Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Stone
N oa moves in with the stealth of a mouse. Ma’s asleep, which I’m sure is why Noa’s being so quiet about setting up the guest room rather than doing anything to inconvenience her. Noa works fast, buzzing past me more than once and pretending I’m not there.
She made it perfectly clear on the front lawn that I was just below cleaning up Moo’s cat shit on her list of priorities, which is just terrific.
At least I know where we stand.
Being in her company punches me right through the chest, both in longing and, it surprised me to figure out, the remaining connection. All these years should’ve lessened the strike, yet I’m still hit by lightning every time I see her.
Apparently, that’s only true for one of us.
For now.
I push away from the desk in Ma’s sewing room, closing the takeover proposal I’m supposed to be going over and pulling off my headphones. They drop with a clunk beside the monolithic contract. I’ve made it a quarter of the way through, and my vision’s blurred and thoughts distant.
Without the soundproofing of my headphones, I hear the low murmurings of conversation coming from the kitchen. Ma must finally be awake. I haven’t seen her since early this morning and start toward the hallway when my phone rings.
I check the caller ID and answer. “Hello, Aaron.”
“How’s life in the sticks?”
The beat of thumping bass comes through with his voice, and I check the time. LA is three hours behind. He can’t be at a club at this hour, so gym it is. “Interesting, to say the least. Collected any gym bunnies this morning?”
“None are as fluffed as I’d like.” Aaron chuckles at his own joke.
“There’s still time if you spend less of it on the phone and more of it showing off while lifting those weights you constantly avoid.”
“I told you. I like the sauna and the cooling green tea infused towels they offer.”
“All complimentary, I’m sure.”
“For me? Always.”
I keep one ear trained on the sounds in the kitchen, Noa’s light melody and Ma’s tired, sleep-roughened voice. “What can I do for you, Aaron? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Busy reading through Millspace Pharmaceuticals’ takeover, I hope.”
I glance at the contract, empty of my usual strike throughs and amendments. “Are you calling me to tell me I still have an opinion about my business?”
“I’m working on it,” Aaron quips. “And you going twenty-four hours without being under scrutiny helps. Are you lying low like you promised?”
I stare through the open door and into the hall, where Noa’s voice seems to swirl. “As low as I can go, truthfully.”
“Good. I have a meeting set up today with the corporate lawyers to preempt the damage Ravynn’s impending article threatens to do, and we’ll go from there.”
I reluctantly ask, “Do I need to be there? Or Zoom in on a call?”
“Nah, you stay where you are and be a good boy. So long as you don’t add to this shitstorm, we can come out of this.”
“About that.”
The thumping bass fades and a door slams. “Fuck. Why did I feel like I had to go somewhere private to hear this? What have you done? Throat-punched a cowboy?”
“Your creativity needs work.” I swivel on my feet, staring out the window, scraping a hand through my hair, then leaving it there to pull on the strands. The jolt of pain should ground me, but I still feel like I’m floating outside my body. “I got some news when I arrived. News I wasn’t expecting.”
“Oh yeah?”
“My mother. She has…” I clear my throat. “She has cancer.”
Aaron is silent for a few seconds. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”
“She’s not going to be all right,” I say, even though Aaron didn’t ask if she was. Maybe I’m mentioning it because I have yet to believe its truth. “It’s spread, and she may only have a few months.”
“That’s fucking terrible. How are you holding up?”
“As good as expected. In an ironic twist of fate, my high school sweetheart is her nurse.”
“Is that right?” Too late, I sense Aaron’s wheels spinning, and I regret the confession.
“Aaron, I’m telling you this as my friend, not my head of HR.”
“Yes, obviously, but…”
“No.”
“Hear me out.”
“Not a chance.” I pull the phone away from my ear.
“This is your redemption story!” Aaron shouts through the speaker before I can hang up.
“You’ve gone home to take care of your ailing mother with your high school sweetheart, forsaking business in the name of family.
This could look so good for you. And before you attempt to strangle me through the phone for being so crass—which admittedly, I am—I’m your guy.
I can’t ignore this in good conscience. This could absolve you of your controversial behavior for the last ten years , never mind last week. ”
“I refuse to use my mother as a news piece. End of story.”
“All right, all right, I understand.” Yet I can still hear him thinking. “How about the ex angle? I can check her out, make sure she’s as sweet as a small-town girl should be. That could absolutely compete with anything Ravynn says about you.”
“I’m not using Noa as an angle against my poor decisions, either. Ravynn is my issue, not hers.”
“You’re upset. I don’t blame you. How about I give you some time to really think about this and what it could do for you?
Be with your mother and take all the time you need.
But sometimes the truth is better than fiction, and with how close you are to imploding what you’ve worked so hard for, you have to be smart about this. Please.”
I grind my teeth while staring out the circlet window in the hall. Evergreens behind the street tower over the smaller, color changing oaks, but those sunset leaves draw the eye even under a larger shadow. “I’ve never spoken publicly about my past or my family and I don’t intend to now.”
Aaron releases a disappointed sigh. “Let me help you. Your rough patch just got a lot bumpier. I’d like to see some good come out of it. As your friend, I’d like the big pharma to see you for who you really are. I’ve heard from our CFO they’re getting antsy, using you for the takeover.”
I sneer at the idea that Aaron knows more about my business than me. “I’ll talk with Edwin myself. Right now, I’m a brokenhearted son and our clients have no right to see that.”
Pause. “Fine. But you do not make my job easy.”
“And another thing. I’m probably not coming back for a while.”
Another pause. “How long’s a while?”
“I don’t know. My mother needs me. Noa’s been handling this herself, and I don’t feel comfortable with that, either. Things are … complicated, and I’d like to stay until I figure some things out.”
“Take all the time you need.” Aaron’s tone brightens. “I can work the getting back to your roots, small-town reminiscing angle. I’ll keep in touch regarding any news and truly, Stone, I wish you all the best with your family. I’m so sorry about your mom.”
Aaron’s genuine sentiment cleans away some of the dirt left on me after his suggestion of using Ma as an angle. “I’ll call you.”
Noa’s faraway tone becomes frantic. I tear my gaze away from the fall foliage and frown.
“Talk soon,” I finish saying to Aaron, then hang up and stride downstairs and into the kitchen.
I’m not sure what I thought I’d find, maybe a grease fire or a spill or a pissed-off cat ripping into a can of sardines, but I wasn’t expecting Noa facing off with my mother, hands on her hips and an expression somehow being both stern and horrified.
I glance between the two of them, Ma sitting primly on a barstool and Noa’s body practically vibrating with the need to unleash beside her.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
My voice draws Ma’s attention. “Oh, hi, honey. How’s your contract reading coming along?”
“Fine.” I drawl, my gaze sliding from her to Noa. “How’s it coming along in here?”
“Noa and I are simply going over my schedule for the next month,” Ma says.
Noa slits her eyes at Ma, then whirls and says brightly, “I’ll start dinner.”
“You don’t have to cook,” I say at the same time Ma pipes in, “Do you remember Noa’s dream to go to culinary school?”
I walk deeper into the kitchen, conscious of Noa banging pots onto the counter. “I was often the lucky recipient of her food experiments.”
“What’s everyone feeling like tonight?” Noa asks loudly while facing the stove. “Pasta? Chicken Milanese?”
“Either sounds lovely, dear.” Ma folds her arms on the counter.
“Great!”
Noa’s exclamation comes out high-pitched and frantic. Conscious of the plot thickening between these two, I lower myself onto the stool next to Ma.
Ma continues as if Noa hasn’t spoken. “Now I, for one, think it’s high time for Noa to expand her skills, or at the very least exercise the ones she’s gained.”
She leaves a gap of silence, of which I have a son’s obligatory urge to fill with a supportive, “Yes. Skills shouldn’t be put to waste.”
“I knew you’d understand.” Ma claps her hands together with a burst of energy I haven’t seen since arriving home. “Then you won’t mind accompanying her to the C’est Trois cooking classes I bought her.”
I straighten. Frown. “What?”
Noa spins, her oil-coated wooden spoon coming with her and splattering across my shirt. Again. “Mrs. Stalinski, I’ve told you, I don’t need?—”
“Judy, dear.”
“—to go to these classes. Not if you can’t go.”
Ma looks at me, choosing to ignore how I have to reach around her to get a napkin and dab at my shirt. “The classes were my gift to her, meant to be for the two of us to enjoy together. A small token of gratitude for all she’s done.”
Noa audibly sighs. “I’m a nurse . Your insurance pays me to do this and I’m happy to do it. Please, you don’t have to give me anything to help you.”
“You are not a nurse.” Ma sticks her nose up. “You are a cook. A chef. Saucier. Chef de partie. ”
“Now you’re just showing off your fancy words,” I say wryly.
“Mrs. Stalinski, I’ve chosen to be a nurse.”
“If by chosen , you mean you were pushed into the role.”
“I truly wasn’t!” Noa throws her hands up, splattering more oil. Hot oil, I might add. “I enjoy what I do..”