Sometimes, when she wakes, Lee forgets where she is, in what fragment of time, as if the contents of her life have been sliced and reshuffled like a deck of cards.
She will come stumbling into consciousness and reach for the bottle on the nightstand. When her fingers swab the lamp or her phone, she will think only: then.
That was then. How many mornings before this has she come into the day still drunk and wanting to take the edge off? Lee is built on edges. If it isn’t wine, it’s work, worrying, remembering, or trying not to remember. But today, when she stirs, it isn’t Mason she thinks of first, or the wine she reaches for.
It’s Noah.
Lee lies in bed and eyes the dated ceiling fan. Her gaze shifts to the water spot on the ceiling, newly patched but still showing a blown-out brown stain. Her eyes travel down to the bedroom windows, recently afflicted with wood rot.
She’s tried her best to spruce up the house, but it’s still an outdated ranch, and a rental. Though her friends don’t live far—Carol only a few streets over in Lincoya Hills, Grace and Alice in Green Hills, a more affluent neighborhood with better schools—Lee is the only renter. But to her, this house, on this street, signifies her fresh start with Mason, and she’s proud of it.
Lee slides a hand over the pillow on the other side of the bed. It’s been empty for as long as Mason has been alive. She has a switch, and she simply turned it off. But with one mistaken moment of throwing herself at Noah, the switch has been flipped, and she doesn’t want to turn it off again. She can almost feel what it would be like to have him here beside her.
She tiptoes to Mason’s room and presses her ear against the cold wood. Still asleep. Mason is a troubled sleeper. For a few years, he sleepwalked. She’d jar awake at the sound of him jiggling a doorknob to go outside or insisting, confused, that it was time to start his lessons for the day. Later, it had turned into the occasional thrashing or swinging of a pillow, disjointed sentences muffled by sleep. There is no rhyme or reason to what constitutes a good night versus a bad night, but she recently started giving him melatonin, which seems to help.
She dresses and puts on the kettle for tea. As she drops a tea bag into an empty cup, her eyes drift to the backyard, the garden, and the trees that fill the perimeter with their tiny, pregnant flower buds and dancing branches. She’s just planted anemones, poppies, and a row of ranunculus and can’t wait to see the wonderful bounty for late spring.
She needs to get to a meeting today. The uncertainty of what Noah’s rejection means makes her feel antsy, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to take it out on Mason or erupt into a tantrum again. Even though Sunday mornings are packed, she clears her schedule.
She can’t stand over all those talking heads today, nodding and giving her opinions about her clients’ inability to spend the summer completely abroad because little Billy has science camp, or how a bonus should be spent, or which Jet Ski to buy for Percy Priest Lake. She always listens and smiles, painting wiry, gray hairs, or neatly slicing split ends, when all she really wants is to fist a bottle of wine and drink until her teeth, lips, and tongue grow black. The relief with every drink—how it eases the knots of aggression, disappointment, and frustration like the hands of a masseuse after a marathon—has left her without a comparable release.
She asks Noah if he can come over a bit early today. He quickly texts back and asks if he can talk to her about something.
Lee’s fingers hover over the keys as she rereads the text. She types out a curt response: sure. She wavers between worrying it’s something to do with Mason and hoping it isn’t a rehashing of the Almost Kiss.
Lee yawns and waits for the kettle to whistle. Twenty minutes later, Noah knocks softly at the back door. What would he say if he knew he was her first thought this morning?
“Hey,” she says as she opens the door. She rearranges her face to some semblance of normal, but it’s strained, tight.
Noah places his satchel by the mud bench, and something about it reminds her of husbands all over the world coming home after a long day’s work to their wives. His hair is slightly wet, and she wonders if he’s just taken a shower. He glances toward the hall. “Is he up yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Is now an okay time to talk?”
“Sure.” She fixes herself a cup of tea, offers him one, and sits at the dining room table. “I feel like I’m in trouble or something.”
“No. It’s nothing like that.” Noah struggles to find the words.
“Is it about what happened on Friday?” She senses his hesitation and hurries to fill the gap. “Please tell me you’re not quitting because of that.”
“Lee.” Noah rests a hand on hers. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m not quitting. Relax.”
She smiles, lips tight over her teeth, and loves the heaviness of his hand on hers. “Okay, I’ll be quiet. Speak.”
He drags his hand across the table and back to his lap. “I’m not sure the best way to say this, so I’m just going to say it, and I want you to listen. Okay? Entirely. Until I’m done.”
