Page 6 of Sharing Noelle

“I know you’re not old enough to drink,” I say, “but just how young are you?”

“Nineteen,” she says. “How old are you?”

I steal a slice of lime from the bartender’s station. Anything to make my drink more palatable. “I’ll be twenty-nine in January.”

She studies my face like she doesn’t believe me. “Your mom doesn’t look old enough to have a twenty-eight-year-old son.”

“That’s because my parents had me when they were sixteen.”

“Oh.” She takes a sip of her drink.

The sound of my mom’s laughter draws our attention back to the table. Whatever Richard just said has her giggling like a schoolgirl drunk on peppermint schnapps.

“It’s so fucking embarrassing,” Noelle says. “This is my dad’s fourth marriage.”

“This’ll be my mom’s third.”

Noelle frowns into her glass. “You know, in a kind of screwed up way, they might actually be perfect for each other. For a while, anyway.”

I catch her watching me, and this time she doesn’t turn away. Not immediately. Color fills her cheeks in a pleasing way that reminds me of strawberry shortcake. Mashed pink berries and whipped cream.

“What about your mom?” I ask, taking a gamble that the change in topic will lift her spirits. “Can you go spend Christmas with her?”

“Technically, I’m invited, but I’d really rather not. She lives in what you’d call an intentional community. It’s like a cross between a hippie drum circle and a sex cult.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “Wait, she’s a swinger?”

“Swinging would require them to swap partners, and partnership is forbidden at the commune. It’s more like a big sexual free for all. Everyone hooking up with everyone. No possessive language allowed. Nomy husbandormy wife. Feelings of jealousy are mitigated with interventions and group hugs. You’re basically dating the community, not the individuals inside it.”

For the first time in a hell of a long time, I’m at a loss for words.

“I visited her there once,” she says, “right after I turned eighteen. It was...a lot. I mean, good for them, you know. I don’t have a problem with that sort of thing in theory. People can fuck whoever they want, as long as they’re honest about it. My last boyfriend was polyamorous, and so was his long-term girlfriend.”

“She didn’t mind you dating her boyfriend?”

“She didn’t mind him casually seeing me, but the terms of their relationship meant that she was his primary. I was okay with that at first, but it kind of felt like he was never really there when I needed him. Plus, they were starting a business together. I get it. Relationships take a lot of work.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I say.

Noelle takes a healthy sip from her own glass. “I take it you and Cara won’t be moving in together anytime soon.”

I cringe at the memory of our first meeting. For some reason, it really chafes that she had to see me like that. “I do my best to avoid lasting entanglements whenever possible.”

“So, you’re a fuckboy.” Her words hit harder than they might coming from someone else.

“That’sfuck manto you, little sister.” She laughs, but I can tell she wasn’t joking. “If we’re going by the Urban Dictionary definition, then yes, I guess I am. But I’m always upfront about it.”

“Were you upfront about it with Cara?”

“I thought I was.” I down the rest of my drink, taking the burn like a punishment. I never meant to hurt Cara. My first mistake was assuming she and I wanted the same things. You can be crystal clear about your intentions, and some people still won’t believe you.

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have slept over, but navigating icy sidewalks at three in the morning after I’d had a few—fine, more than a few—didn’t seem like the smartest idea. So, I stayed, and she got attached. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

But Noelle doesn’t know that. And for some reason that makes zero sense, considering we’ve only just met, I care about what she thinks of me.

“Sorry,” Noelle says. “It’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

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