Page 39 of Reconnected Hearts
“Exactly.”
“But what about Amy? And Meg?” he asks. “They married for love. Does that make them less than Jo?”
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” I object. “It’s not about less or more. Thereisno less or more. Amy chose her ending, so did Meg, so did Jo. It’s about rising above the pressures or accepting them as your own, and both are equally as respectable. But I’m not Amy or Meg, and as much as I would like to be, I’m not Jo. I’m just trying to survive the unending chess game that life is, and it seems like more and more lately, I’m losing. It’s like, no matter what I do, someone out there won’t approve. So I have to stop looking for approval and instead start looking for peace. Because I’m telling you, Noah, I can’t keep playing by other people’s rules. It’s killing me. And it’s not you. It wasneveryou. You…” I let out a sharp breath of air and smile at him, the confusion and naivety written all over his face only fueling me more. “You are good, Noah. I promise you that. You’re sweet and kind, and I know that any mistakes you’ve made weren’t intentional. But that’s not enough. I can’t risk ruining the walls that I’ve worked hard to build. And that’s not your problem, it’s mine. It’s just the world we live in. I can prioritize love, or I can prioritize life, but not both. I don’t get that privilege; not like you do.”
Noah stares at me, the brown in his hazel green eyes more prominent than ever as they darken. His eyebrows are furrowed, forming a small crease between them. He seems mad, but the softness in his stare tells me that he’s not mad atme.
“I have sisters, Lucy. I don’t want them to have to make these kinds of choices. I don’t want them to feel like something is always out to get them.”
I study the lines sinking deep into the skin of his face, lines that can only form from years and years of worrying. My first instinct was to stop talking—it’s none of his business, why should I share my experience with him? But itishis business because it will be his sisters’ experience too, whether he wants it to or not.
“You can’t stop it, not unless you have some mind control I didn’t know about.” I grin and nudge his arm. “Although, that would explain a lot.”
Noah’s lips twitch into a smile, but he shakes his head at the floor in disapproval. “Lucy…”
“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I stare at him, but he’s avoiding meeting my gaze, eyes trained loyally on the floor. He really is too good at looking pitiful. “Hey.” I stretch out my leg to nudge his foot and scoot a bit closer to him to form some kind of imperfect, unhealthy huddle of unity that—with our track record—we both know will likely do more harm than good. For the moment, though, that doesn’t matter. We’re close, our arms are touching, and our skin is electric where we meet. All of the bad things crashing down around us don’t seem so heavy anymore, and briefly, I think I might feel something close to peace. I know it won’t last, but I allow myself the willful ignorance to think that, just maybe, it will.
“I know it seems bad,” I tell him. “And you’re probably really hating yourself right about now even though all of this is out of your control because you’re broody like that.” I hide a smirk when Noah looks at me with a half-hearted glare. “But it’s really not that bad. I mean, don’t get me wrong, being a womansuckssometimes—like it isbrutal—but honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. And something tells me your sisters wouldn’t either. If they were boys, they wouldn’t get to have fun dressing up or talking about their crushes at sleepovers or thinking about the big, beautiful castle they’re gonna live in when they grow up. They wouldn’t get to imagine being an astronaut or a princess or a doctor or a wife or a mother—things that will be so much more meaningful to them because they’ll have to work ten times harder for it. And, hey, theydefinitelywouldn’t have you wrapped around their finger the way they do if they were boys, would they?”
Noah lets out a short laugh and shakes his head. “No. No, I guess they wouldn’t.” We look at each other, and his eyes search mine. “Do you really mean all of that? I mean, are youhappysince college?”
I hum, sitting back and staring out at the room full of people rushing and bustling about. They’re all living their lives, and maybe some are better than others, but they’re all lives just the same, and at the end of the day, I think that maybe that’s all we can ask for.
“Not always. Sometimes I let my anger ruin things. But I really am trying.” I glance over at Noah and smile. “And so are you, right? That’s why you’re here for this interview.”
Any bit of hope that was building in Noah’s eyes fades away.
“No.” He frowns and looks away. “I mean, maybe? I don’t know. This job would theoretically solve all my problems—I’d make enough money to provide for myself and my family and pay off my debt. But...moving away? Leaving my family to be stuck in an office forty hours a week? It sounds miserable, doesn’t it?”
“Noah, I thought you wanted this job, I mean we discussed how it could be the stepping stone for you and I mean, you were so nervous when the flight got canceled?—”
“I was nervous because no matter how much I don’t want this new life, I don’t want my old one anymore. I hate it, Lucy. It’s fucking awful. I thought that if I could just get this new job, maybe things would be better. But I’m kidding myself, right? Because if I get it and I move here—so far away from home—I’m not only setting myself up for failure, but also my family too. My mom can’t take care of the girls on her own. It’ll kill her. And my dad, he’s just so stubborn that he probably wouldn’t even take any money I sent him anyway. And the girls...they’re everything to me. I know I’m selfish for wanting to stay, but?—”
I don’t know what I’m doing until I’ve already wrapped my arms around him in a tight hug and it’s too late to take it back. I think, though, that I wouldn’t take it back anyway, even if I could. It feels right. Holding him in my arms just seems to fit.
He melts into the embrace, sinking into my side and letting me take the full force of his weight. His head fits just beneath my chin, his barely tamed curls becoming wild as they brush against my skin. They’re soft like silk, and I imagine three little girls with the same gorgeous blonde curls waiting for their brother to return home.
“You shouldn’t do something you don’t want to. If you want to go home, go home. Just like I make my own path, so do you.”
I hear Noah sniffle, and I can physically feel my heart shattering into a million pieces. He pulls away from me, but I don’t dare let go. My hands find his, and I hold on tighter than I’ve ever held onto anything. Our eyes meet, and his are filled with unshed tears.
“Noah…” I try, but he cuts me off before I can say anything.
“You should get it, Lucy, more than anyone else. This is my chess game—my test. I’m their older brother, and I’m their son. It’s my job to make sure they’re okay, even if I feel like I’m being buried alive under the pressure of it all. Your hurdles are complicated and complex. Maybe mine are simple, but they can’t be solved any more than yours can. Or maybe they can…” He scoffs sardonically. “Maybe I’m just not strong enough to do what needs to be done.”
“No,” I immediately counter. “Don’t talk like that.” He’s refusing to meet my gaze, so I squeeze his hands tighter and tighter until he finally allows our eyes to meet. He looks scared, and it makes my heart swell with endearment. I can’t even begin to imagine how I ever thought this man had a single bad bone in his body. “If one of your sisters was saying things like this about herself, what would you tell her?”
“I dunno…” Noah murmurs. “I guess I’d tell her to just do her best and that would be enough.”
“Okay,” I say, making sure he sees my supportive smile. “And do you think you’ve done your best?”
He shrugs pitifully. “I tried.”
“Then that’s enough, Noah. Alright? Just do what your heart tells you. If that’s Providence, great. If not, that’s great too. No matter what, it’ll all work out eventually.”
Noah nods, sniffling a few times and reaching up to wipe his eyes after I finally gain the strength to release his hands. He’s quiet for a while, and I don’t press. I know how it feels to think you’re drowning under the weight of life. I just hate to think that I’ve made it worse for him.
“Thank you, Lucy,” he says eventually, his voice soft and hoarse in a way I’ve never heard before. This side of him is different. It’s more vulnerable and real. He can seem so perfect sometimes that I think it all must be a show. But this? His tear stains on the collar of my shirt? That’s more perfect than any joke he could tell or grin he could crack. “I’m sorry,” he tells me with a frown. “I came over here to make sureyouwere okay and I?—”
