It has been a long day. Lee’s feet ache. Her shoulders bunch in repetitive knots. She’s not heard a peep from Noah or Mason, as they are hard at work. She rummages in the fridge, searching for ideas for dinner. So many nights, she wants to go out, but Mason doesn’t enjoy the loud restaurant noises and inconsistency in routine.
She revels in the brief quiet as she creates mock meals in her head. Chicken and rice. Chicken and broccoli. Bison burgers and sweet potato fries. They seem to go through the same roster of meals every week. Tonight, she wants something different.
She peeks around the corner, and her heart flips. She is in constant awe of how Noah keeps her son so even-tempered, like they are cut from the same cloth. Lee seems to agitate him over the smallest things. “You boys hungry?”
Mason continues scribbling answers in his workbook and ignores the question.
Lee surveys the wilting contents of the fridge again. They’ve been on a Paleo kick for a while, but she can’t afford all the organic meat. She hesitates, closes the fridge, and leans against the door frame to the dining room. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Noah glances up from checking Mason’s work and locks eyes. Her heart skips an actual beat, and she reminds herself to breathe. She senses hesitation, but then he smiles.
“Sure.” He looks at his watch. “I had a thing I was supposed to do, but I can skip it.”
“Are you sure?” A surge of relief and a possessiveness she can’t quite explain overtake her. She has no idea if he’s dating or what he does when he’s not with them, but she desperately wants to be a part of his outside life.
“In fact, why don’t you let me pick up dinner?” Noah asks. He stacks his workbooks and crafts and slides them back into his satchel. “Nectar sound good? I can get him a burrito bowl and grab us some tacos?”
“Are you sure? That place is pricey.” She rummages in her purse for some cash but finds only coins. “Here, take my card.” She fishes her First Tennessee debit card from her wallet and hands it over.
Noah stands. “Lee, stop. I’ve got it. It’s my treat.”
She thinks about protesting but stuffs the card back into her purse. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. Hey, Mason. Do you want chicken on your burrito bowl?”
“Is it organic?” Mason’s pencil hovers in the air.
Noah ponders the question. “I’m not sure.”
“If it’s not organic, it will be full of antibiotics and hormones, which can affect my mood, hormones, and overall growth. I need to know the answer to that question before I can answer your question.”
Noah hides a smirk. “How about I ask them when I get there?”
“That’ll do.” He taps a rhythm on the table with his pencil.
Noah grabs his keys, puffs his chest, and gives his best Schwarzenegger impression. “I’ll be back.”
Mason eyes him. A smile cranks his mouth up to the right. “That was a terrible Arnold impression. You should really work on that.”
A spike of pride warms Lee’s heart at their friendly exchange. “How do you even know who that is?”
Noah looks sheepish. “Ah, we may or may not have watched The Terminator.”
Lee laughs. “For research, I’m sure.”
“Totally for research.” He waves and disappears out the door before she can even tell him what kind of tacos she wants. She doesn’t care what he brings her as long as she doesn’t have to cook. She collapses back against the counter and studies Mason.
“Would you like some water?”
“Yes, please.” He continues tapping his pencil in the steady rhythm that helps him concentrate.
Her cell rings, and she reaches for it. She’s changed her ringtone to Prelude and Fugue no. 1, Mason’s favorite composition. Blocked call. Her heart pumps faster, as it always does, if an unknown number ever flashes on the screen. She declines the call and pours Mason a glass of water.
She gazes out the kitchen window and catches the last remnants of the sun as it descends below the horizon in a delicious swirl of pink. Spring has brought a gorgeous bounty of various breeds in her garden, and she and Mason have spent a good amount of time discussing each of them. Maybe she’ll bring some snapdragons to Carol once they’ve bloomed, despite the fact that Carol’s garden makes hers look like an amateur’s paradise.
Lee has invited Noah to come along to the barbecue on Sunday. Though they’ve all spent time together—briefly interacting at parks, playgrounds, and birthday parties, or passing through the house—she wants her friends to like him as much as she does. He’s become vital to the makeup of her insular little family.
She hands the glass to Mason and analyzes the differences between her and her friends. She can never quite relax like they can, letting their kids play in Carol’s massive backyard. She has to keep an eye on Mason, because he could riffle through all of their belongings, repeat a random fact that is much too old for their seven-year-old ears, or start digging a tunnel in the middle of her yard in search of moles … The options are endless, and she always guts herself with worry while her friends drink, laugh, and tell stories, so certain of their kids’ behavior and boundaries that they can detach while their children play.
