Rock the Cradle of Love

by Jen FitzGerald

  “I called Doug Monroe over at Sawyer and Brown.”

  They’re the mediation firm mentioned in the letter.

  “Brenda Gilbert hired them in an attempt to stop her daughter from proceeding with the adoption.”

  “But why? Why does she care that much?”

  “That I don’t know, Noah. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Honestly. Unless there’s some deep dark secret you haven’t told me that’s going to come out and make you an unsuitable parent, this looks like—”

  “I’m in a relationship with another man,” Noah blurts. It’s the only thing he can think of that might jeopardize his case. “We’ve only just started seeing each other—we can break up.”

  Ms. Padget chuckles. “That’s not a problem, Noah. Don’t worry about it. For whatever reason, Brenda can’t accept Julia’s decision. Now whether it’s a valid concern or something else, there’s no way to know at this point. We can certainly argue that she has no legal say-so in the matter, but I think it’ll serve your case better for us to attend and give her a chance to air whatever grievances she has. Then there’s really no way for her to contest the adoption.”

  “Are you sure?” It’s a stupid question. Ms. Padget’s bio said she’s been doing this for fifteen years. She knows her job. He knows that. It’s why he hired her. Tears sting the corners of his eyes and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It would break my heart if I have to give Emma back—or worse, let someone else adopt her.”

  “I know, Noah. I’m not going to lie and say there’s not a chance, but it’s a very small one. So please keep your worrying to a minimum, all right? The paperwork is being drawn up and will be ready to file as soon as we can get it signed, pending the outcome of the mediation hearing.

  “I’ll meet you at the Sawyer and Brown offices on Friday, all right?”

  “See you Friday.”

  Noah hangs up feeling better. He’s going to take Ms. Padget at her word and worry as little as possible.

  He calls his mother to let her know he and Emma are coming tomorrow.

  His finger hovers over Taylor’s contact. He’s not ready to talk about what happened between them, but this hearing is important and it’s still going to weigh on him. It’s not like Taylor can do much, but he loves Emma and he cares about Noah. He’ll be moral support at least, right? Noah presses the screen, but Taylor’s phone goes straight to voicemail. Noah frowns. Either the battery died or Taylor’s ignoring him. But it’s not like Taylor to let his phone die, so Noah can only surmise that Taylor doesn’t want to talk to him. He’s not sure what to think about that.

  “This is Taylor Bell. Leave a message at the beep.”

  Beep.

  “Taylor, it’s me. I…I got a notice about a hearing in regards to Emma. It’s Friday. I thought you’d want to know. Anyway…I’m leaving for Ten Rigs in the morning. I know we need to talk about us, too. Call me. Please…”

  * * *

  By the time Noah’s pulling Emma’s carrier out of the back seat of his car, his mother is coming down the front porch steps.

  “Noah, honey, I’m so glad to see you. How was the drive?” Her gray hair is piled on her head in a mass, and her smile fades when she sees his face.

  “The drive was fine, but life sucks right this very moment, Mom, and I need you.” He’d told her about the hearing when he’d called, but hadn’t mentioned what happened with Taylor. Taylor still hasn’t called back, and his phone still goes directly to voicemail.

  Taylor’s silence hurts. More than Noah imagined it would after only dating for a few weeks.

  “Oh, honey…” Warm, loving arms encircle him, and he sags into his mother’s embrace as best he can with an infant carrier between them. She runs a smoothing hand down his back and then lets him go. “Come on. You hungry?”

  He shakes his head. He’d forced himself to eat breakfast before he left, but he’s got no appetite.

  After he’s unbundled Emma and changed her, leaving her on the floor with some toys, his mother pulls him to the sofa. He sits on one end facing her and she sits on the other, mirroring him.

  “What’s going on? Where’s Taylor?” Her voice is soft, her face sympathetic. It’s been so long since his mother played the role of confidant. Steve’s been his sounding board for years now, but sometimes you just need your mom.

  His breath hitches as he sighs. The ball of upset in his stomach returns to a simmer. “I don’t know. We had a fight. He left. I haven’t heard from him.”

