Chapter 11 Noah

"Really, stay!" my mother chirps on, oblivious to the stunned look on our faces. "I know you're not kids anymore, but why not stay? It's late, besides, and you don't live on our street like you used to. And don't you smell somethin' heavenly? I just put some cookie drops in the toaster oven, and they won't eat themselves!" She pats me on the shoulder, oblivious to the horrorstricken look on my face. "You two should spend more time together, reconnect and get chummy again, y'know, like how you used to be."

My mom is delusional. She acts like our handful of times spent as begrudging playmates was last week. "Mom, the guestroom has dad's trains set up on those old card tables, and the bed's covered in track parts and tiny fake trees and miniature rice silos …"

"Who said anything about the guestroom?" She gestures at my couch. "He can stay right here in your room, silly!"

My soul vacates my body.

She has no idea what we just did on that bed behind me.

She's literally pushing the horny pair of us at each other.

"Don't be rude!" she hisses at me, then turns saccharine as she smiles at Cole. "How's that sound, sweetheart? Would you like to stay the night here? The couch is awful cushy and soft. I napped on it once or twice before we moved it here to his room."

I turn to Cole, doubting he will be comfortable to accept such an offer as to—

"Thank you so much. I would love to stay, Mrs. Reed," he announces cheerily.

My eyes fall out of my face.

"Ah, and a boy after my heart, with those manners!" sings my mom. I cringe. "Y'know, the last time I saw you was at the Spruce High graduation a few years back, it was! Watchin' you walk across that big stage lookin' so handsome and smart in your gown …"

Literally, I am certain a drop of ejaculate I missed is drying on my underwear somewhere as we speak.

And my mom is rambling on about graduation gowns.

"That's awfully sweet of you to say, Mrs. Reed," says Cole.

"It's obvious your mother did a lovely job of raisin' you." She takes a step back and clicks her tongue as she looks him over. Her eyes soften at once, turning almost sad. "And how … h-how's she doin'? Lauren? How's your mom been?"

A flicker of uncertainty passes over Cole's face before he puts on a smile. "She's doing great, Mrs. Reed, thank you for asking."

"And how's your dad? Is Robert still day tradin'?"

"No, ma'am, he's … moved on to worse vices. My mom's now a day-drinker." He says it as a joke, but I hear a note of discomfort in his voice. "In other words, not much has changed."

My mom giggles. "Well, that sounds lovely. Her and I used to drink wine together all the time, and—"

"She and I," I mumble in correction.

"Who? Oh, you're being cute. See?" My mom gives Cole a light tap on his shoulder. That would be the second time she's touched him. Or is it the third? "This is why my brilliant son works at the paper and I just bake funny things all day. Did you know I made a Cake-R-Doodle tower for one of your mom's birthdays? Looked like a pink-and-yellow telephone pole, ten layers, practically a weddin' cake. Anywho, her and I used to drink together, and we'd just have the greatest time, we did. Please tell her I said hi, would you? I have been meanin' to reconnect with her, but … well, but … um …" She wags her hand in the air, dismissing the rest of her own sentence. "You look thirsty. Want somethin' to drink? I'll mix up some sweet tea for you boys."

"You don't have to go through the trouble," Cole insists with a polite smile.

"I insist. After you get settled in, why don't you two come out for some cookies? They should be ready any minute. Noah, let him borrow some of your clothes to sleep in. Spare toothbrush under the sink, you know where they are."

"Oh, and Mrs. Reed." Cole comes forward and offers a wince of apology. "I … am so … so sorry. But when I was parking my car, I … I hit your mailbox. It's on the ground."

"Did you, now? Oh, who cares!" she cries with half a laugh, apparently unaffected by the tragic temporary death of our mailbox. "It's just a stick with a tin box on it, silly!"

"I'll fix it," Cole promises. "I'll buy you a new mailbox, a new post, bring my sledgehammer … it'll be up and new in no time."

