Chapter 21 Wants, Needs #2
As if on cue, the coffee maker beeps, and she follows Noah to where he’s laid out two mugs.
They fix their coffee in silence, Sage’s heart warming as she finds her favorite brand of creamer in the fridge.
Noah always makes sure it’s stocked when she comes to visit.
They settle in the living room, Sage on the firm gray couch, Noah in the boxy black armchair, and there’s an awkward pause as they sip their drinks.
“I’m glad you came up,” Noah starts, taking Sage by surprise. He clears his throat, hands wrapped firmly around his Booth School of Business mug, and looks at her with quiet determination. “I really missed you at Christmas. It wasn’t the same without you.”
Sage opens her mouth, but Noah presses on. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty. I’m just … telling you how I feel. I missed you.” The words are stilted and awkward on her brother’s tongue, but he’s trying so damn hard, and it makes Sage want to try, too.
“I missed you, too,” she murmurs. “And I’m sorry.
For leaving you to deal with the fallout of all of that alone.
And for what I said—about you being the golden child.
” She sets her coffee on the table and rests her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped in front of her.
“That was unfair. I was hurt, and jealous, and I made it your fault. But it isn’t. This is about me, and Mom, and Dad.”
Noah inhales, deep and slow. “I didn’t exactly make it easier for you.
I let them drag me into it. I should’ve been there for you instead of coming at you like that.
I overreacted. I was upset that you weren’t going to be there and maybe a little pissed that I wouldn’t have anyone to temper Mom and Dad’s relentless questions about kids.
” He grimaces. “Which, I guess, is what you were going to deal with at Thanksgiving, in a way.”
His gaze is earnest as it meets hers. “I’m sorry. I’ve just … missed you. In general.”
“Me too,” Sage replies. “I know that we’re not …
quite in lockstep anymore. But you can talk to me, you know?
About trying for kids. I may not get it the way your other friends do, but I can still be there for you.
” She rubs at a spot on her jeans as she sucks in a breath.
“And I can—will—be better at that. Being there for you. I’ve been caught up in my own shit a lot lately. ”
Noah gives her an understanding smile. “I get it. It’s okay.” He leans back in his seat and props his ankle on his knee. “I’m jealous too, you know. Of you.”
Sage can’t help the way her mouth pops open. “What? Why?”
Noah shrugs a shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be?
You’ve always known exactly who you are, Sage.
And sure, maybe it’s different from who Mom and Dad want you to be, and maybe for a while there you tried to fit in, but you never did.
Not really. And that’s … pretty cool. I wish I had that type of confidence in myself.
That type of self-assurance. You know who you are and what you want, and you don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. I admire that about you. A lot.”
She blinks at him, her mind wrestling with what he’s just told her.
She’s always had this singular view of things—of herself, of Noah, of their bond—and Noah has just come in and shattered it into a kaleidoscope of colors she hadn’t even known existed.
“But I’m not,” she blurts out. Noah gives her a questioning glance, and Sage shakes her head. “Confident. I … I think I just pretend to be. But really, I’m scared. I’m scared, and I feel lonely, and I look for validation in places I shouldn’t.”
The words rush out of her, and they’re tinged with a memory of a curt English accent. Sage shoves it away, focuses on Noah as he says, “Like Mom and Dad?”
“Sure. And, you know.” She shrugs. “The entire Internet.”
Noah laughs, and Sage smiles, but she starts picking at the skin of her thumb. She grabs her mug to redirect her energy.
“I care too much about what people think,” she continues quietly. “I pretend not to, but I do. And I …” She swallows. “I let it keep me from the things I actually want.”
Noah cocks his head. “Why do I feel like we’re not just talking about Mom and Dad anymore? Or the Internet?”
“Because we’re not,” she admits with a sigh.
For all of their closeness, she and Noah don’t really talk like this—about relationships and feelings. But her brother is looking at her expectantly, like maybe they could.
So she tells him about Theo, about falling in love and the way her heart feels like it’s taken a beating. She tells him about deleting Theo’s number and any trace they’ve ever talked and how much she regrets that she doesn’t have those messages anymore.
She tells him about how much she misses him.
She tells him about things she’s only starting to address in therapy because they feel like the worst parts of her brought to light.
“You could DM him, couldn’t you?” Noah says when she’s finished. “If you want to fix things between you two …”
“I don’t know that I can right now,” Sage admits. “I feel like … like I still have a lot to work on before I’d be ready for that. If I’d be ready for that.”
Noah settles back in his chair and takes a long sip of his coffee. “Maybe. But you don’t have to be fully healed to let someone love you.”
Sage can’t help it—her eyebrows shoot up as she stares at her brother. “Did you end up on pop psychology Instagram or something?”
He laughs. “No. But maybe that’s where Cecelia got it. It’s something she said to me once, and it stuck with me.”
They should talk about the deeper stuff more, Sage realizes. Perhaps they would’ve figured out some things far earlier if they had.
“Okay,” Noah sighs as he straightens. “I can’t help with the Internet, or whatever you’re unpacking in therapy, or your boyfriend. But I can help with Mom and Dad. If you’d like.”
Noah is just full of surprises today.
She’s hardly talked to her parents since she’d gotten back to LA. She isn’t even sure where to start, honestly. Her therapist had suggested a sit-down, but tackling that with Noah, as nerve-wracking as it’s been, had seemed like a better starting point.
“You can?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Noah says in a voice she hasn’t heard in quite a while.
It’s the one he used to don when Sage was getting picked on at school, the one he used when he caught it happening in the hallway and confronted the bully right there in front of the lockers.
It’s deep, and warm, and protective, and it wraps around Sage like a hug.
“Yeah,” he says again. “I can.”
It takes another two hours for them to write down exactly what Sage wants to say.
He’s patient as she hems and haws, attentive as she explains each point to him, focused, like he actually wants to understand.
And when she’s finally ready to FaceTime them, he’s the one to pull out his phone.
The one to dial their parents. The one to start the conversation.
“Hey, Mom and Dad. Do you guys have a few minutes?” he asks. “I need to talk to you about something.”
He pushes the phone back—rests it against the ceramic bowl on the kitchen table so Sage is in the frame, too. His arm falls across the back of her chair, grounding and sturdy, every bit the big brother she’s known and loved for her entire life as he says, “We both do.”
It doesn’t fix everything.
But it’s a start.
Enough of one that when Sage boards her plane back to LA Sunday evening, she feels lighter than she has in a long, long time. She sends Noah one last thank-you via text and goes to switch her phone to airplane mode before she pauses.
She gives herself three seconds to think on it, and then she sends a separate message to her mom, letting her know she’s on the plane and will let her know when she lands.
The immediate love you she gets back feels like it carries far too much weight for just two simple words.
It doesn’t fix everything.
But it’s a start.
For now, that’s enough.