Loving Noah

by Kenna Knight

  He’s going to miss her like crazy. I told him he should visit often, but I understand it won’t be the same as having his shrink/mother right across the hall. But they have phones with FaceTime and Skype. She has reminded him of this a hundred times since we broke the news that we were moving in together.

  “How are you coming?” I ask, placing my hands on either side of the door frame and leaning into his room.

  “I’m getting there. This is harder than I thought. Are you sure you have room for all my stuff at your place?”

  “It’s a two bedroom. You can put all this in the extra bedroom, and if that doesn’t work, we will look for someplace that suits us both.”

  My optimism has returned in full force, and it feels good. I hate the darkness that comes with pessimism; it will drag down every aspect of your life if you don’t fight it off, and I let it take hold of mine.

  “You want to move into a different place?”

  “Well, nobody wants to move, do they? But if it turns out we don’t have enough room, I will. My friends, Theo and Abe, live in an industrial loft. It’s nice, and there are always places available in the building across the street from them. And Bianca has a fancy place on the outskirts of downtown. She’s always telling me about houses for sale there. She’d love to make me a semi-suburbanite like she is.”

  “I miss her sassy mouth and exciting wardrobe. Does she still wear bizarre stuff?”

  “No, she’s an attorney now. She wears suits and heels unless we go to the club.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then her inner freak takes over, and you never know what she’ll wear, just like in high school.”

  “I can’t wait to see her. Wait, does she know about any of this?”

  “Nope. We have exchanged a few texts this week, but I’ve been vague on purpose. I thought it would be fun to surprise her.”

  “Doesn’t she hate surprises?”

  “Yes, that’s why it’s going to be fun.”

  “Sounds like you like torturing her.”

  “I do, and she loves to torture me as well. It’s all good.”

  “Okay, it’s your funeral.”

  I chuckle at that. He has no idea how spot on that comment is. Bianca is going to murder me when she finds out I didn’t tell her Ben is Noah. And when she learns we are moving in together, she will murder me again just to be sure she got the job done.

  “So tell me more about Theo and Abe. Where did you meet them, how long have they been married?” he says while he stuffs one more book into a box that is already too full.

  “Well, Theo is an actor, he does theater, commercials, musicals, anything really. He’s a fantastic cook, and if you watch Dancing with the Stars with him, he will be your best friend for life. Abe is an interior designer, and Theo is his muse. He worships the ground Theo walks on. I met them at an opening at an art gallery a few years ago. It was a friend’s first showing, and he called his collection Coming Out.”

  “So it was a coming out of the closet art show?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Abe and Theo thought it was so clever and original. They’ve been married for five years, they’re trying to adopt a baby, and Bianca’s helping them.”

  He stops packing the box at the mention of a baby. “A baby? That’s brave. I love babies.”

  The dreamy far away look in his eyes when he says “I love babies” is all the proof I need that Noah wants children. I’ve never considered having kids. I guess I never figured I would find Noah, and he is the only man I saw myself settling down with. Now, I have something else to think about—kids.

  “Do you want kids?” My question jerks him out of his dream state, and suddenly he looks nervous.

  “I, uh, well I never thought about it before, but now that I’ve found you, yeah, I think I would. Do you?”

  “Same. I would, but only with you.”

  Relief washes over his face, and I cross the room and take his hands to pull him up. “There are so many things I thought I would never get to do because my heart belonged to you and only you.”

  “That sounds like a song,” he says grinning. God, I love that smile. I want to take his picture and plaster it on the walls so I can see it all the time.

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Well, I can think of a dozen things right off the top of my head.”

  “Noah, are you flirting with me?”

  “I don’t know, am I?”

  “I do believe you are. Tell me, what are these things you thought of right off the top of your head?” I emphasize ‘head’ the same way he did.

  “Can’t, Kitty’s home.”

  “No, she isn’t, she’s not due for…” I look down at my watch, and it’s five o’clock on the dot. Then I hear the garage door opening, and Kitty’s car driving in.

  “How did you do that?”

  “She’s never late, ever. If she ever were, I would call the police right away.”

  I slide one hand behind his neck and the other between his legs and kiss him with so much passion he’s going to be hard as a rock when his aunt comes to check on our packing progress.

  I break the kiss and leave him standing in his bedroom breathless and hard.

  “Not nice,” he yells.

  “You shouldn’t tease,” I call back and slap on a smile when Kitty comes through the door with two sacks of groceries.

  “Ah, just the man I wanted to see. Can you help me? I have a few more of these in the car.” She uses her hip to hoist one of the bags onto the counter, and I help with the other.

  “What’s all this for?” If she has two bags and several more outside, there must be a reason. She will be shopping for one after tomorrow.

  “A going-away dinner, of course. I’m going to whip up a feast tonight, and we are going to drink and dance and make memories.” She is trying to be positive, but I sense the underlying pain of losing the only son she’ll ever have.

  With my hands on her shoulders, I turn her to face me. “You know you are welcome at our place anytime, and we can come here as often as you like. This isn’t goodbye, it’s until next time.”

