supposed to be simple.”
Noah’s lips purse. At first I think he’s hesitating; then I realize he’s suppressing a smile. “I’d like that too.”
I grin, reach out, and squeeze his thigh. He straightens up, looking instantly confident.
“So, would you like to come to J.P. this Friday after work?” he asks.
“Okay.”
“Cool. Meet me near the garage at five fifteen. I’ll get us a copy of Rosemary’s Baby .”
I punch Noah gently on the sternum.
“ Firestarter .”
I hit him again.
“ Raging Bull ?”
“Better.” I smile at him, feeling suddenly very shy. “Should I bring an overnight bag?”
Noah shakes his head with well-faked conviction. “No, we’ll be good. I’ll give you a ride home after.”
“Okay.” I’m a big girl. I can live without Noah’s body for a night, maybe a few nights, if we decide to pay lip service to our half-assed attempt at staving off a relationship. And if we do manage it, the fact that I could be carrying his child is physical intimacy enough for the immediate future. Plus I’ll still have all the filthy-good sex memories to keep me going until we inevitably crack and wind up in bed together again. I give us about two weeks… But who am I kidding? I give us two hours.
I rub my thumbs over the backs of Noah’s hands and let them go. “I’d like that.”
“Me too.” He drains his coffee, sets the mug beside the plastic wand for a second, then slides it farther down the counter, as if that spot is reserved for more significant objects. “Well, I should head back to Arlington. My sister’s got more relatives due this afternoon. I’ve got my fingers crossed her in-laws might give my nephews Garage Band so I can totally commandeer it.”
“Cool.” I follow Noah to the living room and watch him get his coat and shoes back on. I follow him down the stairwell and out onto the front steps, savor a final study of his eyes in the silvery winter light. “What did you tell everyone when you disappeared to come over here?” I ask.
He grins. “I said a friend was having a tough time. That I’d be back when she was feeling better.”
I return his warm smile, wrap my arms around him for a quick hug. “She is, thank you. I’m going to start composing my speech for when my parents get back from their trip—the big announcement and all.”
“You should finish watching It’s a Wonderful Life ,” he says. “I love that movie.”
“Oh yeah. One of Scorsese’s finest, I’m sure,” I joke.
He puts his hand on my arm, gives it a little squeeze. “Merry Christmas, Abby.”
“Merry Christmas. I’ll see you Friday. Oh—that’s New Year’s Eve.”
“I know. Is that okay?”
I think for a second about the symbolism of that evening, about new starts, the romantic adventure I suspect we’re about to embark on together. I grin. “Yeah, that’s just perfect.”
He gives me a big smile and makes an okay ring with his thumb and finger. “I’ll get you and the kid some sparkling cider.”
The kid . I like that. “Thanks,” I say. I scream it in my head, thank you thank you thank you.
He heads down the front walk and calls back, “We’re going to be just fine, Abby.”
“I know. Drive safe.”
“I will. Keep the kid warm.”
This time as I watch him drive away, it doesn’t hurt. I watch his brake lights flash red as he reaches the corner, and warmth bursts in my chest. I run my hand over my stomach, poke it with my finger.
Your father’s a very nice man, I tell my middle. He did a very nice thing for your crazy old mother, a nicer thing than anybody should be asked to.
I head upstairs out of the cold. I wash Noah’s mug and set it in the rack, head back to the couch, and turn the movie back on. I watch it and I cry and I laugh. I smile as George Bailey runs screaming through the middle of Bedford Falls. I think about clothes—about tiny baby clothes and about what I might wear on New Year’s Eve when I
Noah’s lips purse. At first I think he’s hesitating; then I realize he’s suppressing a smile. “I’d like that too.”
I grin, reach out, and squeeze his thigh. He straightens up, looking instantly confident.
“So, would you like to come to J.P. this Friday after work?” he asks.
“Okay.”
“Cool. Meet me near the garage at five fifteen. I’ll get us a copy of Rosemary’s Baby .”
I punch Noah gently on the sternum.
“ Firestarter .”
I hit him again.
“ Raging Bull ?”
“Better.” I smile at him, feeling suddenly very shy. “Should I bring an overnight bag?”
Noah shakes his head with well-faked conviction. “No, we’ll be good. I’ll give you a ride home after.”
“Okay.” I’m a big girl. I can live without Noah’s body for a night, maybe a few nights, if we decide to pay lip service to our half-assed attempt at staving off a relationship. And if we do manage it, the fact that I could be carrying his child is physical intimacy enough for the immediate future. Plus I’ll still have all the filthy-good sex memories to keep me going until we inevitably crack and wind up in bed together again. I give us about two weeks… But who am I kidding? I give us two hours.
I rub my thumbs over the backs of Noah’s hands and let them go. “I’d like that.”
“Me too.” He drains his coffee, sets the mug beside the plastic wand for a second, then slides it farther down the counter, as if that spot is reserved for more significant objects. “Well, I should head back to Arlington. My sister’s got more relatives due this afternoon. I’ve got my fingers crossed her in-laws might give my nephews Garage Band so I can totally commandeer it.”
“Cool.” I follow Noah to the living room and watch him get his coat and shoes back on. I follow him down the stairwell and out onto the front steps, savor a final study of his eyes in the silvery winter light. “What did you tell everyone when you disappeared to come over here?” I ask.
He grins. “I said a friend was having a tough time. That I’d be back when she was feeling better.”
I return his warm smile, wrap my arms around him for a quick hug. “She is, thank you. I’m going to start composing my speech for when my parents get back from their trip—the big announcement and all.”
“You should finish watching It’s a Wonderful Life ,” he says. “I love that movie.”
“Oh yeah. One of Scorsese’s finest, I’m sure,” I joke.
He puts his hand on my arm, gives it a little squeeze. “Merry Christmas, Abby.”
“Merry Christmas. I’ll see you Friday. