Bold

by Jennifer Michael

  This was definitely the hidden gem I was sensing.

  “Your ex-girlfriend is dating Sunday’s husband?”

  Brazen sighs and runs his fingers through my hair. The motion is relaxing during a taut conversation. Whether he knows it or not, this man naturally alleviates my burdens, and everything about his being calms me.

  “Yeah, honestly, I think she started her research and conquest of him way before she and I broke up. I think she knew that she and I wouldn’t work out, so at some point, she began using me to learn more about Matt.”

  “That’s awful!”

  “It’s hard for me to really be mad at her about it. I mean, the prize for her efforts was Matt, and we’ve both seen what kind of man he is. No woman deserves what Sunday’s been through. Not even Stephanie.”

  He’s right about that.

  “Why would she do this? Why would she want him?” I ask.

  “Maddy and Steph both grew up dirt poor with a junkie for a mother. While Madison has worked hard to give herself a stable future, Stephanie will do anything she can to have financial security without having to work too hard. She seems to see Matt as her savior and won’t fault him for anything he does.”

  “Money can’t be worth all that.” Nothing could be worth the bruises Sunday suffered.

  “It’s not. Stephanie just hasn’t figured that out yet. Her focus is too set on what she wants. Sadly, she probably won’t figure it out until it’s too late.”

  “That’s awful.” There is true compassion within me for Brazen’s ex. “But, wait, I don’t get it. If Matt is with Stephanie, why is he still hung up on Sunday?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. She’s the one who got away? Matt shows up, uninvited, in Sunday’s life, but so does Steph. The amount of things Sun has been through with those two is overwhelming. Once Steph gets wind of any of Matt’s visits to Sunday, there is almost always a visit from Stephanie within the next few days.”

  “How bad is it with her?”

  “She screams, yells, and causes a scene outside Sunday’s house. She’s mostly just hot air, but she’s broken windows and destroyed other parts of her property. The both of them make Sunday’s life hell. It’s an unhealthy circle of drama.”

  “Sunday doesn’t need any of that.”

  I lean back into Brazen, and the world stills around us. Even with so much going on, so much disheartening conversation, we can find comfort in one another. I started off this day dreading the activities that were going on outside my bedroom and the words hidden inside that envelope, but knowing the sense of security I feel with Brazen, I finally feel ready to face the words written to me by my mother.

  “Wait here for me? There’s something I need to get,” I ask Brazen, already standing.

  “Of course,” he answers.

  My legs feel heavy as I walk the distance back to the house.

  Will I find truth in that letter or only more pain?

  Brazen

  Noah walks back to me, carrying something in her hand. Heaviness swarms her emotions. Her innocence is shrouded by something harrowing. I started out my day by surprising Noah and trying to make her smile, but it has taken a drastic turn.

  She returns to the spot between my legs, and my arms encircle her. I kiss the back of her head while wondering what I’m about to discover.

  “What is that, baby?” I ask about what she has and she turns to face me.

  “This is the letter I told you about from my mother that I haven’t opened yet. I want to open it, and I want you with me when I do.”

  My emotions are mixed. There is pride that she wants me close while she tackles this, but it’s minuscule compared to the fear I have for Noah concerning what she’ll read.

  “I’m here,” I tell her.

  Her finger traces unidentifiable shapes onto the front of my shirt.

  “I blamed myself. How could I not? I was just a little kid,” she whispers like she’s admitting a dirty secret.

  “Do you still?” My arms tighten around her. It might kill me if she says yes.

  “Some days. Most days, no. It’s hard to keep out the self-blame completely. She kept me for six years. How did she just decide that, one day, she no longer wanted me? What was the catalyst?” Her voice gets stronger as she speaks, but I can clearly hear the torment within her.

  “Noah, you have no fault, no matter what’s written in there. You were a kid, her kid, and there is nothing you could have done to warrant being given away. Maybe something happened where she just couldn’t keep you. It must have been a hard choice.”

  I can’t fathom any of this, especially growing up with the mother I did. My mom was gentle and always put me first. Something I never took for granted when I had Sunday’s parents who were prime examples of people who practiced conditional love.

  “Do you remember your last day with her?”

  “No, I remember my mom kept talking about an appointment. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized that was her hearing to waive her rights. I mostly just remember the man who took me to Golden Heights and the way he spoke to me with a mixture of pity and kindness. It took me a long time to understand I wasn’t coming home. But maybe the answer is in this letter. Who knows if I can even trust what she says though?”

  “Open it. I’m here for you.” My thumb brushes against her knuckles.

  With slow movements, she crinkles the envelope in her hand. I hold my breath, and she doesn’t take her eyes off me.

  “Go on, baby. You’re strong, and you can handle this.”

  She blinks, freeing a tear. I wipe the wetness with the pad of my thumb and then lightly kiss her nose.

  “Let’s find out the real story,” I whisper against her skin.

  Then, she slowly breaks the seal of the envelope with her pointer finger. I hold on to her knees just so I can feel her skin against mine and hope to transfer some comfort. Once the paper is unfolded in her hands, her eyes quickly scan from left to right. She reads it over once in her head and then closes her eyes tightly. I pull her into my chest and brush my hands against her back.