  Noah should have known better. A guy like Taylor needs more than Noah can give him. He’d seemed so earnest and accepting and willing to try. But then he’d done research and made assumptions about Noah’s sexuality without even talking with Noah. Now there’s a communications blackout.

  “We had a…I don’t even know what to call it.” He scans the living room. It’s not his childhood home, but it reminds him a lot of the house he grew up in. The eclectic mix of old paintings and old books. Small abstract art pieces littering bookshelves and tabletops. New and old furniture. Not much has changed. Nothing but the house itself. The inside is even painted in similar colors. “I opened a discussion and it went bad quickly. I threw him out of the condo the other night. I was confused and angry. I didn’t understand why he would say the things he said. I still don’t really know what happened.”

  “Have you called him?”

  Noah nods, runs his fingers along the seam of the couch cushion. The upholstery is textured beneath his fingers. “I left him a message about the hearing. His car was at his place when I went by on my way out of town. I don’t know why he didn’t answer.” Maybe Noah shouldn’t have kicked him out.

  “Perhaps he was in the shower.”

  “Then why hasn’t he returned my call?”

  “I don’t know, honey.”

  Maybe they should have continued the conversation until they’d come to an understanding. The things Taylor said confused him, though. Calm rational discussions about sex are difficult enough for Noah. Trying to talk about sex in the heat of the moment, when he was already upset, had made him feel like a puck bouncing out of control down the ice.

  “Maybe he’s just as confused as you. Give him time.”

  “Yeah…”

  Emma squawks just then and Noah lets out a breath of relief. Caring for her is easy, it’s welcome. He laughs humorlessly at the thought. A month ago he had no idea what he was doing. Thanks to Taylor, Noah’s more than capable now. He scoops her up and, when she’s in his arms, it’s easy to forget everything else. Except he can’t not think about Taylor. Taylor’s been a part of Noah’s and Emma’s days since the beginning. Noah misses him like crazy, but he’s reached out. There’s not much he can do until Taylor contacts him.

  The day passes with conversation about Emma’s progress since she arrived in Noah’s life, the colic seems to be completely gone, finally; tales of Mom’s students and classes this past semester; the Rotors’ season; and Mom’s garden, among other things. They drive to Big Springs to buy some baby furniture for Mom to keep, and they hit the grocery store on the way home. Noah puts together another crib, highchair, and swing, while Mom dotes on Emma as well as on Noah, cooking all his childhood favorites for dinner. Once Emma’s down for the night, Mom turns in to read. Despite all the running around they did that day, Noah feels antsy.

  He hasn’t had any sort of real workout since the season ended. After changing into running clothes, he leaves a note on his bed, and slips out into the late spring night. It’s warm, but not unbearably so. The physicality feels good; his exercise regimen has fallen by the wayside since Emma’s arrival, and he can definitely feel the lack. He’ll have to figure how to juggle working out and parenting and housekeeping and hockey. And a boyfriend. If he still has one.

  The moon shines brightly from just above the tree line, and the evening is quiet. His brain welcomes the reprieve from the normal sounds of his life. Traffic and television. The ice rink and the locker room. Emma�
��the soft burbling and the crying. And Taylor—loud and big and there.

  Noah loves hockey and he loves his life, but with the quiet and in this solitude, he feels like he can finally wrap his mind around some of his more pressing concerns. Number one—caring for Emma and the house while playing hockey and fulfilling all his obligations that go along with it. Number two—his relationship with Taylor. It’s definitely an issue to ponder, but Noah’s not quite ready to delve into it. Relationships and sex are unknown to him and therefore baffling and complicated, so maybe once he’s got everything else figured out, he’ll have some brainpower available to sort through what happened and make sense of it.

  The streetlamps cast a soft glow over the neighborhood. Cicadas buzz in the distance. The rumble of an old engine floats through the air and then goes quiet. A dog barks as Noah runs by, its aggression making the chain link fence jingle.

