Page 91 of Intermission
“Er, well... I suppose you, uh, made the effort to, er...” Dad hems and haws, not really saying anything.
“Okay, I get it.” Noah’s eyes narrow, and his tone darkens. “Will you at least admit that I’m not the big bad wolf your wife seems to think I am?”
“Well, I, uh, think that is, perhaps a little bit, uh—”
When it becomes clear Dad doesn’t know how to respond, something shifts in Noah’s expression. It’s a subtle change, one I doubt my dad notices, but in that moment, I know that a good portion of the respect Noah has tried to show my Dad has vaporized.
“Mr. Prescott, sir,” he says, standing a little taller, “you’ve heard the truth from us today. Faith and I—”
The phone rings again. Dad reaches for the handset and looks at the caller I.D. but doesn’t answer the call. “Faith, your mother is waiting. I think it’s time you show your friend out.”
I put a hand on Noah’s arm. “Come on.”
Noah stares at my dad for another few seconds. His brow furrows on an exhale. He shakes his head and then lets me lead him down the hall.
“Noah, I-I’m sorry.”
“You have to put up with this all the time. You have nothing to be sorry about.” His jaw moves, grinding his teeth. “I don’t think I have ever been so, so—”
“Angry? Frustrated? Hurt? Disgusted?” I supply words reflecting my own emotions.
“Yeah. All that and then some.” He presses the balls of his hands on the sides of his head. “She won’t even come in the house? What am I, a leper?”
“Actor, leper, musician... It’s all the same to her. Take your pick.” My words exit through teeth air can barely fit between. I am so angry right now. So. Angry.
“I think I finally understand the termrighteous indignation.” He drops his hands. “Yes, we messed up. But we recognized it, and we did the right thing. We confessed. We apologized. We tried to make it right.” He winces. “Well, until I got snarky with your dad.”
“You call that snarky?” My laugh is short, tight. “You barelyglared at him.”
“Okay, okay.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “But you have to admit, I wasn’t one hundred percent respectful there at the end. Not to mention that I’m still in the house.” His half-grin disappears. “But I just don’t get it. How do they justify—? I mean, we came clean. We apologized. We laid it all out there. And in return, we get this... this total disregard from your mom.”
“I know. She’s acting like a four-year-old.”
“I wasn’t going to say it, but... yeah. Kind of. And what’s with your dad? He acts like he’s some sort of supplicant to her whims.”
“I don’t know. He’s always been that way.” I shrug. “It’s how their relationship operates.”
“That’s messed up.”
I nod. “Dad avoids conflict by letting her have her way.”
“She won’t evenmeetme.” He shakes his head.
Noah gives a growl of frustration. His arms shake from the force of his hands, fisting at his sides.
Our gazes lock for a charged moment. I see the internal battle waging behind Noah’s eyes—a battle I suspect is mirrored in my own.
His breath comes faster, and his lips press together. He looks up at the ceiling and then down to the floor. And then, with one final glance down the hall, likely aimed further, toward my parents, a short, uncharacteristically belligerent phrase breaks from between his lips.
“Screw it.”
A silent glance is our split second agreement. He pulls me to him.
The crush of his lips is a culmination of longing, vexation, and hope... all bathed in fire, igniting a sense of destiny within the beautiful mystery of who we are, together, alongside the deepest dreams of what we could become someday.
There is strength in this kiss. Passion, with honor. It’s almost as if the power of this one concentrated moment of connection is the key to thwarting every threat against all we know to be true between us.
I cling to Noah—my Noah—returning his kiss, matching every flame of his desperate, passionate frustration and his full, unquenchable love with my own.
