Page 55 of Noah

"Is she still smoking?"

"Can't make her stop."

"I'm sorry."

I shrugged. "Not your fault."

"Well, I hope you have a wonderful dinner with your family."

I nodded.

My family less my dad. But then, hadn't it always been that way, truly? My dad was never really in the picture. He pretended to be, spending every weekend with my brother and me, taking us on car adventures, swimming and fishing in the lake, board games by the fireplace—

I shook my head. Lies. It had all been lies.

Forgiven but not forgotten. I'd never trust that man ever again.

I made a quick stop at home to take Bentley out for his business then loaded him into my car. He loved going to Mom's. She had a bad habit of feeding him under the table.

He lived for it.

My mom was waiting with a revved-up hug for me, ready to squeeze the life out of me. When I was young, hugging made me panic. Sensory overload. Sometime during my teens, my body's reaction changed, and I longed for physical contact. When I knew it was coming.

And my mom's hug was coming in hot.

"Oh, my boy." Mom kissed the side of my neck as she clung to me, the cannula from her oxygen tube making my skin crawl a little. Even with her lungs failing, my brother and I couldn’t convince her to stop smoking. She fed us nonsense about how she was accepting her fate. I tried not to grip her too tight. Every time I saw her, Mom was thinner—bonier.

"What are we cooking?" I would help her in the kitchen. She didn't need my help, but we loved cooking together. She released me, took a step back, and lifted my chin with her finger.

"I'm seeing the hint of a smile there," she said then smirked. "And it's not for me."

"Things are going good with Noah," I confessed.

"Come into the kitchen." She waved at me to follow her. "Tell me about him."

I washed my hands and started cutting the vegetables my mom had set out. A pot of chili was simmering on the stove. I could smell buns baking in the oven. I'd be making the salad.

"What does he do for work?" she asked.

"He owns a pub downtown. He worked hard and saved up enough money to buy it."

"That's impressive. What about his family."

"They're all lawyers."

"Oh." Mom's eyebrows arched. "That's handy. Have you met them yet?"

I caught a glimmer of something in Mom's eyes which looked to me like insecurity. She thought I was embarrassed of her. Her worn-out appearance after years of working too hard as a baker and the oxygen tank she hauled around with her made her unsure of herself. I probably hadn't told Mom often enough how much I loved her and how much she meant to me. How she'd always been in my corner. As a child, she had put my brother and me first over her happiness. In a completely fucked up way mind you, but I'd grown to appreciate what she'd sacrificed.

"Noah and I are going to a gala next weekend. His parents will be there."

Mom nodded.

"You'll meet him soon … I promise," I added.

"What kind of gala?"

"For underprivileged children. I have to wear a tux."

---