Lee realizes she’s never had that parental freedom, except for the last six months. Noah has brought a peace to their lives that she hoards like a stacked poker hand. She can’t be identical to her friends, but with Noah’s help, she’s starting to relax about things that once kept her up at night.
Noah rustles through the door half an hour later with stiff paper bags. Mason presses his stopwatch. “You took exactly thirty-one minutes and thirteen seconds.”
“Is that all?” Noah winks at Lee as he sets the bags on the counter.
Lee notices—for what seems like the hundredth time—his sturdy chest and muscular arms. She wonders what it would be like to wake up with him wrapped around her like a blanket. “Can’t you smell the salt?” Lee dumps the contents of the containers onto separate plates. Her mouth waters at the chips and guacamole she is dying to devour.
“You can’t smell salt, Mother. That’s impossible,” Mason says.
“Oh, just eat your organic chicken,” she jokes. “You know what I mean.”
She grabs the forks and a couple of spoons and moves to the refrigerator. “I’m afraid I’ve only got water.”
“Water’s perfect,” Noah says.
Lee finishes dishing Mason’s bowl onto separate plates: chicken, rice, cheese, veggies, and corn, his food never allowed to come in contact. Mason watches the exchange of easy conversation between her and Noah as they eat, and it dawns on Lee that Mason has never seen her interact much with men. As if reading her thoughts, Mason speaks up.
“I like this.”
“Like what?” Lee asks between bites.
“This. I like this. I like the three of us eating together.”
Lee beams at Noah. “I do too. We should do this more often, right?”
“It feels like a family. Are we family?” Mason looks between them.
Noah ponders the question and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Well, we’re kind of like family, but we aren’t related by blood.”
“That’s right,” Lee adds. “Friends can sometimes be just like family.”
“But you should only trust your family,” Mason says. “Because family is good.”
Noah places his napkin by his plate. “It’s not that simple. People aren’t only good or only bad.”
“And you can trust people other than family,” Lee explains.
“So people—all people—can be good and bad,” Mason affirms.
Noah’s eyes glaze at the loaded statement, and Lee wonders what he’s thinking about. “Yes,” he says. “People are both. Whether they are your family or friends. People aren’t any one thing.”
“I don’t have many friends,” Mason says.
Lee’s heart snags. “Sure you do.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t like anyone. Except for Noah, Grace, and Luca.”
“That’s three friends right there,” Noah says. “That’s more than a lot of people.” He lifts his hand. Mason, a boy who loathes physical touch, who rarely lets her hug him or physically comfort him, slaps hands with Noah and returns to his food.
“I don’t understand how you do that,” Lee says, lowering her fork to her plate. “You and Grace are the only people who can touch him.”
“I’m sitting right here, you know.”
Noah smiles. “That you are, bud.” He turns his attention to Lee. “You know what? I find that when you stop worrying about the reaction and instead focus on the interaction, miraculous things can happen.”
“Huh.” She moves her food around. “I’ve never heard it put like that before. Focus on the interaction not the reaction. I love that.”
“It’s hardest for you because you’re his mother. But Lee, I promise”—he places his hand on hers and her heart thumps—“he is thriving. He’s doing great. Really. He’s a brilliant child.”
“I am. I am brilliant.”
Noah rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Note to self: don’t call your students brilliant in front of them.”
Mason studies their hands. “Are you going to get married and have another baby?”
Lee retracts her hand, though she wants to leave it under his.
“I said, are you going to get married and have another baby?”
“No, sweetheart.” She smiles nervously at Noah. “We are not getting married. We’re just friends.” As she says it, that word feels like a betrayal. She doesn’t want to be friends. Friends are bullshit.
“But are you going to get married and have another baby? Babies take forty weeks to be born, and you are getting old. Having babies past the age of thirty-five significantly ups the risks for abnormalities.”
“What are you, a gynecologist?” Lee’s skin warms. She excuses herself to get a glass of water.
Mason goes on about pregnancy, reciting facts he memorized from a human sexuality book. Noah offers his two cents every few minutes, sharing even more facts Mason isn’t aware of. They are like dueling encyclopedias. She thinks of her life before Mason. She thinks of the pregnancy. She thinks of what happened when he was a baby …
She clears her throat and enters the dining room. She is no longer her past. She is no longer that person. She is no longer responsible for that life.
Maybe one of these days she will start to believe it.