Lee’s breath sticks in her lungs. She only nods.
“It’s about this trip with your friends.”
She exhales, relieved that it’s not about the kiss, but also anxious about what he’s going to say. She wants to go—everything in her wants to—but the reality of packing a bag, getting in a car, and driving away from her life and Mason seems impossible. No one but her knows what a monumental step that is. No one but her knows exactly what that means.
“I’m thinking about it.”
He narrows his eyes. “No, you’re not. I know you.”
She laughs. “How do you know I’m not going to go?”
“Like I said, I know you. You’re easy to read. Have you talked to Mason about it yet?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“Okay, fair enough.” He spreads his hands on the table and tips back in the chair. “Still want to hear my prepared speech?”
He’s prepared a speech? She extends one hand, not needing one more reason to find him adorable. “By all means.”
He clears his throat. “Here goes: you need to go on this trip. Not just because it’s a fun thing to do, or because you need a break. But because Mason needs this. Mason needs to know that his mother can be gone for forty-eight or seventy-two hours, and his world will not fall apart. Mason is capable, even at this young age, of coping with his limitations. His mind is exceptional. You know that, and I know that. But it’s his emotional health that needs a real test. This is why he needs this. He will be fine. You will be fine. You will be a better mother once you take a few days to yourself.” He scratches his head. “I mean, what? You’ve never even been away from him, unless it’s for coffee or to run an errand, right? Most seven-year-olds leave their parents eight hours a day every day for school.”
“I know.” The guilt washes over her. She often worries he’s not getting the socialization he needs by staying at home.
“He will have familiar faces around him. He’ll be protected and safe. Okay?”
She nods, but inside, the nerves begin their frenetic dance. No one understands that if she goes, she’ll be thinking about what could happen while she’s gone. It would be nothing more than obsessing if he’s okay, if he’s missing her, if he’s having a meltdown that Noah can’t fix. She’s come to realize that she relies on Mason more than he relies on her. Which probably means that she’s taken on a new addiction.
Noah’s strong, masculine face and earnest eyes await her response. She lingers on the lips she would love to kiss and drifts down to the hands she would like to hold. This man wants to give her a break. Even if he doesn’t reciprocate the same romantic feelings, he still wants to take care of Mason so she can go have fun. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever offered.
“Why are you here?” Mason rubs the sleep from his eyes and stands in his Star Wars pajamas, hair mussed and static-prone. He checks the time. “It’s not even nine.”
“I needed to talk to your mom about something. Let’s get you some breakfast and then we can start.”
“I’m going to get dressed first.”
Lee stands to help.
Mason stops in the hall and calls over his shoulder. “I have decided that I am now old enough to get dressed by myself. Grace is the only one who does it right, and I don’t have the luxury of living with Grace. So I’m going to do it from now on.” He disappears to his room.
Lee laughs but smarts at his comment about living with Grace. Does my son prefer everyone but me? “That’s new,” Lee says. She takes another sip of tea.
“You’re probably going to see that more and more. He’s exerting his independence, which has been a key component of our lessons lately.”
“That’s great.”
Noah covers her hand with his again. “Talk to Mason about the trip. You’ll feel better once he gives you permission.”
Her heart races, both from the contact and from the conversation she knows she needs to have. “I don’t think it’s his permission I need.”
“I know. It’s yours.”
Noah looks into her eyes and she could swear there’s something he’s not saying, some hidden desire he feels compelled to hide. She waits for him to remove his hand, physically aching for that contact the moment he does. She stands and dumps the rest of her lukewarm tea into the sink. What she doesn’t say, what she can’t say, is that she is starting to feel obsolete. Mason isn’t responding to her in the same way. She’s used to his preference for Grace, but she thought that was singular. Because he’s known Grace forever. Because she’s like family. But in the span of a few months, Mason also prefers Noah. Not her.
She turns at the sink. “Are you still cool to go to the barbecue later?”
“Of course.” He stacks his workbooks along the dining room table. “Looking forward to it.”
She nods and searches his face. “Do you need me?”
He shakes his head. “You’re free to go, young lady.”
She hesitates, wanting to clear the air about the other night, to make sure they are really okay, but she simply retreats to her room and sits on her bed. The tears—sudden and loaded—push to the surface. All of her feelings have been kept at bay for so long, and they are coming at her in a wild rush: possible (failed) romance, freedom, handing some of the responsibility of Mason to someone else. It is a lot, and sudden. She flicks away the tears and exhales.
She needs to call her sponsor.