  “You’re okay. I’ve got you, Noah. You just did something huge. This letter has been in the back of your mind, plaguing you. Just concentrate on that. You did it!” I lift her head and cradle her face.

  Is the letter filled with loving words and fond memories? Is it written like a caring mother writing to her child who is merely away at camp with a return date? Are the pages filled with flowery accounts of her only child? Or is it riddled with guilt and desire for forgiveness? Is each sentence panicked and rushed? Maybe it’s full of rambling or sentences that are cut short.

  “I want to read it to you,” she tells me.

  “Are you sure? You don’t have to share this with me if you don’t want to.” I lower the paper, so I get a clear view of her eyes.

  “I’m sure. I want you to know everything about me and within my heart. I want to share the good and the bad with you. I’m stronger with you by my side.”

  “You’re strong all on your own, Noah.”

  Her kiss is wet with tears as she leans forward and gently presses her lips to mine.

  “Take your time. There is no rush.”

  She pulls back and wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  As Noah begins to read, her voice breaks, and she has to take a minute before starting over. I fight back my own emotion. Seeing her like this isn’t something that is easy, but I stay strong for my girl.

  My Noah girl,

  By now, you surely hate me. By now, you must have come to your own conclusions about what I did. I’m not sure which is worse for my case—your imagination or the facts. You’ll be eighteen in a few days, and the only gift I can give you at this point is the truth.

  When I was fourteen, I met a boy. He was kind and devoted to me. I’d never felt more treasured in all my life as I would when he looked into my eyes and told me how beautiful I was, but there was two sides to him. There was the boy who
would compliment me with such emotion and the one who would vanish and go off with his friends and not call me for weeks. Yet, still, I loved him. More than I loved myself.

  As these things tend to do, his behavior only got worse with time. The loving side of him got lost over the years, and the absent side took over. I began to crave his disappearances because I knew, when he came back, I would see the boy who once loved me so tenderly. He’d shower me with flowers and affection, and I’d be reminded of the origin of our love. I’d ignore the bad and bask in the way he would make things up to me. We were in a cycle, and I was addicted to him, to being in a relationship.

  I’ve never done well by myself. In my head, I’ve always measured my worth by how happy I could make someone and how much they wanted me.

  Then, I got pregnant with you. At first, he promised he would be there. Then, his dedication showed signs of wavering, and before you were born, he vanished for good. He left a package on my doorstep with a note, some diapers, and a request to give you his first name. After that, I never saw him. But, still, even with him gone, I did what he wanted. If he ever came back, I wanted him to see how devoted I was. So, you were named Noah, after your father.

  Then, I gave birth to you, and for the first time ever, my life was filled with an innocence and love like I’d never experienced. I thought everything was going to be different. You were my fresh start. I thought I could find the affection and love I wanted through my little girl who needed me completely. Looking back now, I realize that was way too much pressure to put on a little baby. I was overjoyed when I brought you home, but quickly, I realized it wasn’t the same.

  At first, you gave me everything I needed. You would fuss, and I could soothe you, so that made me feel good. Then, it just became too much. I was tired, and I missed having adult relationships. I had no idea how hard being a single mother would be.

  As you grew older, I began to date again, still looking for the man who would complete our family.

  I’m not sure what you remember, but in the beginning, there were a lot of men coming in and out of our lives. Some of them disappeared, like your father, and others, I clung on to for way too long. But then I met Mark—the one, the person I wanted to commit my life to. He was everything I had been looking for—handsome, funny, caring—and he wanted to give all of his time to me, something I’d never had before.

  There was one problem …

  Mark didn’t want kids—at all. He didn’t want to have his own or be with a woman who had kids herself. I kept you from him, never bringing him home and leaving you more and more often with friends. Things got serious between us, and I knew I had to make a decision.

  Him or you.

  I played out a thousand different scenarios in my head, but I’m afraid I might have taken the way out that was easiest for me. I needed love. I needed a relationship. I needed a partner. Anyone could love you, but my time was running out, and I found what I had always been searching for. I guess I hoped he would eventually give on the kid deal-breaker, but he was dead set against the notion.

  Noah, I love you. I swear that, no matter what you might think, I love you. I just couldn’t imagine my life without him. I loved him, too, and I needed him. I knew you’d be okay without me.

  He never found out about you, and then I gave my rights to you away.

  For him. I needed him, and I still do.

  I can admit that I was also selfish in my plans. I was more scared to lose Mark than I was to lose you. That’s harsh and maybe cruel for me to say, but after all the years, I feel like you deserve the truth. I love you, Noah, but my passion for Mark consumes me. When I have to choose between him and anything, I will always choose him. I chose him over my own flesh and blood. I have regrets, but I’d do it all again. I’m sorry, but I would.

  You’ll be an adult next week, and even without me being in your life, I’m proud of you. But, even after everything, I have to ask you a favor that I must insist you follow. Don’t contact me when you get out. Don’t come looking for me. He can’t know the truth about you. So, it’s better if we continue down our separate paths. After next week, I won’t know where you are, and I’ll lose even that connection, but the truth is, that’s probably for the best. I’m sorry for what I did when you were a little girl and for continuing to cut you out of my life, even now. It’s the way things need to be, and that’s all I can really say about it.

