by Sera Trevor
Bette was still sound asleep, one arm flung above her head. He gave her a little nudge. “Hey, sweetheart. Daddy needs back-up.”
Her eyes fluttered open. She stretched and yawned, then grinned at him. His chest filled with warmth. He picked her up and kissed her. “You always know what to say.”
She gurgled in response.
Noah carried her downstairs and into the living room. “Look who’s up.”
His mother gasped and put a hand over her mouth. When she had composed herself, she stood and moved toward them, almost like she was floating. Her eyes welled with tears. “She’s beautiful.”
Noah’s own eyes teared up. “Thanks.”
“May I hold her?” She didn’t sound distant anymore. She sounded almost shy.
“Of course.”
Bette went over easy enough. She babbled a little and put her hand on his mom’s face. She blinked, the tears in her eyes spilling over. “Hello there, little one. I’m your grandmother. Little Bette.” His mom glanced over at him. “Like Bette Davis?”
Noah’s face was wet now too. He wiped his eyes. “Yeah, like Bette Davis.” Of course she would get it. His love for old movies came from her.
His mother gazed at her some more. “She looks just like Rebecca,” she said. “Exactly like her.” She looked back at her husband. “Wouldn’t you say, Abe?”
She sat down beside his dad, holding out the baby with a hopeful expression. The stony expression his father had worn since entering the house finally cracked, if only a little. “That she does,” he said softly. “That she does.”
Noah perched on the armchair. His leg jiggled. “How’s business?”
“Sold,” his dad grunted.
Noah blinked. “What?”
“Your father sold the business two months ago,” his mother said, holding Bette in her lap again. “Jehovah has blessed us and prepared us for this ordeal. We’ll be able to stay as long as we need.”
Noah’s head swam. The timer went off in the kitchen. He stood. “The chicken. I’ll be right back.”
Noah hesitated at the doorway, looking back at his parents. His mother was beaming at Bette, holding her up and talking baby talk to her. She squealed, delighted to have the attention. Even his dad had softened. In spite of everything between them, there was a part of Noah that had half-dreamed of this moment, of his parents meeting his daughter. Now that it was a reality, he wasn’t sure how to feel.
He took the chicken and potatoes out of the oven and set them out to cool. When he returned to the living room, his mother had put Bette on her play mat on the floor. She sat next to her, shaking the toys gently. His father stood with his back to him, examining the photos on the wall, snapshots of him and Oscar, as well as pictures of the Lozada clan. His back was rigid. What was in his mind as he looked at the evidence of Noah’s life?
“I understand that you’re a nurse,” his mom said.
He turned his attention to his mother. “Yes, ma’am. Oncology.”
She hummed neutrally. “I suppose you have Bette in daycare.”
“No, Oscar’s mother watches her. She lives nearby.” It was on his tongue to invite her to family dinner, as Carmen had asked him, but he hesitated. He didn’t even know how dinner here was going to go.
“I’m glad to hear it. Children belong in the home, not with strangers. Your—” She coughed. “He’s Mexican, isn’t he?”
“He’s of Mexican descent, yes.”
“So his people are Catholic, I imagine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hummed again. “Not too Catholic, it seems,” she said, almost under her breath.
Noah’s father turned halfway toward them, his attention on a different set of pictures. He focused on a picture of him and Oscar in their ski gear, smiling with their arms around each other. His father’s lip curled halfway to a sneer.
A wave of nausea swept over Noah. His palms dampened as his heart raced. He couldn’t subject Oscar to this. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, swiping it open and texting Oscar. Can’t do dinner. Stay out until I text you.
“Just got a text from Oscar,” he said. “Looks like he has to work late.”
“What a shame,” his mother said. She bopped Bette on the nose.
“I’ll finish getting dinner ready,” he said. He’d get them fed as quickly as he could and show them the door. He hoped Oscar would forgive him.
But just then, the garage door opened. Noah froze.
