Chapter 17 Noah

Cole sleeps peacefully in the bed, cuddling a pillow I suspect he thinks is me. His lips hang slightly open, in danger of spilling drool at any moment.

Yes, I find it adorable.

Especially because just an hour ago, we were making out.

It was the heated kind of making out, too. We couldn't get our clothes off fast enough. Except for a sock. So we made out as one of his socks clung to his foot for dear life. He went down on me as I gasped for air. Then I returned the favor as my fingers dragged down his back. We were like animals. By the end, the sheets were halfway on the floor and he'd lost a pillow.

And now he's dreaming.

And I'm wide awake, sitting on the end of the bed, unable to sleep for some reason.

It was such a sweet night we spent together before things got fun and frisky between us. I gave him a shoulder massage while he sat up with his laptop to answer those questions Tamika sent him. I gave him my two cents, helping him think through his answers, giving him pointers on what she's looking for to include in the big interviews that will go out. Some of the answers we came up with made us laugh, and we'd quickly stifle said laughter, as everyone else in the house was apparently asleep—including his grandma in the other room, who was still recovering from the tail end of a flu she allegedly picked up at the crafts festival. One of the questions in the interview asked about the lesser-known important things in his life, and of course he went on about his dear Nan. He has been on top of her for weeks helping her recover from the flu, making sure she's checking her temperature, checking to see if it's been four hours so she can take another Tylenol—"We've got to bring that fever down, Nan," he recounted saying to her every day. And he described how she peered into his eyes and said, "Oh, you're so dang adorable, lookin' after me the way I used to look after you." Just telling the story brought a tear to Cole's eye, which surprised me, seeing such emotion come out of him talking about his Nan. If it wasn't for his precious dog Porridge and his loving grandmother at his side, he's not sure how he would have made it through his life so far. He owes so much to both of them.

My heart swelled the entire time he filled out the interview, like I was learning even more about Cole than I thought possible, just with a glimpse into his emotional eyes.

Sitting by him now as he sleeps, I find myself gazing down at him, wondering if there even is an end to his compassion.

I reach out to touch him, then stop and withdraw my hand, not wanting to disturb his sleep. He's the one who really needs his rest lately, especially with the event coming up so soon.

It's hard to believe it's almost already here.

On the nightstand nearby sits an orb-shaped nightlight, which slowly rotates through a rainbow of colors. Cole is turned away, so I watch as his bare butt cheeks go from red to pink to orange to yellow to lime green to teal to vibrant blue to magenta and back to red. I watch for a while, wondering why sleep's eluding me.

I suddenly wonder if he got that nightlight for me. Of course, it'd also be just like him to get one for himself so he can practice sleeping with it on. It's not unlike the one I have plugged into the corner of my own bedroom by the closet door. This is probably just another of his ways to make me feel comfortable and at home, no matter where we are.

Cole is just endlessly thoughtful like that.

I can only hope to be as thoughtful and considerate back.

And soon, the whole of Spruce and every neighboring town is about to know these facts just as well, that Cole is truly Mr. Picture Perfect.

I rise from the bed and pull the sheets over his naked body, up to his shoulders. He doesn't budge as I tuck him in, sleeping deeply and soundly. I put on my underwear, plus a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt he lent me, then slip out of the door.

A short walk through the dark hallway and living room brings me to the kitchen. I feel a sense of natural unease, thanks to my discomfort with the dark, but I push through as I quietly inspect each of the cabinets for where the glasses are kept. There are only so many cabinets to check, yet I keep finding myself at the same one next to the fridge, baffled, no glasses in sight.

That's when a slow, ghostly voice comes out of the darkness. "Second to the left."

I nearly vacate my own body as I jump from the spot and spin my head around.

At the kitchen table, next to a wide window overlooking the backyard, sits a woman in total darkness. When my eyes adjust, I see soft, pale moonlight glowing along the side of her slender face. She lifts a small glass to her mouth, takes a sip, then sets it down. "Second to the left," she repeats. "Where we keep the cups."

"Oh." After a second to collect myself, I find the right cabinet and fetch a glass. "Thank you." I fill it at the sink.

"We have infused water in the fridge."

"Oh. Um …" I've already poured water into my glass, so I give her a smile and the tiniest nod. "Th-This'll do. Thanks."

"I'm Cole's mom," she says, though I'd gathered that already.

"I'm Noah," I tell her.

"I know, sweetheart. You sure haven't changed. Still got your sweet little eyes." She takes a breath. It seems to be an effort for her, as if she wears ten thick, invisible weighted coats, pulling her shoulders down. "You and my son have been getting close."

I just stand there with my glass of tap water, uncertain how to respond. How much does she know? Cole rarely talks about her. "I guess you can say that."

"He never has anyone stay over. Not since the school days. It's a welcomed change." She takes another sip, then nods at the table. "Go ahead and take a seat. Join our little Insomniacs Anonymous meeting we're having, our little impromptu middle-of-the-night party." She smiles. "Been a while since I've had company."

After a moment's misgiving, I slowly draw close to the table, then take a seat in the chair across from her. It creaks under me. I take a sip of my water, then wonder whether I should have come out here for a glass at all. Was I really that thirsty? Could I have just cuddled with Cole and enjoyed my sleeplessness?

