Page 148 of Becoming Us
“Noah!” Ilana’s voice called out, full of visible relief. She hurried over, and we shared an awkward half-hug.
“Hey, Lan.” I stepped back and placed a hand on the small of Atty’s back. “This is Atticus—my boyfriend.”
He offered her his hand with a patented awkward-Atty-smile.
I let out a soft chuckle.
“Nice to finally meet you,” she said.
“Hola, muñeco,” came my mom’s voice, slicing clean through the room. I turned toward her.
I didn’t know how she did it, but every time I saw her, she looked slightly different—something in the way her smile curled or the arch of her brows. Younger too.
“Hi, Mom,” I said as she leaned in to kiss both of my cheeks.
“And Atty! Finally. Noah’s told me so much about you,” she added, giving him the same treatment.
I caught Ilana’s eye. Her brows lifted, and she pressed her lips together to hide a grin.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Atty said. He looked a little shocked, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. I was used to that look whenever someone met her.
My mom looped her arms through ours and pulled us into the living room, where the rest of the family waited. She introduced Atty to her boyfriend—I’d already met him a few times—and then to his two kids—a teenage boy around fifteen and a girl who looked about twelve. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in meeting us.
She ran through a list of their interests and achievements, like rattling off a résumé would somehow stick in my brain for more than a second. It was a familiar performance—one I’d seen her perfect over the years—but this time, it hit different. The wayshe fawned over them made my stomach tighten even further. I filed that feeling away for therapy and forced myself to move on.
“Atty, do you want a tour?” my mother asked.
Something pinched in my chest at the sound of her using that nickname. And a tour? Seriously?
“I’ll do it!” Ilana called quickly, glass of wine in hand as she laced her arm through his.
A server—yes, an actual server—appeared, offering drinks. I declined immediately. Atty didn’t get the chance, so he ended up holding a glass of wine he clearly didn’t want. He looked like he’d rather down bleach.
Despite my sister’s best efforts to steer the “tour” off course, my mom tagged along, chatting nonstop while gripping Atty’s arm like she was guiding him through an exhibit. She pointed out rooms and architectural features with a flourish, like she was selling the place. And she did that thing where she asked questions but didn’t pause long enough to hear the answers.
She flicked her cascading waves over her shoulder and flashed Atty a winning smile. “You’re in your senior year?”
“Um, yes. We start next we?—”
“We used to have the piano in this room, but moved it to the atelier,” she cut in breezily, already moving on.
Atty nodded politely and the tension coiled in my chest.
“That’s just another room behind the living room,” Ilana whispered, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile.
I shot her a grateful glance.
“And this is Noah’s room,” my mom announced with a sweeping gesture.
Noah’s room. Right. I’d stayed in it for maybe a week total. Even when we were supposedly mending things, I never slept over. It felt suffocating.
We stepped inside and stopped cold. Everyone did…everyone but Mom.
“What the…?” Ilana let out softly.
Okay, it didnotlook like that the last time I was here. Heat crawled up my neck in a slow, creeping flush. Of all people, it had to be Atty standing beside me to witness whatever the hell this was supposed to be.
The room looked like a fucking shrine.