  Happy birthday, Noah.

  I love you.

  Mom

  Noah shakes her head in disbelief. “She’s more selfish and delusional than I ever could have imagined,” she says, dropping the letter into the grass. “This letter isn’t about truth, mine or hers. She didn’t write it to bring me peace or give me answers. This is all about protecting herself because my birthday triggered fear within her over her secret getting out. She needed to make sure her only daughter didn’t turn up and cause trouble. She needed to make sure I’d stay away.” Bitter disbelief distorts Noah’s voice.

  “I’m so sorry, baby.” There is nothing I can say, and even the apology sounds stupid before it’s out. “That couldn’t have been easy, and your mom said some horrible things, but is there any relief in knowing the truth?”

  “Not yet, but it’ll come. The wound is too fresh, but eventually, I’ll be glad I know what happened.”

  The papers are left scattered around us as Noah curls up between my legs. Her arms grip around my back, and I just let her be for a while. I give her time to let everything she learned sink in and allow her the opportunity to feel whatever she needs to at this moment.

  Crickets are chirping into the night before I walk Noah back to her front door. The emotions of the heavy day have drained us both, and we have no more words for one another. Right now, I want nothing more than to climb into Noah’s bed and sleep with her tightly tucked beside me, but I’m not sure she’s ready for that. Nothing about the need is sexual; it’s all about my instinct to be the man she can count on always. Still, I don’t bring it up. Instead, I kiss her until I sense a small amount of the stress leave her body. The connection isn’t sweet, and it isn’t filled with lust. It’s fueled by something much more important—love.

  Noah

  In the one hundred thirty-two hours and thirty-four minutes since I read the letter from my mother, I’ve had time to cool down. During the first twenty-four hours, I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted to push it so far from my mind that I could somehow forget that I had even been brought into this world by that person. The fakest smile was plastered on my face while I pretended I didn’t know the truth. Brazen saw right through me. Once he pushed me to face the reality, I broke down.

  I tried to rationalize what she had done. I made excuses and searched for redemption where there wasn’t any. Brazen listened to me ramble on like a crazy woman. Then, I got pissed. There was so much venom running through my veins, I wanted to drive straight to Seattle and confront my mom right then and there. I wanted to out her. I wanted to look her in the eyes when I spoke my own truth. I wasn’t going to be a coward, writing things down in a letter. I wanted her to hear from my mouth what she’d done to me. Brazen calmed my hostile mood swing.

  Then, I didn’t even want to get out of bed. Every thought was all-consuming. Every action was crippling. I cried until there weren’t any tears left. Brazen was my strength and helped me find the will to understand I was stronger than the words she had written to me.

  My father abandoned me before I was even born, and I’m named after the man.

  For life, I’m connected to a man I’ve never met and probably never will.

  I wasn’t enough for my mother. I became a burden, one that held her back from life and love. I needed the essentials of life, but she only saw me as a way to fill a hole inside her. Does the man she holds so high on a pedestal really know the manipulative, narcissistic woman he married?

  Denial. Bargaining. Anger. Depression.

  Yet I haven’t completely reached acceptance.

&
nbsp; Not of her, that woman who was supposed to be my mother.

  But I have found recognition for what I feel in my heart for Brazen.

  The last five days have been a roller coaster, but today is a new day, and as I knock on Brazen’s door, I am completely resolved in my plan. I smooth my dress and fiddle with my hair. He opens the door with a smile, and I struggle not to literally fall head over heels at the sight. What I feel for him is strong and seemingly not going anywhere. Our connection only gets mightier, and we become more interlinked with one another.

  “Hi.” Even my voice sounds goofy.

  “Hi,” he playfully mocks as he holds the door open for me.

  “I have something for you,” I tell him.

  “Oh, yeah? What is it?” He kisses my neck while I walk deeper into the house.

  “Follow me, and I’ll show you.” I head for his bedroom with him hot on my heels and his lips still grazing my skin.

  Brazen and I have gotten hot and heavy. We’ve made out until both of us were practically vibrating with sexual tension. I’ve touched myself in front of him, and I’ve had my hands on him, but very rarely does Brazen explore my body, which has made me almost desperate for his touch. I saw the way he reacted to my body in that art class, and I know how much he wants me, too.

  I’m not asking for the gentleman anymore.

  I’m asking, begging, demanding for the lover.

  It’s time.

  Three steps inside his bedroom, I reach down for the hem of my dress. The fabric tickles my skin as I pull the garment over my head and toss it to the floor. The cold air from the vent swooshes over my skin, contrasting the heat inside me. Brazen doesn’t take his sight off me for a single second, and it fills me with power. I want him to forever look at me as he is right now.

  “I’m ready,” I tell him as I stand, stripped down to my bra and panties before him.

  He looks up before he responds, “What are you saying? Ready for what?”

  There must be something extremely interesting up there on the ceiling because he keeps his sight upward instead of returning his eyes to me. I advance toward him and gently place my hand on his jaw, tilting his face down to look at me. I need all of our connection right now.