"You probably don't remember most of the times you spent with us as a kid," she says. I shake my head no. "Well, I sure do. I remember every time." Her fingers fiddle against her glass as she stares down at it. "Even the last time. Especially the last time."

I gaze down at her fingers.

Her fiddling fingers.

I realize at this point that I've probably gotten as much as I can squeeze out of Cole and my mother regarding our past—and the mothers' friendship. Cole doesn't know the full story. My mom isn't helpful, shutting down or freaking out when I pry even the littlest bit. Yet every time I mention Cole, she won't stop asking about his mother and how she's doing.

Considering how seldom Cole brings me here to his house—as in: never—I don't know when I'll get another opportunity.

Somehow, I sense Mrs. Harding will have less walls up.

Even in just a few minutes, I've gotten the notion that she's a very what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person.

I find it surprisingly comforting.

"What happened that last time?" I ask her.

Her eyebrows lift. "Your mom didn't tell you?"

"N-No, ma'am."

"Really? Not a peep?" She shakes her head. "Guess it's just as well. She'd rather pretend it didn't happen at all. Typical Deidra." She makes a scoffing noise, then sighs. "Sorry. I don't mean to talk about your mom like that. That's so … childish of me."

It barely fazes me. "She won't tell me anything. I … I asked. A few times. I know you two used to be friends."

"Feels like lifetimes ago." She shrugs. "Also feels like yesterday. I guess time's like that. Are you really okay drinking that water?" she asks, half-cringing. "It must taste like chlorine and ass."

"It tastes fine, ma'am," I assure her. "Thank you."

"No, I'm sure it doesn't. Here." She gets up from the table and takes my glass straight out of my hand, startling me, then goes to the sink and tosses it right out. She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of water along with a small flat container. It contains thinly-cubed honeydew melon, two pieces of which she drops into a new glass pulled from the cabinet, then fills it with the fruit-infused water, along with two ice cubes she plucks out of the freezer via a pair of hot pink tongs. "Your mom got me these," she says with a playful little click in the air, like they're castanets. "God knows why I still have them, but I do." She brings me the fresh glass of honeydew-infused water, then returns to her chair.

I thank her with a nod and take a tiny sip. I'm stunned by the clean, crisp, refreshing taste that a tiny bit of fruit and maybe some filtering lends the water, then go for another big sip—which turns into a gulp. "Wow, this is really good."

"I know." She crosses her arms on the table and leans forward slightly. "Now you can be my new drinking buddy. Except there's no alcohol in yours." She takes a sip from her own glass, then sets it down. After a moment, she smiles and tilts her head, studying me. "Mmm … you even have her nose and mouth."

I'm not sure how to take that, so I just smile and nod back at her as I go for another sip.

Really, this water is addictive.

I realize after a while she's still looking at me, inspecting my face like she's trying to discover more parts of my mother in it.

Something about her gives me courage. "Why aren't you and my mom friends anymore?" I ask rather boldly.

Her expression doesn't change. The question hovers in the air between us for quite some time as she appears to maintain a blank and emotionless expression. Then, as if unable to bear it anymore, her eyes flick downward to her glass. Her jaw tightens. "There are a few different answers to that question, sweetheart. I suppose the one you're looking for is … I think your mom is an irresponsible child … and she thinks I'm a slut."

I choke on my water.

Mrs. Harding, unaffected entirely by my reaction, lets out a little sigh. "Of course, years have gone by. I'm sure she's given it a lot of thought. So have I. She hopefully realized I had zero interest in stealing her husband from her. Really, such a ridiculous notion, that I would even go after my best friend's husband. Your father." She lets out a sudden halfhearted laugh, then drops her sad eyes to the table. "But I don't think Deidra believed it herself. It was just a jab at me. She likes to jab when she's cornered. Y'know what I think? I think she was just plain guilty about what happened the last time you kids were left in the yard to play by yourselves. She felt guilty and needed a reason to blame me, too. That way, it … it could be both our faults … and not just hers."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, sweetheart. It's alright. You just said you don't remember. Neither does Cole." She lets out a single breathy chuckle as she picks up her glass. "There was so much blood all over the place, my poor baby blocked the whole thing out."

I stare at her across the table.

Blood …?

"It was quite a gash," she goes on, as calm as the surface of the water in her glass—assuming it's water. "Cole walked straight into the house, dazed and blinking, with blood running down his face. Deidra was at the counter with a cookie cutter—I even remember the shape, it was a moon, a tiny moon-shaped cookie cutter—and the second her eyes fell on my son, she screamed. Then little Cole turned, saw his reflection in a floor-to-ceiling mirror I used to have right there," she says, pointing at a nearby wall, "brought with me after the move ‘til I couldn't stand the sight of it anymore … then he fainted. I grabbed my child and drove him straight to the clinic. And as Dr. Emory stitched him up, Deidra and I … had a … a heated discussion in the lobby … a very loud and very heated discussion. A lot of things were shouted, things in the heat of the moment … well, I suppose you can fill in the rest. You're old enough." She picks her glass up to sip from it, then stops, staring off, the moonlight making her face appear as pale as milk. "Now Cole can't see a drop of blood without passing out. I guess like most trauma, some part of us will always remember … even if we forget."