His mother looked at him. “If he’s working late, then who is that?”
Noah opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say. A moment later, the door opened and Oscar stepped inside. His mother stood up, and his father turned around.
“Hey, babe!” Oscar said. Before Noah could stop him, he kissed him on the cheek. His parents looked on stonily. Oscar turned to them and waved with aggressive cheerfulness. “And you must be my in-laws! Hannah and Abe, right? Great to meet you!” He held out his hand to Noah’s mother, who gave it a limp shake, pulling her hand away as if she’d touched something slimy. Oscar turned to his dad next.
His dad just stared at him, that cold sneer still in place. Oscar took a step closer, looking him straight in the eye. “What, are you afraid I’m contagious?”
Noah’s stomach dropped. His dad’s sneer twisted into confusion. “What?”
Oscar pointed to his own nose and sniffed. “Allergies,” he said. “Not a cold.”
Oscar took advantage of his father’s confusion and grabbed his hand. His dad tried to pull away, but Oscar clapped his other hand on top and gave it a few pats before finally releasing him.
He turned around and swept Bette up in his arms, tossing her into the air. She squealed with delight. “And there’s my precious girl!” He gave her a kiss and then beamed at the rest of them, as if he didn’t notice their discomfort. “So! What’s for dinner?”
“Roast chicken,” Noah said faintly. “With potatoes.”
“Sounds delicious. I’m starving.” He nodded toward the dining room. “Why don’t we sit down? I’m sure you must be hungry for some real food, not that airline crap.”
He didn’t wait for them to respond. He took off with Bette. For a moment, Noah thought his father was going to say something. His mother seemed to think so, too, giving her husband a quick look. To Noah’s shock, he made his way to the dining room without a word. His mother fell in line behind him.
Oscar finished strapping Bette in her high chair and grabbed the chair across from Bette, pulling it out and gesturing to his mother. “Here, have a seat.”
His mother remained standing. “Noah said you had to work late.”
Oscar shot a look of confusion at Noah but quickly hid it. “I was just messing with him. He was so worried about me being here that I couldn’t help but tease him a little. In fact, I left work early.” He tapped the chair. “Come on, sit.”
His mom looked over to his dad, but he was already sitting down himself. Reluctantly, she sat.
Oscar flushed with triumph. “You need help in the kitchen?” he asked Noah.
His mom had already turned her attention back to Bette. His dad sat stone still, staring straight ahead. “Sure.”
They entered the kitchen. “What the hell was that all about?” Oscar asked when they were out of earshot. “You told them I wasn’t coming?” He didn’t sound mad, just confused.
“I’m sorry,” Noah said. “I panicked.”
“About what?”
How could he explain it? The horrible expression on his father’s face? His mother’s casual derision? “I don’t know.”
Oscar squeezed his arm. “Don’t let them rattle you. This is our home. And I’ve got it under control.” He clapped his hands. “So what can I do?”
“Carve the chicken.”
Noah put the green beans to steam while Oscar sliced the chicken, whistling. Was he...enjoying this? Annoyance pricked him, followed by shame. He’d wanted to protect Oscar, to spare him from his
parents’ scorn. But it wasn’t Oscar he was trying to protect. It was himself.
They brought out dinner, including some baby food for Bette and a bib. Noah hadn’t realized which bib he grabbed until Oscar put it on her—it said “My Two Dads Are Rad.” It had been a gift from Nikki. His mother pursed her lips; his dad sneered. Noah’s face heated. He ignored his parents’ looks as much as he could and sat down.
Noah and his parents served themselves while Oscar spooned baby food into Bette’s mouth.
“Babe, could you make me a plate?” Oscar asked. “I’m feeding our baby.”
His parents locked their gazes on their plates. His mother was gripping her fork so tightly that her knuckles were white. Noah picked up Oscar’s plate and served him, giving him a warning look as he handed it over. Oscar shrugged and mouthed ‘what?’ As if he weren’t aware. Noah pressed his lips together. He had better behave himself the rest of the meal.
