New York, New York #11
“That’s Cooper Nielson,” AJ informed him. “He drinks like a fish and screws every girl in tights.”
“So, he’s a predator,” said Noah.
“No, that’s a direct quote from the movie.” AJ nestled into his chest. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.”
It was a lighthearted watch that brought AJ tremendous, unfettered joy, which was perhaps why she failed to sense Noah’s distress.
As his knee began to vibrate to Jody Sawyer letting loose in a Midtown dance loft, AJ assumed it was because he too was very into the “Higher Ground” choreography.
But when the music stopped and Noah’s knee didn’t, she touched him.
“Your motor’s going,” she said. He didn’t respond. She looked up and was shocked to find him fighting back tears.
He tried to hide it. “Sorry,” he said, taking his arm from around her and pushing his palms into his eyes.
“What is it?” said AJ, sitting up. His energy was ringing and cold, like metal on a freezing morning. He tensed as she rubbed his thigh.
“Agh,” he said, and forced a laugh, lowering his hands. “Nothing. This is just really perfect and…I don’t know. I’m going to get some water. I’ll get you some too, you should hydrate.”
He scooched Bud’s head off his knee and left the room. AJ sat stricken, bereft of his warmth. Bud curled up to her in solidarity.
Noah returned ten minutes later carrying two glasses.
“You okay?” asked AJ.
“Totally,” he said with ease.
AJ eyed him. He was playing a part right now, sealing himself off from her. But what was she supposed to do, force him to talk when he didn’t want to? Make him cry? Uneasily, she snuggled back into the crook of his arm and let the scene he’d initiated play out.
The next morning, AJ awoke to the high-pitched buzzing of a screwdriver.
She entered the kitchen to find the cupboards emptied onto the island, dishes and glasses stacked into a cityscape.
Noah was in the process of detaching the cabinet doors from their hinges, a sledgehammer and demolition bar leaning apocalyptically nearby.
“Um, hi?” said AJ. Bud, who had been hiding under the counter, trotted toward AJ and nuzzled her shins as if to say, Help.
Noah pivoted, yellow cabinet door in hand. He raised his goggles. “Hi,” he said. There was sweat around the collar and armpits of his gray T-shirt. His eyes were bright.
“We’re redoing the kitchen,” he announced. His energy was a white wall.
“Since…when?” asked AJ tentatively.
Noah shrugged. “Last night.”
AJ nodded. She bit her lip. “Do you want to tal—”
“I figure I’ll just demo these cabinets,” he said, turning from her. “We don’t need them anymore.”
You are freaking out, AJ wanted to say. Instead, she surprised herself with, “Have you gotten a structural engineer in here?”
Noah lowered the screwdriver ten degrees in the air. He looked at her. “No. Why?”
Over the next ten minutes, AJ pulled out the worst renovation horror stories she had encountered in her four seasons at Turn It or Return It. Had he heard of termites? Termites! Rotten joists. Faulty wiring. Old houses could get nasty. And had he ordered a dumpster?
“A job worth doing is worth doing well, right?” said AJ, reshelving a stack of dishes.
“Right,” said Noah. He shifted his weight. “So, I’ll call Davis. And order a dumpster.”
Slowly, he set down the screwdriver. The cabinet door remained detached.
AJ had hoped that taking a beat would slow Noah’s roll on the kitchen. But he was back at it the next day, this time with Davis, his soft-spoken architect, whose judgment Noah seemed to trust implicitly, probably because Davis also dressed like a supervillain.
AJ stayed for the first quarter of their meeting and watched the two of them walk around together in matching charcoal outfits, muttering indecipherably and pointing.
After twenty minutes, she excused herself to work on the revisions of the screenplay adaptation, for which she’d just received notes. When she emerged from Eudora’s room a few hours later, she found Noah at the counter surrounded by catalogs. He was in an excellent mood.
“What do you think of this?” he asked, opening one to a full page of gray cabinets.
“I like it,” said AJ.
Noah frowned. “But do you like it better than this?” he said, shoving a second catalog in her face with a photo of cabinets that were objectively identical.
AJ shrugged. “I like the ones you have.”
Noah shook his head. “Those are dated,” he said sternly. “These come with soft-close hinges.”
“I’m sure whatever you choose will be fine,” said AJ.
Noah gave her a severe look. “It’s important you like them as well,” he said. “They’ll be yours one day.”
AJ laughed, then realized he was serious. “I think you just accidentally bumped off your father,” she said. “Isn’t this his house?”
“He doesn’t care about this place,” said Noah dismissively. “Besides, it’s not like he’s going to have anyone to leave it to.”