"No, no, don't you bother yourself none with that, no, no. My husband will fix it. He's always searchin' for things to do around here, and honestly, I think we're overdue for a new mailbox. That old ugly thing's been out there since Jesus was a boy. Oh, Cole, you handsome young man, you!" she sings, unable to help herself yet again. "Oh, this is going to be so fun! It's like a slumber party!" Then with a giggle, she heads off to the kitchen humming a tune to herself, leaving us be at last.

This is mortifying. She still treats us like we're ten. "Cole, you really don't have to stay if you don't—"

"Your mom is so cute, I can't stand it. Where does she get that energy from?"

"A hidden stash of methamphetamines, probably."

"Wherever it comes from, I love it. And …" Cole leans in closer to me and lowers his voice. "… if you think I'm turning down an opportunity to spend more quality time with you, then you've got another think coming."

I stare at him, blinking.

Cole's eyes glisten with mischief.

To my surprise, I crack a smile.

I must say, I'm rather stricken by my behavior tonight.

First order of business: Who in the hell possessed and took over my body? Some kind of impish demon, I'm guessing. And it had its wicked way with Cole, and I'm not entirely sure it had my permission.

Secondly: How is Cole acting so casual and calm about this?

Thirdly: My mom is now essentially placing two reactive and dangerous chemicals in the same Erlenmeyer flask with no regard to imminent atomic detonation. That is standard chemistry lab safety protocol she is outright insulting with her reckless decision to invite Cole to stay over.

Finally: I already want to jump Cole's bones again.

"You alright?" asks Cole, concerned.

"Yeah," I decide. "Despite my mom bribing you like one of the neighborhood children into spending time with me."

"Oh, I'm definitely being bribed to stay, no doubt about it. But not by your mom's cookies."

I squint at him, confused.

He takes a step toward me. He hooks his finger into the front of my pants, gives them a tug, and brings our hips together.

I stare into his eyes.

My heart thumps excitedly.

He puts a gentle kiss on my lips, inspiring tingles of joy up and down my neck, then brings his mouth close to my ear. "I'm being bribed by your cookie."

I swallow hard.

Somehow, I think the night is far from being over.

Cole is no child to be bribed with sweets. He's a grown man. A grown man with grown appetites. Every time I blink, I'm back in the darkness with him. Our bodies on top of each other. Jerking. Breathless. My heart playing the xylophone on my ribcage. Every inch of my skin tingling with uninhibited pleasure. I'm giddy. Part of me may still be in the dark, pressed against his body and kissing him with more passion than I'd ever put into anything in my life. That's including an essay I wrote on the birth of the internet I poured my heart into my senior year. I got an A, by the way.

How was I even capable of doing all of that with him? Was it because we were alone and it seemed like no one in the world could touch us? Or the lack of lighting? Am I braver in the dark?

Or is it something about Cole that makes me lose myself?

And more importantly: can I be that brave again?

Suddenly his hand touches my cheek. "Noah?"

I stir out of my thoughts, eyes wide, then step back from him. "If you're going to stay, then I should clean up around here a bit."

I turn away to inspect my room.

Then I remember that I'm a disturbingly clean and organized individual, and there is literally nothing to tidy up. Not even a stray dirty sock on the floor or out-of-place notebook on my desk.

That leaves me to just stand here like a coatrack in the center of my immaculate room.

"Looks clean enough," he says, then starts to circle the room. "Much, much neater than mine." He stops by the shelf above my desk, which he seems to find interesting. "Wow. Are these mini figurines? You collect these?"

"Um … yeah, sort of, not really."

He squints back at me. "So … is that a yes, or a …?"

"I used to play DD. Well, sort of DD, kind of. Back when I had friends to play with. If you can even call them friends. Back in school. Sort of."

"Oh, wow. I don't know the first thing about DD, but these look amazing." Cole walks up to the shelf to get a closer look. He glances back at me with a playful smirk. "Can I be … your knight in shining armor …? You like fantasy stuff, Noah?"