Then she downs the rest of her glass.

I've suddenly lost my thirst.

She lets out a bitter, breathy chuckle, then shuts her eyes. "I guess Deidra will have her own side of the story. I can't even say how much of it you witnessed as a child, if any of it at all. The two of you, I swear, sometimes you'd spend the day on opposite sides of the yard doing your own things. ‘Parallel play' my silly therapist called it. Deidra and I used to laugh, thinking we were torturing the two of you by forcing you poor boys to spend time together just so your mom and I could drink and be silly. Sometimes Cole's grandma would join us, too. Nancy. Have you met Nancy?"

I'm so overwhelmed, I can barely choke out the words. "N-No, I haven't yet."

She seems to sense my discomfort, because her eyes lock onto me, and suddenly she goes quiet. After some time, she nods, as if coming to a decision, then puts on a smile. "Please don't take any of what I said to heart. I talk too much. And it's all in the past. The stuff going on between me and your mother … that's between me and your mother. Don't let it get in the way of whatever you've got with my son. I'll tell you, I've seen a change in Cole these past several weeks, and I can safely assume it has everything to do with you being in his life. You seem like a well-balanced individual. He needs more of that in his life. Lord knows he doesn't get it from his own parents anymore. I think you're …" She sighs. "… you're doing my son a lot of good, Noah."

I meet her eyes.

I wonder if some part of me does remember.

Even if I can't picture it. Even if I can't describe anything I did or said during my alleged countless times here. Like Cole's fear of blood, some unconscious part of me recalls the kind look in Cole's mother's eyes, the same look she's giving me right now.

Some part of me remembers the other boy in the yard. Cole.

Some part of me remembers the fear, the awkwardness, not knowing what to say or do with the other boy.

Some part of me knew Cole.

"I like your son a lot, Mrs. Harding. I … I really like him."

"I know." Her smile grows. "You know my bedroom window faces the backyard, don't you? The big one, right over there by the Mexican petunias. I saw you guys getting cozy out there on that blanket. Anthony lying there like a stump. Porridge, too. I'll tell you, Noah … I have never seen Cole smile so big when he looks at another person. There is something true between you two."

I am glued to her every word.

Nearly hovering over the table, listening, drinking her words instead of the water in front of me.

"Please treat him right, will you?"

After a moment, I break from my trance, take the last sip, and give her a small nod. I try to thank her, though I'm not sure any sound actually comes out.

A noise from behind makes me turn. Cole's dad stands at their bedroom door. "Honey?" he says softly through the dark.

Mrs. Harding sighs. "I'm heading back to bed in a bit, Robert."

"Oh." He seems to just now notice me. He gives me a brief nod of acknowledgement, appears awkward for a second, then shuffles his way back to their bedroom. He stops at the door to peer over at me once more. "Nice to see you, Noah. Sorry about … uh, earlier." Then he heads back inside.

"Finished with your water?" asks Mrs. Harding.

My glass is just a couple of ice cubes and the melon. "Yes." When she goes to take it, I pluck out the fruit to eat. She makes a face. "You actually eat them, Mr. Health Nut? I just toss them in for flavor." Then she lets out a chuckle. "You and Cole really are two of a kind."

I'm not sure what's so special or unique about actually eating a couple chunks of honeydew melon, but I give her a smile of appreciation anyway. "Thank you for … um … for the refreshing water, and … and for …"

"Don't mention it," she says after setting both of our glasses in the sink, likely to deal with them later. Then she pats me on the shoulder when she passes by on the way to her bedroom. The door softly closes behind her, and I'm left to my thoughts.

Thoughts such as Cole and I and our lonesome, half-forgotten adventures in the backyard. Cole and the unplanned trip to the clinic. Cole and his mother … and mine.

I'm still lost in my thoughts when I return to Cole's bedroom, finding him sleeping exactly as he was before, cuddling the pillow with the sheets pulled up to his shoulders. I slip into bed next to him unnoticed, then spoon him. He stirs only slightly, nuzzling his body against mine.

As I cuddle him, the rest of Mrs. Harding's words return to me, how she thinks I've been good for Cole.

It may scare me a little bit, these big feelings that have been building inside of me all of this time, ever since Cole tackled me to the pavement of Main Street to protect me.

These feelings that I've been nervous to identify.

It's a bit like stepping into a dark room, with no certainty of what awaits you there, with just as much of a fear of something terrible and dangerous as there might be something amazing and worth the pursuit.

I think I'm starting to realize I am willing to brave the dark for him. I am willing to take the leap.

I want to be courageous enough to deserve someone who is as amazing, as thoughtful, and as wholehearted as Cole.

I want to be his boyfriend.

With a smile on my lips and just a pinch of fear in my heart, I reach back and flick off the nightlight. In the pure darkness of his bedroom, the sound of our soft breaths lost to the sheets, I realize I have never felt more safe in the dark than I do right now, with Cole wrapped tightly in my arms.