  Tears pool in her eyes, and she looks away embarrassed to be caught in an emotional moment. Kitty is a psychiatrist, she likes being the one to help others with their emotions and problems, and she doesn’t like being on the other side of the therapist’s desk.

  She sniffles and straightens her shoulders with resolve. “All right then, it’s an ‘until next time’ party.”

  I kiss her on the cheek and head into the garage to bring in the rest of her party supplies which consist of a lot of alcohol, frilly drink umbrellas, fancy glasses, and all the makings for some Italian dish.

  Alcohol and pasta—I may adopt this woman as my second mother. Or I could just wait until she’s my mother-in-law. It won’t be long. I’m going to ask him to marry me before the year is out.

  “How are you coming on the packing?” she asks while unloading the groceries.

  “Good, I think he’s almost done with his computer stuff. He’s been working on that all day. I had his clothes and personal things packed up in an hour. He doesn’t have much, does he?”

  “No, he’s never been much into materialistic things. The only thing he ever wanted in his life was love. I’m so glad you found each other so he could have his wish. He’s been through enough, and he deserves some good in his life.”

  “Kitty, has he ever mentioned having children?” I don’t know where the hell that question came from, but it just popped out of my mouth with no warning.

  She sets down a bottle of champagne on the counter and turns to face me. I can’t read her expression, but it’s somewhere in between shocked and curious.

  “No, not in a serious context. He did say once that he hoped if he ever had a child that it wouldn’t be gay because being gay was too hard. That was a long time ago, though, when he was struggling with his demons. You’re not thinking of putting the cart before the apples are you
?”

  I chuckle at that. I thought that was something people only said to straight couples who thought they were pregnant. “No, not at all. I have friends who have been married for years, and they are trying to adopt. I mentioned it to Noah, and he seemed excited about the idea of having kids.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “No, I am, I think. It’s a new idea to me. I never planned on having a family.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I never loved anyone but Noah, and I couldn’t imagine getting married or having kids with anyone else.”

  “I see. Well, my only piece of advice is to make sure things are good between you and Noah, that your relationship is a stable and forever one before you bring another human being into the picture. I never had children of my own because I never found a man good enough to have them with, still haven’t, and now it’s too late.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “Not for one second. Children have enough to deal with in our world today. They don’t need parents who don’t love each other setting bad examples at home. And besides, I got Noah, and he is the same as my son. If I had been married with a bunch of kids running around, I might not have been able to take him in and give him all the love and attention he so desperately needed.”

  “Thank you for that. He’s lucky to have you. I saw firsthand the way he was being raised and the abuse he went through, and it wasn’t pretty. He is such a sweet man, and he deserved much better, and he got that with you.”

  “It was my pleasure. It’s easy to love Noah.”

  She’s right about that. There is nothing easier than loving Noah. It’s like breathing or your heart beating, it’s happening all the time, but you don’t even notice it.

  “Okay, enough with the serious talk. Let’s get this dinner party going!” she says clapping her hands together and pulling more things from her grocery bags.

  “We’re having a party?” Noah says behind us, and I wonder how long he’s been standing there listening to us talk about him.

  “Yep, Kitty’s going balls out on an ‘until next time’ party for us. She has booze galore and Italian food.”

  “An ‘until next time’ party?”

  “She doesn’t like the way going away sounds so yeah, until next time it is.”

  “I like it. I’m starving, can I help get anything going, so it will be ready faster?”

  “You certainly can, grab the big pot and fill it up with water to boil the pasta. And open a bottle of wine. We must drink while we cook.” She has pulled three enormous wine glasses out of the cupboard while she was talking.

  “And music, we need music. I think I packed my Bose speaker on the top of the last box. I’ll go grab it.”

  And so go the next few hours. We cooked angel hair pasta with shrimp and a light marinara sauce and garlic bread that was to die for. And, we drank a total of three bottles of wine and a few Margaritas and Piña Coladas in the backyard by the pool with Tiki torches lighting the patio. I almost fell in the pool, Noah did fall in the pool, and Kitty fished him out with the skimmer.

  We laughed and blasted Latin music, rap, and current pop songs while dancing and holding our drinks high in the air. We looked like three people on a Hawaiian vacation living it up, except we were eating Italian food and not having a pig roast. All in all, it was a weird, fun, loud, drunken ‘until next time’ party. I can’t wait until she visits so we can do it again.

  19

  Noah – Meant To Be

  Monday morning the movers came and took my things to Washington, D.C. Monday afternoon I took a handful of anxiety pills and went to the airport with Liam and Kitty in a fog. Monday evening, without remembering much about the flight, I arrived at Liam’s apartment, which is where I am currently hiding in his bathroom having a full-blown panic attack.

  Bent over the toilet with my heart racing, I’m covered in sweat waiting, praying, and crossing my fingers that this nausea passes without vomiting. It started when we arrived downstairs, and I realized just how far away from home I am, and that there is no way to get back aside from getting on another plane and flying back.

