20. Nora
NORA
Istand at the kitchen counter mashing potatoes while trying very hard not to think about how domestic my life has become in less than a month.
The old mixer rattles loudly against the ceramic bowl while steam curls around me.
Chicken bakes in the oven beside a green bean casserole already cooling on the stovetop.
Somewhere behind me, Lena and Paxton move through the living room in a blur of blankets, markers, and animated signing.
The entire house smells warm now, in a way it didn’t when Paxton and I first arrived here.
Over the last week, routines have formed around the men so naturally that sometimes I don’t notice them until I stop moving long enough to think about it.
Breakfast almost every morning. Coffee after school pickup.
Stryker quietly fixing practical things around the house without asking permission first. Blade somehow always noticing when I’m tired before I admit it.
Or at least he did. But ever since we had sex and I totally fucked up the pillow talk afterwards, two weeks ago, I haven’t heard from him.
I get vague updates about him still doing ‘shipping business’ in Vegas from Blade and Stryker, but Viper hasn’t texted me once and he texted me several times a day before.
Part of me knows that if I wanted to I could just text him. I’m pretty confident he would still answer, but that feels like a commitment I just can’t take right now. So instead I keep reframing the feeling into irritation every time it surfaces.
He talks too much. He pushes too hard. He laughs at me constantly. He calls me sweetheart like he’s trying to start a fight every single time.
Obviously I’m relieved by the temporary peace and quiet.
Except the lie doesn’t even convince me anymore.
A small thump sounds behind me followed by excited movement in my peripheral vision. I turn just in time to see Paxton racing into the kitchen with Lena close behind him, both of them grinning wildly about something I clearly missed.
We built a blanket cave, she signs proudly.
Her signing still looks slightly uneven in places because she’s learning so quickly she sometimes skips things or forgets exact formations and angles for her hands, but the improvement over the last few weeks honestly borders on ridiculous.
Stryker told me she’s been watching ASL videos every night before bed and forcing Blade to practice with her constantly.
Paxton beams beside her immediately.
It has pillows and dinosaurs and two flashlights.
“You’re supposed to be doing your homework,” I remind them automatically, both signing and speaking because Lena still catches some things easier verbally.
Lena grins without shame. “We are taking a break.”
Breaks are very good, Paxton adds seriously.
I snort softly despite myself. “Convenient argument.”
Behind them, Stryker walks through the back door carrying another grocery bag I didn’t ask him to buy.
He pauses immediately after stepping inside, eyes sweeping automatically over the kitchen, the children, and me in one quick practiced assessment that’s become so normal now I barely notice him doing it anymore.
Still wearing dark jeans and a thermal Henley despite the warming house, he looks broad enough to crowd the entire doorway for a second before he steps fully inside.
His hair’s slightly damp from the cold outside wind, strands of brown threaded with early silver around his temples now that I’ve seen him enough times to really notice it.
“You forgot rolls,” he says calmly, while setting the bag on the counter beside me.
“I did not forget rolls.”
“You definitely forgot rolls.”
I glance down.
There are, in fact, no rolls.
“That feels judgmental.”
“It is judgmental.”
Lena immediately points accusingly at him. “Traitor.”
But, the she giggles outright before signing to Paxton, Come help me finish before your mom gets mad.
She does not get mad a lot, Paxton argues loyally, following her anyway as she grabs his hand and drags him toward the dining room.
I watch them disappear around the corner with a soft smile before turning back toward the stove. For a few quiet seconds, only the sounds of the oven and running sink water fill the kitchen, while Stryker starts unloading groceries beside me like he’s done it his entire life.
Which is exactly the problem. None of this should feel this natural. Not after one night six years ago. Not after a few weeks, especially.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” Stryker says eventually.
“I’m making potatoes.”
“You’re assaulting potatoes.”
I glance down at the aggressively destroyed bowl in front of me and sigh quietly. “Fair.”
He reaches around me for cabinet space like he already knows where everything belongs now. The movement briefly crowds warmth against my shoulder before he steps back again, calm and steady the way he always is. Like he already decided something weeks ago and the rest of us are just catching up.