"What are we doing?"

He pauses. "Hanging out. About to eat cookies."

"What are we really doing?"

He puts his hands in his pockets and leans back against my desk. "Did you … not want me to stay over, Noah?"

"I … I didn't say that."

Cole meets my eyes. "So you do want me to stay over?"

My eyes dart to the bed.

The sheets, despite our efforts to smooth them out before my mom came in, still have wrinkles.

Those sheets are like my life right now. No matter how much I try to smooth it out, I see wrinkles and messes everywhere I look.

Of course I want him to stay.

But isn't it normal for me to also be a bit freaked out?

Cole pushes away from the desk, slowly crosses the room, and stops in front of me. "Noah … I totally understand if you don't feel comfortable with me staying here. You've had a really long day. You're exhausted. You probably just want time to yourself and—"

"No."

He freezes. "No …?"

"I'm …"

I close my eyes and picture the alternative. Me, in my room, alone with my thoughts. All of my thoughts being Cole and our series of interrupted kisses. While lying on a bed. That we just made a mess out of. That bed and my thoughts and my rampant, recently-acquired appetites.

My tone changes completely. "I'm glad … that you're here."

"You are?"

"Yes."

When I open my eyes, I find Cole gazing at me. Smiling.

He still doesn't know the power in his smile.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he is very aware of the power in his smile, and that's exactly why he uses it. It is a weapon that he has learned over the course of his life can get him anything he wants, a weapon that happens to be conveniently attached to his face.

And with just a few muscles, his weapon is unsheathed, then casts its magic.

I stare at him with unwavering focus.

Captured.

He continues to gaze into my eyes when he speaks. "I'm glad I'm here, too."

You can only stare into the sun for so long.

Then your eyes become damaged. Your brain turns into jelly beans. And tears of anguish begin to crystalize on your cheeks like tiny pathways made of diamond dust and salt.

In other words, I ought to look away from his eyes before any of that happens. "I'll get you some clothes and set a towel out in case you want to, um, shower." I'd better look away from his eyes at once. Danger is imminent. "It's been a long day for you as well, and I—" Maintaining eye contact with someone like Cole for this long is bad for your health. "—and I'm sure your face is still greasy from all of the photo shoot makeup. You don't want to break out."

"Is that what you're worried about?" asks Cole softly. "That I might … break out from insufficiently-removed makeup …?"

"I've heard horror stories from Tamika," I reason, still staring into his eyes, still feeling the everlasting assault of his cruel smile, still tempting the devil in his face. "Stage makeup is … is a nasty … nasty invention that … uh, that doesn't easily wash off."

"That sounds pretty bad," he says in a faux serious tone, the kind you'd use with a kid you're humoring.

"I-I'm being serious," I choke.

He takes a step closer to me.

I don't step back. I dare myself to stay right where I am, to let him get closer, to stand my ground.

His smile twists into a smirk. "There are a lot of things in life that don't easily wash off."

I swallow. "Like what?"

"Things you can't see. They're inside you. Growing. Spreading. Worsening by the minute."

"Like E. coli …?"

Cole brings a hand to my cheek, gently caressing, his eyes lost in mine. "Feelings," he answers. "Feelings for someone I've cared about for a very long time. Feelings I … I really should have been brave enough to act upon years ago." He shakes his head. "These kinds of things don't ever wash off. Once you've got them, you've got them for good."

This close to Cole, I can only hold my breath.

Whoever that was a moment ago, that other version of me who was so bold, he fled and left me to my own devices—except all of my devices seem to be rebooting at the moment, cursors blinking, nothing up and operating, everything locked up.

I lower my gaze. "I'm gonna need a little help."

Cole lifts his eyebrows. "Help?"

