Page 67 of When in Rome

“Why do you care so much?” Noah’s gaze zeros in on Emily with an intensity that for once reveals their sibling dynamic. Emily is loud and in charge most of the time, but Noah is the oldest and they all look to him for guidance at the end of the day. He carries so much on his shoulders.

“She’sleaving,Noah.” That’s the only explanation Emily offers and I feel her words like little jabs to my lungs. Emily looks at James, clearly hoping for backup. James shakes his head and looks down—not jumping in like she’d hoped. Madison lays her hand onEmily’s forearm, but Emily rips her arm away. The levity from our musical game has disappeared and the atmosphere turns thick.

I watch as Noah’s entire demeanor shifts. His large shoulders tip forward, his eyes are pillows, his smile is calming. He puts his hand on Emily’s knee. “Em, I’m not leaving again. And I promise that if I ever do, you’ll get plenty of warning. Not like I did last time.”

An entire conversation passes between these two in the quiet moments after his words. Emily relents, softening and nodding her head. I’m not sure what that was about, but the heaviness in the air tells me it was important. She looks like a woman slowly sobering. Embarrassment washes over her face.

She bows out of the argument gracefully by slipping from the living room and returning with a cold, rock-hard pancake on a plate. She sits down, balancing the plate on her lap, and shovels a bite onto her fork. I think this is her way of apologizing tome.

“You don’t have to do that. Really, we’re good,” I say meaningfully, because I wouldn’t force these pancakes on my worst enemy.

She raises the fork to her mouth anyway, and we all watch in silence as she takes a bite. She chews. And chews. And chews. And then finally shivers it down and nods before chugging her beer. She then nods firmly at me and I smile in return. That was more than an apology, that was a pledge of her life.

A chuckle runs through the room, and after a while the conversation hums back toward normalcy. The siblings talk through their schedules for the next week—determining which days they will each visit their grandma. We all joke and cuss too much while Annie keeps adding tallies beside all our names so we know how much money to pay out at the end of the night. She didn’t ask me if she could add me to the list, she just did. I caught a glance at her little notebook earlier and there it was.Amelia.Right next to the rest of the group and my heart burst like confetti.

Now Emily stands, collects the empty beer bottles and platesaround the room. The group begins to break up, murmuring about how tired they are andblah blah blah.I don’t care how tired they are, they can’t leaveus.

“Wait!” I’m frantically grabbing hold of Annie’s shirt to keep her from getting away. “You guys can’t leave yet. It’s early!”

“It’s after ten.” Madison is suddenly the timekeeper apparently.

“Like I said, early. Stay. Let’s all play another game. Monopoly or something.”

James laughs. “The hell we will. Monopoly would take all night. Some of us have to be up with the cows in the morning. Y’all better get out of my house now.”

“Don’t worry,” Annie tells me in her sweet southern drawl. “We’ll have another group dinner before you leave town.” She’s completely misconstruing my reasons for wanting them to stay.

I’m losing. They’re all scattering across the room like marbles now, and just Noah and I are left seated. I make eye contact with him, which is a mistake. His grin twists—the same unease I’m feeling sweeping over his expression. We’re both terrified to go home and be alone together. Both unconvinced the other has enough willpower to stay away.

Chapter 31

Amelia

It’s well after midnight now but I’m still wide awake staring at the ceiling. Noah and I didn’t say a word to each other when we got home. He unlocked the door, flipped on the lights, and I scurried off to my room like a mouse escaping with cheese. Noah made no attempts to stop me, so I feel like it was the right decision.

To keep my mind from racing down the path ofWhat if we just,I hold the image of Gregory Peck in my mind. But after a while, I begin to resent that face and so I use an imaginary marker and draw a little mustache across his lip. Gregory’s face then transforms into Noah’s and he’s smiling because Noah would most definitely find that fake mustache funny. He might only show it in that usual, quiet, inconspicuous way of his, but he would smile for sure. And then he’d roll his eyes and make me pancakes.

Sadness leaks into my heart because more than anything, I want to explore this relationship with Noah. I want to follow my impulses. My heart says,This could be good. Very good.But my mind replays all the valid reasons we can’t. Why Noah doesn’t wantit.

I’m feeling about as cheery as a Snickers bar run over by a truck on 100-degree pavement. Normally, when I’m in this sad state ofbeing, I would get up and turn on an Audrey film. She would wrap me up in her comfortable familiarity, and by the end, I’d be feeling more hopeful. But tonight, I don’t, because the only movie I brought with me on this trip isRoman Holiday.For obvious reasons I don’t feel like watching that one right now. Maybe never again. I’m mad at Audrey. And I’m mad at myself for following in her shoes and coming here in the first place, and meeting Noah and his surly eyes, and his overly wonderful town, and his kindhearted, quirky sisters.

I kick the covers in a minitantrum. And then I kick them more. And again. This time, I add a little body swirl where I completely disrupt all my covers at once. It feels so good to let myself be angry. I fist my hands and pound them into the mattress now because I’m really getting the hang of losing my control and I don’t want to stop now. I add in a quiet little piggy squeal as I dig my heels into the mess of sheets and comforters, because I AM MAD.

Mad, mad, mad.

I’m mad that my car will be fixed and I’ll be leaving here in a week. I’m mad that I don’t want to give up my career. I’m mad that I’ll go home to loneliness. I’m mad that my mom is not my friend anymore, and that my dad never wanted to know me. I’m mad that over the years, I’ve let myself turn into a people-pleasing robot who’s afraid of upsetting anyone. And I’m mad that here, in this town, in this house, in this bed, is the first time in years I’ve been able to unleash my feelings and just be me without fear of repercussions.

But most of all, I’m mad that I’ve fallen in love with Noah, and I’ll never get to have a life with him.

As if the earth is angry with me, a loud peal of thunder shakes the house. I want to cheer and fist pump the air because it feels so good to just be pissed for a minute. What sounds like a deluge starts dumping over the house and the wind picks up. I think I must be the next Marvel villain because clearly my attitudesummoned this. I want to stand on the bed and hold my arms out and let the storm take me. Cackle loudly with my fingers flexed.

Instead, I sob.

It’s the kind of cry you hold off as long as you can, pretending you don’t see the need for it even though it’s glaring you right in the face. And then one day, your emotions break, and anger dissolves into frustrated tears that won’t quit until your pillow is soaked through. There’s nothing for it—no magical answer or earth-shattering conclusion to be found. All I can do is wrap my arms around my abdomen and let my body rid itself of all this pain until it doesn’t hurt so much.

I hear a knock on my door and I sit up with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks. “Noah?”

My door opens and there he stands in the dark. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, and when a sudden bolt of lightning strikes, filling the room with bright light for only a split second, I see the agony on his face. This isn’t a nighttime booty call. Something is wrong. I wipe under my eyes with the back of my hand.

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