, and cocoa. “I’ve been thinking about his dad.”
“Oh?” Ingrid glances toward me. Waits.
I shake my head. “Yeah…”
“Have you always known who his father was?” She flicks her eyes to my son.
“Yes.”
She nods once. Nothing dramatic. No pity. Another single mother trying to understand an impossible situation.
The café door opens behind us, and familiar guitar spills onto the sidewalk. Levi lifts his head from my shoulder and his whole body goes still for a second.
Then, almost absentmindedly, he starts babbling along. It’s mostly vowels. A handful of determined consonants. Every few notes he confidently inserts, “Mama,” before wandering back into happy toddler nonsense.
“Da…daaa…mmm… Mama…daaa…”
He pats my shoulder in rhythm, completely unaware he’s butchering one of the biggest songs on the radio.
Ingrid smiles. “He likes this one.”
“He does.”
Levi keeps singing to himself, content in the little world he’s built between my shoulder and the sound of his father’s voice.
Ingrid beams at him. “He’s got excellent taste. I hear this song everywhere.”
Lake’s song fades into something else.
Levi stops singing, looks toward the café, and points. “No.”
“I know, buddy.” I kiss his sweet cheek. “We’ll play it in the car on the way home.”
Ingrid bends to zip Minnie’s jacket. “What stopped you from telling him?”
“I haven’t been ready. I’m trying to become somebody respectable…” I smile as Levi climbs back into his stroller and begins stacking his rocks on the little tray. “And the kind of mother Levi deserves.”
Ingrid knows enough about my past not to ask questions. She’s never judged me, which I appreciate more than she will ever know.
“You’re an amazing mother, Noa.” She beams at me. “Please never think otherwise. As for the rest, let it go. The past is the past.”
“I know.” My sponsor tells me the same thing all the time. Forgive, don’t forget. “At least I don’t wake up wondering who I am anymore.”
Ingrid regards me seriously. “Wow. That’s a hell of a sentence.”
“I’ve worked hard for it,” I manage.
“Puppy!” Levi screams at a guy walking his dog a few yards away.
The golden retriever’s owner waves. Levi waves back with enthusiasm. Minnie joins in.
Ingrid watches him go. “He’s a happy little guy.”
“He really is.” I can’t help but agree.
“Remember, you’ve given him stability to be this way,” Ingrid assures me. “Take it from a professional.”
“Well.” I smile. “We did.”
She looks at me quizzically.
“My parents.” The words come easier than I expect. “They’ve been incredible.”
“You’re lucky.” She stands and grips the handle of Minnie's stroller. “Mine are still convinced I did something to drive her dad away.”
“I’m sorry.” I bite my lip.
“Eh. It is what it is.” We walk toward our cars, which are parked in the strip across from Cactus. “So what happens now?”
The answer has been percolating quietly inside me for months. “I think it’s time. For Levi. He deserves to know his father and his father deserves to know his son.”
“I think you’re wise to want them to know each other.” Ingrid secures Minnie in her car seat as I do the same with Levi. “Do you see a future with him?”
I look toward the water and the Seattle skyline hiding beyond Alki point. Somewhere, Lake is living a life I couldn’t have imagined the morning I walked out of his apartment. “I don’t know what happens between him and me. They’re separate questions.”
Ingrid shuts the car door and hugs me. “What a healthy and mature thing to say.”
“Therapy is expensive,” I laugh.
“Worth every penny.” She waves as she gets into her car. “Same time next week?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it.”
By the time I pull into my parents’ driveway, it’s started raining.
Mom meets us at the back door. “There are my favorite people.” Levi doesn’t stir while she kisses his forehead. “How was Alki?”
“Good.”
She smiles for a second longer than usual. “You look happy.”
“I am.” The words come without effort. “Where’s Dad? There’s something I need him to help me with.”
She gestures toward the house. No questions. “He’s here for another hour. In his home office. I’ll put Levi down.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I hand my son to her and exit to the pathway leading to their house.
Dad looks up from his desk before I knock. “Hey, sweetheart.” He closes the folder in front of him. “What can I do for you?”
I don’t sit. “Dad…”
He waits.
“I need your help finding someone.”
His expression changes. Careful. Attentive.
“Who?”
I hold his eyes.
“Levi’s father.”