  So, Emma, the condo, and hockey…

  Although not every problem can be solved with money, several of Noah’s more basic requirements can be—a housekeeper can take care of the condo and probably grocery shop for him. Paying a babysitter while he works out would employ a teenager and allow him to maintain some sort of conditioning for the summer. His biggest need is a long term, nurturing, trustworthy caregiver for Emma. Despite what he’d said to his mom about men being able to care for children just as well as women—he wholeheartedly believes it—he’s almost positive he wants a woman nanny. The genders care for babies differently, not better or worse, just differently. Emma’s going to be surrounded by rough and rowdy hockey players, so he wants to counter that experience with a softer, gentler one. Maybe he needs to move. The nanny will have to be full time and need a room when Noah’s on road trips. He wants Emma to live in their home, not be dragged to someone else’s house half the time.

  Noah hasn’t paid attention to where he’s running while his mind churned through the various options and is surprised to find himself turning onto Main Street. Bridgett’s Pizza and the Double Scoop Ice Cream Parlor are closed, as is everything, actually, except Hometown Diner. A glass of water sounds really good right now. He reduces his pace and goes around the town square once at a slow jog and then again at a walk to let his heart rate slow down properly.

  The diner hasn’t changed much except to get a new paint job since he left home almost eight years ago now. He likes that some things have remained comfortable and familiar. The tablecloths are still red-checked and the booths still a dark green vinyl with gold glitter. Pictures from the town’s history cover every inch of wall space, from its founding in 1926 to the marching band’s U.I.L. win a couple of years ago, and everything in between. A dozen inches-thick photo albums, holding more photos, sit on a shelf near the cash register.

  The scent of fries and burgers mingles with bacon and pancakes, and Noah inhales deeply, a sense of well-being filling him.

  “As I live and breathe, if it isn’t our very own Noah Drinkwater.”

  Noah looks up to find Ms. Wooster, who taught him geometry in the ninth grade, and Ms. Maple sitting in a booth at the other end of the diner. He smiles and waves at the ladies and heads their way. He marvels at how alike they look, blue eyes and glasses, short grey hair. Ms. Wooster’s is straight to Ms. Maple’s loose gray curls.

  “You ladies are out kind of late,” he says. The clock above the hallway to the restrooms reads ten o’clock. A bowl with the dregs of a sundae and two spoons sits between them.

  “We’re celebrating Momma’s birthday. She always took us out for sundaes to celebrate birthdays and we’ve carried on the tradition since her passing three years ago.”

  “That’s a lovely way to remember your mom.” He swipes a hand across his forehead, and it comes away damp. He wipes his hand along his stomach. “I suppose I should think about starting some traditions, huh?”

  With a nod, Ms. Maple calls, “Donna Lynn, bring this young man some water, would you?”

  “Thanks,” he says.

  “So what are you doing out and about so late? Where’s that sweet little blessing of yours?”

  “She’s in bed at Mom’s house. I went out for a jog to stretch my legs and clear my head.”

  Donna Lynn, wearing a shy smile and bright spots of color on her cheeks, approaches with a glass of ice water.

  “Much obliged.” Noah takes the cup, drains it, and hands it back to Donna Lynn.

  “Would you like some more?” she asks, flush deepening.

  “No, thank you.”

  She heads back to the counter and some sort of textbook.

  Ms. Maple eyes him. “I hope the jog helped, but by the looks of your face, not so much.”

  He lets go a long sigh. “Some, but…not the relationship troubles.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” She takes a hold of his hand. “Have you got someone to confide in, sweetheart?”

  He gets halfway into a shake of his head and stops. “Steve.” His mom is great. He needed the unconditional love and comfort only a parent could offer, but he realizes he’s no longer the fifteen-year-old she remembers. She used to ask if his problem would matter in two weeks or two months or two years. Most of his childhood problems hadn’t really mattered at all except to him, so the answer was almost always and unequivocally no and could be dismissed with a good night’s sleep. Taylor, however, does matter and will matter, so Noah can’t not think about what happened and figure out how to move forward.

  “Steve?” Ms. Wooster asks, eyes bright behind her cat’s eye glasses, bringing his attention back to the here and now.

