Page 21 of The Caretaker
“Chamomile?” he asked, perking up.
“It’s the only kind I drink.”
In the kitchen, I grabbed the kettle from the stovetop and set it under the running faucet.
“Omelet?” Noon asked.
“I’m not hungry.” The thought of eating made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had a full meal.
“Neither am I,” he said, pulling the carton of eggs from the fridge anyway. I didn’t have the strength to fight him, so I resigned myself to wasting another one of his delicious omelets.
Noon moved around the kitchen without hesitation or permission. I’d never met anyone so at ease with making themselves comfortable. It made me more comfortable in turn.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For staying. Being here by myself… It was hard.” Cutting the water off, I pressed my palms to the counter, feeling lightheaded and shaky. I was used to this by now. Used to feeling as close to okay as possible one second, weeping uncontrollably the next, then feeling numb to it all.
I also bounced between anger and jealousy. Then there were the moments when I wanted Patrick back. Moments when I hated him but couldn’t help but still be in love with him. Most times the mere thought of him touching me again made my skin crawl, but then other times the thought of him never touching me again snuffed the air from my lungs.
Then I’d remember none of that mattered, because he didn’t want me anyway. Right now, it was grief’s turn to have a spin.
Noon’s footsteps were tentative as he approached, but his hands were sure as they urged me around and into his arms. He stroked a hand up and down my back as I struggled with the rising panic.
“Breathe,” he coaxed, the scent of him filling my lungs. He’d showered last night, but beneath the cedarwood and sage fragrance of the body wash I’d given him, lingered a scent thatwas all him. A scent that mingled with the others to form a comforting balm. I unconsciously pressed my nose deeper against him, feeling better soon after.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at respecting personal space?” I murmured. Regardless of my words, I didn’t let him go. I didn’t move away.
“Yes, but they’re all liars,” he said, earning a chuckle from me. “It’s hard to gauge space when you’re usually too large for any space you’re in. Everything feels close, but I like it that way. My best friend pretends to hate it, but behind my back he calls me a big cuddly bear.” He made to back away, and my fingers tightened on his jacket. He relaxed, squeezing me tighter.
“Thank you for letting me stay,” he whispered into my hair. “I wasn’t ready to leave.”
“You’re welcome.” I looked up at him, spotting the dry patches at the corners of his eyes. My forehead creased. “You’ve been crying.”
“Crying is good for the soul. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.” He tracked the tear stains along on my own cheeks. “You’ve been crying too.”
I’d been about to apologize for it, but then I gazed at his eyes again, at the strength behind them even as the proof of his emotions rimmed them red. “Yeah, I have.”
“Good,” he said, as if I’d made him proud. Noon made me feel seen, understood by someone, even though we were little more than strangers. He was confident in his vulnerability, generous with it, even after having been crushed in the worst possible way by the person he loved most. And at every turn since showing up on my doorstep, he’d put my needs ahead of his own.
“Better?” he asked, and I nodded. Noon let go of me to get started on breakfast, and I started on the tea.
We took our food and tea to the dining room this time because I couldn’t bear the view of the backyard that the kitchen provided. Noon pointed to the large black and white photo of me, Patrick, and Gav hanging on the wall.
“You look so young,” he said. “How long have you two known each other?”
I peered at the photo before returning to my steaming mug. “We started dating in high school. Patrick and my brother were best friends. They played on the football team together. I was known as the jock’s geeky, introverted brother. My head was always stuck in a book. Patrick didn’t notice me until my junior year when I let my hair grow out. He and Gav were seniors by then.” I forced a bite of eggs down after Noon gestured to my plate. “Your turn,” I said, motioning to his untouched food. If I had to eat, then so did he. He obliged, taking a deep breath first, preparing his body for something it wasn’t in the mood for.
“Did you grow your hair for him? To get his attention?”
“God no. Dating an athlete was the furthest thing from my mind. I’d been approached by a modeling agent while I was studying at the park one day. She gave me her card. Insisted I could make good money doing it. Figured I could use the money for college, so I decided to give it a shot. She said growing my hair would add to my ‘mystique.’ I believe her exact words were ‘Your kind of beauty only comes around once in a lifetime.’” I dipped my head under the guise of wanting another forkful of eggs to hide my cringe at having repeated that.
“Are you blushing?”
I peered at him, expecting to see amusement at my expense. Instead I found something close to wonder within his eyes, lines of fatigue dragging down the corners of them.
“Are you making fun of me?” I asked to be sure. Patrick never missed an opportunity to poke fun at how easily I becameembarrassed or bashful. It’d made me self-conscious over the years.
