Page 51 of Coming Home

“My mom?” he chuckled, picking up a second fork.

“I know she taught you to cook. I have a vivid memory of Clayton and you in butterfly aprons in the kitchen with your mom and my dad teaching you two how to cook.”

“They were insistent we learned how to cook before I left for the Marines and Clayton left for Cornell. Mom and your mother had this whole list of everything we needed to learn to do as teenagers to become good men before we left home. Cooking, laundry, grocery budget, regular volunteering, gardening, household repair, and…”

“What?” Her eyebrow ticked up.

A bashful grin danced across his features. “When we were seventeen, our moms made our dads sit Clayton and me down for the most uncomfortable sex talk of our lives that included both of us having to put condoms on a cucumber, sign attestations about always getting consent, and making sure we knew it was important to focus on pleasing our sexual partners.” Pink colored his cheeks as he mentioned the last lesson their fathers had bestowed upon them as teenage boys.

“Clearly, you were an excellent student.”

Wicked pride glinted in his eyes.

Nat’s heart swelled for their parents. The focus they put on ensuring that they raised good men was overwhelming. It made her proud of her parents, as a daughter, for the men her brothers were and thankful to the Wilsons, as a woman benefiting from their hard work, to shape their son into the good man sittingbeside her. Not just the stereotypical traits of a good man, like holding open doors, pulling out chairs, or paying for things, but the thoughtful, kind, patient, and respectful men that Clayton and Noah were…and that Evan had just started being before he’d passed.

Even when Noah kissed her for the first time, he took a beat to ask for her permission. The sex they had was driven by her, although he eagerly rode shotgun to their sexcapades. His focus was on her. Her comfort. Her pleasure. He asked her how she wanted to be touched. Hell, he’d snuck a peek at her notes during Ms. ChaNUT’s oral sex workshop and had executed that knowledge expertly.

She speared another piece of pancake. “I love that they talked to you about consent. Mom and Dad did the same thing for me. Plus, before I left for college, Dad invited Sheriff Krueger to come by the house to show me self-defense techniques.”

“Most of our friends just got the abstinence talk in high school. I think our parents were ahead of their time with everything.” He wiped his mouth. “It is amazing how progressive a man in a bow tie and a man who wears bowling shirts can be.” Laugh lines crinkled his eyes.

It may be weird to some people, but Nat was comforted by the idea ofourparents. In so many ways, the Wilsons were second parents to the Owens siblings and vice versa. Scott, Noah’s dad, taught her to parallel park because Mom and Dad were hopeless at it. Maura came to all Nat’s track meets if Mom and Dad were stuck at the clinic. Dad always baked Noah’s favorite strawberry cream cheese cupcakes for his birthday, and Mom commented on all his social media posts with pink heart emojis.

“That’s the dichotomy of our parents. In so many ways, they are uber-progressive and in other ways rather old fashioned.”She dragged her fork through the syrup mixed with pancake crumbs and bits of berries. “When did you wake up?”

“Around five a.m.” He poured coffee into her white ceramic mug and then refilled his.

“Are you an early riser, or do you just not sleep?”

“I don’t sleep a lot,” he said, shifting his gaze to the open window.

“Do you not sleepa lotbecause you don’t need it…or because you can’t?”

She followed his gaze to the sun-dipped world outside. Fat, full maple tree branches swayed in a gentle breeze. The sky was as blue as his eyes.

“I used to sleep,” he said, his voice was whispery quiet.

All the questions poked around inside her. Like unwanted guests at a party, they vied for her attention. She wanted to ask. Craved the need to fix whatever kept him awake and shadowed his bright smile.

That’s what doctors do. They assess. They diagnose. They fix. But she wasn’t his doctor.

She was his…whatever they were. This thing they were doing hadn’t yet been labeled, but she knew that whatever she was to him, it wasn’t her job to fix him. Even with the heaviness that often weighed on him, he was perfect. Her role in this situation was to support, to listen, to just be there with him. Just as he’d held her and told her, “I got you,” she could do the same.

“Until the IED…” she started and stopped.

Noah reached across the table, threading their fingers. “Yes.”

The muscles in his face were rigid. That charming smile locked in a firm line. Those eyes were still fixed far away. Not from her, but from himself. What does the man who sees so much see in himself? What keeps him awake?

She could push, but something told her to pull. Pull him away from where he’d just wandered. Back to her. “What are you doing today?”

“I’m going to meet my parents at their place to help them mount a new TV and have lunch. You?”

She beamed. “Crafty stuff. I’m working on a gift for Elle’s bridal shower in November.”

“Is it the scrapbook that was on the table yesterday?” He motioned to Nat’s crafting toolkit on the desk in the living room.

“Yup. I’m designing each page to tell their story.”

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