  Then the dreaded what if’s started. What if Kitty is lonely without me? What if she gets hurt and there is no one there to help her? What if this doesn’t work out with Liam, will she take me back? Then the why’s chime in. Why is this happening to me? Why do I have anxiety? Why didn’t my parents love me? And on and on and on until the last question of ‘when’ hits me square between the eyes. When will this be over? When? When? When?

  I pull my sweater and t-shirt off like they are burning my skin and start to cry. I try to keep it quiet because I can’t bear to have Liam see me this way, but it’s no use. He knocks on the door.

  “Noah, what’s wrong?”

  I can’t answer because if I do, he will hear the distress in my voice, so I squeeze my eyes shut and beg God to make it end soon.

  “Noah, if you don’t answer me, I’m coming in.”

  He can’t come in. I locked the door, but what if he has a key? What if he breaks it down? What if he takes one look at me cowering, weak, and pathetic on his bathroom floor and ends our love story before it has a chance to begin?

  Please make it go away, make it go away, make it go away. I don’t even know I’m repeating the words out loud until I hear a key in the lock and feel Liam’s strong arms around me picking me up and carrying me into his bedroom.

  “Shush, you’re going to be all right. It’s a panic attack, but you will get through it. I promise. I’ll help you.”

  The sound of his calm, soothing voice does something to the tightness in my chest. When it loosens, I open my eyes, and he is sitting next to me on the bed holding my hands. “Noah, listen to me, okay? I want you to take big breaths and fill your belly when you do it, then let the air out slowly like this.” He takes a breath and holds my hand on his abdomen so I can feel him puffing it out. Then he demonstrates how he wants me to exhale and begins again.

  I copy him and focus all of my energy on my breathing. In deep, filling my lungs, pushing out my stomach and then puckering my lips to blow it out slowly. We do this for a long time until I no longer feel my pulse pounding in my ears, and I can speak.

  “I’m sorry…”

  He places his finger on my lips. “Shush, don’t say that, don’t even think it. You had a long, stressful day, and there is nothing to apologize for. We are home now, you’re safe, your things will be here soon, Kitty is fine, you have me, I’ve got you, and there’s nothing to worry about. But if you do worry, that’s okay. Don’t hide from me, I want to help.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, more than you will ever know.”

  He leans forward and kisses me softly on my mouth, and the last of the nausea and panic slips away.

  “Do you need some more medication?”

  “No, I think the worst is over, and I don’t want my first night living together to be a hazy memory.”

  “You don’t like taking medicine, do you?”

  “No, I hate it. I like to be in control of my body, and I feel like someone else when I take meds.”

  “Me, too. Unless I’m in pain, I try to avoid them. So, are you up for a tour of your new home or do you need to rest? Either way is fine with me.”

  “Let’s rest for a while and then tour.”

  “You want me to stay?”

  “Yes, please.” I scoot over, so there is room for him on the bed. With his body curled around me and my head on his chest and his leg hooking mine, I look around.

  His room, my room, is spacious and tidy. There isn’t one thing out of place, not the photograph of him with his family on the dresser or the large wooden valet box. Every surface is dusted and shiny. The books on the bookshelf are organized by height, and a large television with a handful of DVDs sits at an angle facing the bed.

  It’s so clean, it’s almost militant. I wonder if he has a housekeeper or if he is just this clean.

>   “I had no idea this was going to happen, so I’m afraid I’m not well prepared. I’ll move things around in the closet so you can have one side and clear out a few drawers in the dresser. The guest room is all yours. I’ll have the bed taken out, and you can set up your computers and photography stuff in there as soon as it arrives.”

  “You’re super clean.”

  He pops up and rests on his elbow with his head in his hand. “I have a confession to make.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, I’m a little OCD. I’m not like crazy out of control wash your hands a zillion times a day or freak out if the labels aren’t facing front OCD, but more like shit needs to be clean and in its place for me to be able to relax. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, no, maybe.”

  He cocks his head to the side confused. “Yes, no, maybe? Which is it?”

  “Yes, the things need to be in their place to relax part, no to the diagnosis of OCD, and maybe you’re just organized.”

  “You’re right. Maybe I’m simply overly organized and anal. I’ve never seen a therapist about it. Bianca calls me Mr. OCD when I set the table or adjust a crooked photograph.”

  “Have you told her I’m going to be living with you yet?”

  “No way, we’re going to have Theo, Abe, and Bianca over for dinner Friday and surprise the shit out of her.” He smiles a wicked smile and lies back down on my chest. I play with his soft hair and rub his back up and down. The feel of him close to me and the thought that this is our bed where we will sleep together every night from now on causes me to melt into the mattress. “I don’t ever want to move.”

  “Me either, it’s like we’re in a dream, and if we move, we will wake up, and it’ll all be gone.”

  “It won’t, though, do you know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because we are meant to be.”

  “Yes, we are. I love you, Noah.”

  “I love you, too.”