"I know it may not seem like it, especially with …" I close my eyes. It's easier to talk this way. "… with how I acted a moment ago on that bed. A-And in the car. But I'm not really sure what I'm … what I'm doing. With you. Or any of this. I've never actually been with another guy. Like at all."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

He processes it slowly. "Are you saying I'm your first—?"

"Everything," I answer him. "My first everything. I haven't … I haven't done any of this before."

A moment passes. "Then I must say to you, Noah … you are a natural. I would never have guessed."

I open my eyes, caught off-guard. "R-Really?"

"Yeah. Really." He lets out a chuckle of disbelief. "Noah, I was out of breath. That's how amazing you are. You kept up the whole time. I didn't even know you'd never—" His voice softens. His eyes, too. "If I'd known, I would've been … gentler."

"You were perfect," I blurt, stunning myself. Then I decide to own it. "You were perfect, Cole. I … I don't think I'd want anyone else to have been my … my first everything. To have shown me … so much about myself already."

Cole brings his fingers to my hair, as if to brush bangs off of my forehead.

The touch is so unexpectedly tender, it arrests my heart.

I watch him, dreamy and curious.

Then Cole gives me his dangerous smile again. "I have much, much more I'd love to show you."

There's a noise in the hallway. Cole drops his hand from my face just in time for my mother to show up at the bedroom door. "Cookies are ready! Now, you two wouldn't happen to know of any eligible nearby taste testers available to tell me how these cookies came out, would you?" she asks while making a funny face.

Cole's handsome smile persists. "I can think of a couple." He glances back at me and gives me a playful nudge.

My response is a meek, microscopic smile.

Show me?

Just what does he have in mind to show me …?

I guess I won't find out right away. Soon, we're at the small, circular dining table by the kitchen with a large plate of neatly-arranged chocolate chip cookies cooling in its center. Of course, with my mom concerned, they can't just be normal cookies. The misshapen discs of promised yumminess have weird faces pressed into them somehow, each face in a different color—yellow, orange, magenta, pale blue, black, dark green. I can't tell how she did it, but she's pulled out all of the colors, they're there, and there's no telling what facial expression she was intending with each one. Disgust? Joy? Mild constipation? It's different on each cookie.

But with every bite, Cole appears to have an orgasm, and my mom is living for all of them. I realize that sounds strange, the way I've described it, but there's no other way to document what it is I am witnessing before me. I haven't even finished my first cookie, nibbling on it like a finicky pigeon.

"These are amazing," Cole keeps saying, and my mother melts with happiness on her own face every single time, appearing in many ways like the very faces on the cookies she made. He makes small talk about her baking, which leads to some very dangerous encouragement for her to show off at the next baking festival this summer. Then my mom pries her phone out of her bra (it's where she always stuffs it away for convenience), scoots up next to Cole by the table, and starts showing him pics of all her latest "genius creations", including the Jiggle-Wiggles. Cole is full of energy and compliments, gasping and oohing at each of the pictures, and of course laughing appropriately at the humorous ones, which seems to set my mom's heart ablaze as the light comes on in her eyes.

It comes so easily to Cole, setting others' hearts ablaze. How does he do it? Once or twice, I inch around the table to get a better look at the photos myself, wondering if there's something in her unusual, tasty creations that I missed or hadn't seen before.

Cole is skilled at making people feel celebrated.

My dad, as skinny as a broomstick with a face full of mustache and beard, emerges without warning from the garage where he's likely been doing some late-night tinkering. "Oh my, I'm so rude!" he says in his usual jaunty, too hospitable voice that always sounds like he's apologizing for something. "I never greeted our guest. I'm Elmer, it's a pleasure."

"Elmer!" chirps my mom, turning to him. "You remember Cole Harding, of course! Robert and Lauren's kid!"

My dad blinks. "Well, I'll be! You've sure grown up!"

Cole smiles and reaches for a handshake. "Good evening," he greets him, "and … I'm insisting that I'll fix that mailbox outside."