  He nods. “My billet dad.” Steve’s got a better understanding of who Noah is these days. He’s not sure why he didn’t think of it to begin with.

  “Then you should call him.”

  For the first time in days, he feels as if the weight is a little less heavy. “I will. God, thank you. I will. Listen, I should head home. I still owe you a meal or something, Ms. Maple, okay? I’ll be in town for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’m holding you to that. I want to see Emma too.”

  “It’s a date,” he says. On his way out, he hands Donna Lynn a couple of twenties. “I’m paying for the ladies’ sundae. The rest is for you.”

  Her pretty brown eyes go wide. “Oh, I, I couldn’t…”

  “I know you know who I am and what I do.”

  She nods.

  “So take it, okay?” He doesn’t need to point out he makes more money than probably anyone else in Ten Rigs.

  “Okay. Thank you.” Her head dips in embarrassed pleasure.

  He pushes out of the diner and pulls his cell from his pocket. It’s just after ten now. Some people might think it’s too late to make a phone call, but it’s probably the best time to have a conversation with Steve, what with all the kids and activities going on in their household. Thank goodness they’re in the same time zone. Noah pulls up Steve’s contact and hits send.

  Steven picks up on the third ring. “Noah, good to hear from you, bud. How are you?”

  “Um…okay.” There’s noise in the background, some sort of sport Noah thinks.

  The background noise disappears. Steve closed a door or muted the volume. “Not a social call then?”

  “I’m sorry, no. I can call back at a better time.” But now that he’s got Steve on the phone, he wants to talk.

  “Hey, no, Noah. I’m here for you—you know that. Anytime.”

  Steve’s been like a dad to him ever since he lived with the Nortons. It’s the Nortons who made him want a big family himself. He misses the buzz of a houseful of people. The team provides a facsimile of that, but at the end of the day it’s just him in the condo. Or it was. He likes the change.

  “What’s going on?”

  The whole story pours out of Noah as he walks home. “Everything was going so well and then all of a sudden it wasn’t. And I just. I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t being realistic because he’s so sexual and I’m so not. But I wanted to be close to someone, and he wanted me
and was willing to take it slow. And then he just made this decision and he didn’t even talk to me about it. I mean, it’s my sexuality, right? He doesn’t get to determine my feelings or my intentions. The only thing I asked of him was to talk to me first—about anything—and he didn’t. Am I wrong to feel this way?”

  “No, you’re not wrong. Yes, he definitely should have discussed things with you. What do you want to do?”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “So call him.”

  “I have. A couple of times. He hasn’t called me back.”

  “Did you leave a message? Does he know how you feel?”

  “Yes. I left a message about Emma’s hearing. I told him we still needed to talk.”

  “Maybe something’s happened to him? Is there any way to find out?”

  “No.” The players aren’t obligated to notify the team of travel plans in the off-season, and he and Taylor hadn’t gotten around to trading ICE information.

  “I could maybe call the front office, but I don’t know if they’d give me Taylor’s family information…”

  “Probably not. Call him one more time, Noah. Then leave the ball in his court.”

  They talk for a few minutes more about the Norton family, their latest hockey billet, and hockey in general before hanging up. Not about the end of the Rotors’ season, thank goodness.

  He feels better, but then again, he doesn’t. He really should have considered a relationship with Taylor a little more thoroughly before jumping in. What was he thinking that he could have a physical relationship with someone who doesn’t understand what it’s like to have no thoughts related to sex at all? The reverse applies as well…how could Noah expect to sexually satisfy a person without having a sex drive of his own. In hindsight, agreeing to a relationship wasn’t the best decision he’s ever made.

  Noah sighs. But they’re in one now, and if they’re going to stay in one, they need to talk. Noah calls Taylor. Again. The call goes straight to voicemail. Again. “Listen, Taylor…I don’t know what I did to make you mad. Whatever it was, I’m sorry, okay? This is new to me. Please call me so we can talk.” Noah doesn’t know what else to say, so after a few moments, he ends the connection. He’s tempted to throw his phone across the yard, but clenches it tighter in his palm and stalks up his mother’s driveway.