Blade arrives twenty minutes later, his hair wet. He steps inside already shrugging out of his jacket, while Paxton rushes toward him excitedly from the living room. Blade immediately crouches low enough to catch his attention before signing.
Hi buddy. Did you build something important today?
Paxton nods enthusiastically. We built a cave and Lena says it will totally protect against monsters.
Blade looks appropriately impressed. That is serious work.
I watch the exchange from the stove while something uncomfortable twists quietly beneath my ribs again.
All of them have worked so hard to communicate with Paxton.
Blade already signs well enough to hold full conversations now that he’s using it daily again, but Stryker and Viper practice constantly.
Lena even more. Slow awkward signs over breakfast. Finger spelling through conversations when needed.
Paxton correcting all of them dramatically whenever they mess up.
Nobody treats Paxton like an inconvenience. Nobody talks around him.
Even at school, since the third graders and kindergarteners share a lunch and recess period, Lena apparently spends recess helping other kids understand what he’s signing when they get confused.
Paxton talks about her constantly now. Half his stories revolve around Lena showing him things or translating jokes or dragging him into games with older kids.
I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since another child moved around him this comfortably. Probably since he was a toddler.
Blade rises back to his feet before crossing toward me as Paxton runs back to the living room. “Anything you need?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that while carrying too much at least six times today.”
“I can carry mashed potatoes alone.”
“I meant emotionally.”
I point the spoon at him immediately. “Absolutely not. No psychoanalysis.”
His mouth twitches slightly. “Worth trying.”
Stryker snorts quietly from across the kitchen while continuing to set drinks on the table. Somewhere in the living room Lena and Paxton burst into silent hysterics over something on television, both of them falling sideways across couch cushions dramatically.
The entire house feels alive. Full. Like the empty corners finally stopped echoing.
And underneath all of it sits one ugly unavoidable truth.
It still feels incomplete because Viper’s gone.
The realization irritates me enough that I nearly slam the cabinet harder than necessary. Blade notices immediately of course.
“You alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Violent cabinet behavior says otherwise.”
“I just…hate uneven hinges or whatever.”
Stryker glances toward me once, clearly not buying that explanation either. Unfortunately neither am I.
I hate how much I’ve thought about Viper over the last several days. Six years of celibacy apparently leaves plenty of room for memory.
At first, after Paxton was born, not dating happened accidentally. I was exhausted, broke, working constantly, raising a deaf infant alone in New York while barely keeping us afloat. Romance felt ridiculous compared to rent and groceries and tuition savings accounts.
Then eventually it became a choice.
Nobody ever looked worth the effort. Nobody felt remotely comparable.
And if I’m being brutally honest with myself, every orgasm I’ve had in six years involved one, or all three, of those men living somewhere inside my head, while my hand disappeared beneath blankets after Paxton fell asleep.
Which is humiliating to acknowledge internally, so I shove the thought away immediately.
Suddenly, Lena appears in the kitchen doorway waving dramatically to get my attention.
“Can I help carry anything else to the table?
“Yes, thank you, honey,” I hand her a few things to take, and she disappears with them.
Paxton appears behind her signing to me, I can carry napkins.
“That sounds perfect.”
From there, the two of them are a rush of motion, weaving around each other through the kitchen with complete confidence now.
Lena reaches for plates without asking where they are.
Paxton grabs more silverware from the drawer.
I watch them moving together while another strange ache settles low in my chest.
They look like siblings already.
Paxton trails after Lena everywhere now with complete trust while she naturally folds him into everything she does. Sometimes I catch her automatically slowing down conversations at school pickup so he can follow signs easier. Sometimes I catch Paxton holding her sleeve when he’s nervous.
And every single time, I realize how isolated he used to be before this, and I wonder how many other ways I screwed up as a mom these past years raising him.
Dinner’s nearly finished when headlights finally sweep across the front windows. Every person in the kitchen pauses instinctively.
Then before I can even fully process it, Paxton rushes to look outside before he visibly lights up and turns to sign to all of us, Viper.