Then my dad becomes perplexed. "Mailbox?"

"I'll fill you in later," says my mom, "and I do swear, you need to get your hearing checked, I say that with love, but I do believe sometimes this whole house could get lifted and thrown halfway to Oz and you wouldn't know. He always gets in a ‘zone' when he's out there playin' in the garage," she then explains to Cole, like he's her new best buddy she confides in with her marital frustrations.

"Huh … ‘playing'," my dad murmurs, finding that funny, then comes up to the table to help himself to a cookie—an action which my mom quickly puts a stop to, swatting at his hand. "They're for the boys," she clips. He stares at her in shock, until she turns sweet again and says, "Just kiddin', honey, there's plenty, help yourself."

The second my dad takes a bite, he's under the spell, too, and then it's the three of them sharing warm conversation, laughing, and gobbling down my mom's cookies, which I'll presume haven't earned themselves a name just yet—or a spot in one of her dozens of illustrated recipe books.

"Of course I want to see your trains!" exclaims Cole when my dad brings up the inevitable subject of his tiny train town he calls Windville, and then the pair of them are off to the guestroom as I stay behind to clean up the (now empty) cookie dish.

I guess Cole and my parents are best friends now.

Considering we were just enjoying mutual hand jobs on my bed half an hour ago, I am containing a variety of weird emotions inside my head about everything that's happening before my eyes. I feel so unreal. I feel like I'm not here. This is like a dream, except I'm far too aware of my anxiety, and nothing feels right. Does Cole even like miniature trains?

My mom comes up next to me. "So did you talk to Lauren?"

I flinch from my thoughts. "Who?"

"Cole's mother. You interviewed him at his house yesterday, didn't you? Did you see his mother?"

"No."

"Why not? She would've been there, I'd reckon! I wanted you to say hi to her. Y'know, from me. I told you the other night."

I scrunch up my face. "You didn't actually tell me to say hi. You cut yourself off, said ‘never mind', and left."

"Oh, you know what I meant!"

"What you meant by ‘never mind' and leaving …?"

She lets out an exasperated sigh, takes a breath, then grabs a glass out of the cupboard and goes to the sink for some water. "I'm just wonderin' how she's doin' is all. Is that a crime? It's been … a long time since her and I have talked, too long."

"She and I," I mumble, then turn to my mom. "So it's true that you used to be friends? That Cole and I used to be friends?"

"Cole and me," she incorrectly corrects me, just to spite me.

I steamroll on with a touch of irritation. "Is this why you're being so nice to him? Baking those cookies, smothering him with sweetness, and asking about his mother over and over? Because you're trying to make up with her through him?"

My mom snaps. "Oh, can't I just be nice for no good reason? I like to be nice! And I like to bake things! And all I want to do with all the rest of my days on this earth is be nice and bake things! Why must you make it so difficult, sweetie?" She downs her water in one gulp, sets the empty glass down too hard, quietly apologizes to the glass, then heads out of the kitchen.

I frown for a moment, unsure what to make of her explosion, then decide not to poke the hornet's nest any further. I can't trust how I feel at the moment, anyway. Everything is upside-down and my nerves are bounding around like rubber bands. I gently put her glass in the dishwasher, dry my hands, and quietly walk away.

My quiet feet only seem to take me from one odd situation to another, as I end up at the door to the guestroom and find Cole at the card table with my excitedly talking father, who is telling him about each and every part of his train town in excruciating detail.

But Cole doesn't look bored at all. In fact, he seems entirely engaged in my dad's stories. He even asks questions, appearing to be curious about every little thing. My dad is happy to oblige as he shares the (made-up) history of his train town called Windville. "If you look here," he says in his jolly voice, "you'll find the Windville windmill. Isn't that funny? Mayor Windville is a funny guy, he is. Has himself a sense of humor. Big mustache, wiry guy. You might say he looks suspiciously like me …"

I'm completely baffled by my family right now. How they're gobbling Cole up like a free dessert they never ordered. Like they are starved for the outside world, happy to show off their interests and hobbies to anyone foolish enough to get caught in the trap.