AJ’s stomach rolled. “Noah, is there anything you want to talk about?” she ventured delicately.
“No, AJ, I don’t want to talk about things I can’t change,” he said without looking up. “Things I can change, however, are these cabinets.”
He flipped the catalog to a new page and began listing the pros and cons of frameless versus inset doors as AJ did her best to keep the horror off her face.
While AJ appreciated that this new project gave Noah a place to channel his anxiety, she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for it.
No matter how many samples he showed her, how many times he dragged her to Home Depot to look at light fixtures, or how many issues of Architectural Digest he left open on her nightstand, AJ could not get herself excited.
This kitchen felt like home to her, and she did not want to change a single outlet.
“I would really like your support on this,” Noah said again and again.
AJ told him he had it, then continued her campaign of passive resistance.
She didn’t realize how much her apathy was bothering him until he started leaking one night while they were at Patrick and Elle’s for dinner.
“So, how’s it going, you two?” asked Elle warmly, placing chips and salsa on the table.
“Great,” said Noah sardonically. “Except that AJ is a terrible Taurus.”
AJ glanced at him. He was “just kidding,” but he was clearly pissed.
Patrick burst out laughing. Over the past year, his physical therapy had continued to progress, and he now had full use of both arms. His triceps were ripped from wheeling himself around and using his leg braces.
He had returned to work, so Elle’s parents were off dispersing crystals to some lucky ren fair.
Unfortunately. AJ would have loved a diversion from Raven Mabon-Fay right about now.
Elle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What makes you say that?”
Noah blinked accusingly at AJ.
“I like dated cabinets,” AJ mumbled.
Elle cocked her head to the side. “AJ’s just this side of Aries,” she said. “Are you into that stuff?”
Noah’s manner softened. “I like anything that helps explain why things are the way they are,” he said. “Tell me what you mean.”
As Elle stepped into the side of her personality she normally pretended didn’t exist, Patrick caught AJ’s eye. “Is he having his Tom Cruise moment?” he whispered. “Is he going clear?”
AJ grinned. “More like his HGTV moment.” She explained about the kitchen.
Patrick shook his head at her. “You know, you’re the only girl in the world who’s not ecstatic that her movie star boyfriend wants to buddy up on a kitchen reno.”
The kitchen is a cry for help, AJ wanted to say but she couldn’t, so she laughed.
AJ would have gladly let her brother in. She could have used the support, to say nothing of Noah, whose retinue of doctors notably did not include a therapist. But Noah’s diagnosis was his secret, and she could not breach his trust; so as long as he was alone with it, so was she.
Patrick reached for his braces and heaved himself out of the chair to go check on dinner. Noah tracked his movements, his jaw tight. Then Charlie popped up before him.
“Look,” he said, waving a red Hot Wheels car in Noah’s face.
Noah’s enormous hand opened to receive the toy. He smiled. “This looks just like my car.”
He let Charlie lead him onto the floor, and the two of them began to play. AJ didn’t normally have swoony feelings watching men entertain kids—she never had with Brian. But she had to admit, Noah looked pretty natural at it. Within a few minutes, Charlie was climbing all over him.
As he lifted Charlie onto his shoulders, Noah’s gaze tripped lovingly over AJ, and he sent the red toy car zooming toward her feet. AJ felt a swell of warmth as she reached for it.
From the kitchen door, Elle caught AJ’s eye. Full. Moon. Circle, she mouthed, and winked.
AJ hadn’t seen Patrick and Noah interact since the night Pat had played the protective-older-brother card at Reel World Video, and apparently nothing had changed. Her brother’s continued attempts to vet Noah were anything but subtle.
“You working right now, man?” Patrick inquired over dinner.
Noah’s eyes creased. “Not at the moment.”
Patrick nodded. “Is that normal? I don’t know how movies work. Is this still where you see yourself in, say, five years?”
“Okay, Principal Belding…” said Elle, giving AJ a sympathetic look.
Patrick grinned. “I know. You and Age should be in a movie together.”
Noah genuinely smiled at this. “I would love that,” he said. He turned to AJ. “Seriously, I would give pretty much anything to act together.”
AJ blushed. “Would you leave the kitchen the way it is?”
Noah shot her the same look he’d worn at Comic-Con—a little annoyed, a little smitten. As Patrick guffawed, Noah’s eyes slid to his wheelchair.
He was quiet on the drive home.
“Way to air our dirty laundry in there,” AJ joked, attempting to lighten the mood. “AJ’s a terrible Taurus. Who are we, George and Martha?”
Noah smirked. “Don’t worry, Elle set me straight,” he said. “Apparently being deeply resistant to change is extremely Taurean. You are, in fact, a good Taurus.”