Oscar gave Bette a spoonful of food, then grabbed a mouthful of his own dinner. “This chicken is amazing! Where’d you get the recipe?”
Noah looked over at his mom. “Actually, it’s your recipe.”
Their eyes met. He ventured a little smile, which she briefly returned.
Oscar tipped his fork to her. “Thank you for passing along your talent to your son. I’m a lucky guy to get such great homemade meals. When we met, I was living off ramen noodles and protein shakes.”
His mother flushed a little and murmured something in reply, although it was too low for Noah to make out. Oscar turned to his dad next. “Noah tells me you own a carpentry business?”
His father didn’t respond, so Noah jumped in. “Actually, they were just telling me that they sold it recently.”
“Congratulations! I mean, assuming you didn’t sell because the business was failing.”
That got his father’s attention. He glared at Oscar. “My business was very successful. I got an excellent deal. More than enough for retirement.”
“Glad to hear it!” Oscar gave him a thumbs up and a saccharine smile. He wasn’t saying anything wrong. But the way he said it was off. Not sarcastic, exactly, but less than sincere.
“My dad owns his own business, too,” Oscar continued. “Plumbing. He’s semi-retired, but I don’t think he’ll sell any time soon. You build something up from the ground, you want to stick around and make sure no one else messes with it, you know?”
No response, but Oscar didn’t seem like he expected one. Noah took a bite of his dinner, even though he had zero appetite. He hoped the rest of the meal would pass in silence. That was the best possible outcome.
But Oscar continued. “So how’s your hotel? Where are you staying?”
“The Best Western by the airport,” his mother said.
“Could get pricey if you’re here for a while,” Oscar pointed out. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay with us?”
Noah’s eyes widened in alarm. What was he up to? Oscar had explicitly said he didn’t want his parents staying with them, and Noah was pretty sure he hadn’t changed his mind.
“We wouldn’t want to impose,” his mother mumbled, her gaze back on her plate.
“Impose? Nonsense! We’re family. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable here. I mean, you and Noah must have so much to catch up on. It’s been, what, seven years?”
She didn’t respond. Oscar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No, that can’t be right. Our sixth wedding anniversary is this year, and we dated for two years, and he’d just left home when he met me. So that’s eight years.” He sat back. “Wow. That’s a really long time to not see or talk to your kid.”
Noah’s father glared and made as if he were going to stand, but his mother put a hand on his arm. “We’re quite comfortable where we are.”
Oscar shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He attempted to give Bette another spoonful of food, but she batted it away and banged on the tray.
Noah shoveled food into his mouth mechanically, forcing himself to swallow, because that was the only way this would be over. His parents seemed to have the same idea and finished their plates quickly. Only Oscar seemed at ease. In fact, he was downright smug.
His parents stood. “Thank you for the meal,” his mother said primly. “But we should be going.”
“Sure you don’t want to stay for coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Too bad.” Oscar used the bib to clean up Bette’s face. “I was just about to make Bette’s bottle. Thought you might want to give it to her.”
His mother’s eyes lit up and she opened her mouth to respond. His dad cut her off. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”
Noah stood. “I’ll see you to the door.”
Oscar got Bette out of her chair, but he took her into the kitchen rather than following them to the door. His mother gave a longing glance over her shoulder but said nothing.
“Thanks for coming,” Noah said when they reached the door. His father didn’t say goodbye, heading for the car, but his mother lingered. He wasn’t sure if he should try to hug her or not.
His mother seemed conflicted as well. She patted him on the arm. “Bette is a sweet baby.”
“Thanks.” He thought about apologizing for Oscar but couldn’t think what to apologize for. Congratulating his dad on the successful sale of his business? Offering them a place to stay? “I’ll see you in the morning then? Nine o’clock?”