Or maybe it's Cole who's gobbling them up, having the time of his life somehow, appreciating them in a way I never could.

I feel so strange right now.

It's an hour later when my parents finally go to bed, leaving us to our night. The kitchen and living room go dark, and the only light (or life) in the house seems to be me and Cole, down the short hallway where my bedroom resides.

"I left you a towel and washcloth," I explain to him, "as well as a pair of shorts and a shirt to wear after your shower. I'm not sure if they'll fit you. If they don't, I can dig around my closet for, um, maybe something bigger, or …"

I run out of words.

I keep finding myself lost in Cole's eyes, the way he stares at me as he leans against the doorframe to the bathroom, a playful smirk on his lips.

I frown. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Cole shrugs. "Your parents are in bed. We're alone again. Just you and me." He tilts his head as he gazes at me. "I really like you, Noah. I meant what I said. Back at the restaurant. And what I was trying to communicate during our interview. I … really, really like you. A lot. I've liked you for a long time."

I stare back at him, my face as blank as a wall.

He can tell me that a hundred more times. A part of me still won't believe it. A part of me will forever question him.

I fidget. "Cole, they're going to run the story tomorrow. Like I said. And a whole lots of things are going to happen quickly." To that, he just shrugs, as if not following. So I spell it out further. "It means that very soon, you're going to have a whole lot of men and women throwing themselves at you. You'll have the pageant at the McPhersons'. Everyone will be there. And that'll end with auctioning you off to someone for a … a date."

"What's your point? I don't want any of them."

"It won't matter who or what you want. Everything is going to happen, and you don't know what you're going to feel like, and …" I cross my arms. "Maybe it's smarter for us to just …"

"To just what?"

After a moment, I realize I don't have an answer that sounds good. Or feels good. I drop my gaze to the floor, unsure.

What am I so afraid of …?

The touch of Cole's hand on my cheek startles me. I look up to find him gazing into my eyes. "Noah, I'm not sure how many ways I can say this, but I don't give a rabid raccoon's ass what happens. I don't care how many articles are run, how many big showy shows Mrs. Strong wants to do … none of that can possibly change how I feel about you." He smiles. "Haven't you enjoyed tonight so far?"

I can't pull my eyes away from his. "Yes."

"So have I."

I'm suddenly under his spell. "Maybe I'm overthinking."

"You are."

"I should just …" I let out a nervous chuckle. "I should just go with it. I should just let go and … and let things happen."

"Only what you're comfortable with. Only what you want."

"Only what I want," I agree.

"And what do you want, Noah?"

My eyes drop to his lips.

He smirks, then tilts his head toward the shower behind him. "Do you … want to join me?"

"Join you?" I bring down my voice. "But my … my parents …"

"They're asleep. It's just us. We're the only guys awake in the whole house. The only guys in the whole town. The only guys in the whole world. Just you … and me." He leans on the doorframe, his beautiful figure eclipsing the light. "We can both do our part in saving the world. Conserve water. Wash each other's backs."

"I'm not sure how washing each other's backs saves the world."

"It saves mine," he murmurs.

I meet his eyes.

His dreamy eyes stare back, nearly twinkling.

My heart does a triple backflip off a trampoline, way too high, and lands in a pit of colorful balls. Giggling like a schoolboy. Free as a child on summer vacation.

"If you'd rather take separate showers," he says, "you totally can. I wouldn't force you. But you have the option to join me. The door is always … open." Then he winks and turns away.

And peels off his shirt.

My eyes dive into the smooth, rippling pool of his beautiful back. His muscles move like water as he works his shirt off over his head. When he sets it aside, I see a sly smirk on his face.

He knows I'm watching.

Then he drops his pants and underwear down together with a quick, casual thrust.