She nodded tersely. The car started. His mother left without another word. Noah watched them drive away. He should feel relief his parents were gone, but now he had figure out what the hell Oscar was thinking. He struggled to keep his food down as he returned inside.
Oscar sat in the living room, rocking Bette as she drank her bottle. Noah just stared at him for a minute. How was he so relaxed after what had happened? He clenched his fists. Oscar looked up and met his gaze. “What?”
“Don’t you ‘what’ me. What the hell was that about, asking my parents to stay? The first thing out of your mouth when I told you they were coming was that you didn’t want them here!”
Oscar scoffed. “It’s not like they were going to say yes. They were looking at me like something they’d scraped off the bottom of their shoe. No way would they shack up in this house of sin.”
He winced. Oscar had goaded them, but they were the real instigators. Shame pulsed through him. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong. They’re the ones who should be sorry.”
“Then why did you ask them to stay?”
“To make them say no.” The smugness was gone now, a steely anger in its place. “To force them to confront what shitty parents they are. They should feel shame.”
Noah sank to the sofa and put his head in his hands and collected himself. “But that’s the thing. They think they’re good parents. By leaving the Witnesses, I’ve doomed myself.”
Oscar snorted. “Bullshit.” He glanced down at Bette, who waved a fist at him. “I mean, bullpoop. They’re mad you aren’t in their cult anymore because it means they can’t control you. They would rather see you miserable and under their heel than happy without them. Which makes them sh— poopy parents.”
Noah let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I know.”
Oscar put Bette in her baby rocker before joining Noah on the sofa, putting his arm around him. Noah leaned into him, burying his face in his shoulder and breathing in his smell, a musk that he never could completely mask with deodorant. “I hate this.”
Oscar kissed his head. “Yeah, me too.”
Oscar held him for a little while, not saying anything. Eventually, Noah’s heart slowed, and some of his tension eased. When he was more relaxed, Oscar pulled away. “Do you want me to take tomorrow morning off and go with you?”
Noah shook his head. He did not need Oscar hovering around, trolling his parents, even if he meant well. “I’ll be okay. I’d rather you save your days off in case...” There were so many terrible possible scenarios that he c
ouldn’t finish the sentence. “Just in case.”
“You got it.” Oscar kissed him again. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ve got the baby.”
Noah nodded. Now that it was all over, exhaustion overwhelmed him. He started to get up, but Oscar tugged on him again. “Just so you know, you don’t need to worry about them hurting my feelings. It is literally not possible for me to care any less about what they think of me.”
Noah bit his lip. “Okay. But please don’t poke them anymore. I know you like a good fight, but I can’t deal with it right now.”
Oscar sighed dramatically. “I’ll try.”
Noah got to the hospital early. Unfortunately, his parents were even earlier. He found them already in Rebecca’s room. His mother sat beside her, holding her hand and praying. His dad just stood there, a Bible clutched in his hand, his expression inscrutable. They both looked at him when he entered the room. His mother had tears in her eyes.
“They say she’s ‘stable,’“ his mother said. She gestured around at all of the medical equipment. “But how is this stable?”
“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Noah said. “But she’s receiving the best possible medical care.”
His father frowned, radiating disappointment at the situation. He was used to being in control. “Did she receive a blood transfusion?”
Noah didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t asked, but with a major surgery like the one she’d gone through, it was likely. But it was over and dredging it up was useless. “No.”
His father’s shoulders relaxed. “Not polluted, then. Praise Jehovah.”
Noah clenched his fist. It shouldn’t surprise him that his father was relieved. The taboo against blood transfusions among the Witnesses was strong. People who died by refusing transfusions were viewed as martyrs. Would his dad prefer her death to her recovery with the help of a transfusion? He didn’t want to know the answer.
His mother pursed her lips. “The nurse said the doctor would be ’round to talk to us in a bit.”
They’d have to wait together, then. There was no avoiding it, but the thought of being stuck with his parents and his comatose sister sent his stomach roiling. “Do you want to get some coffee?” he asked his mom.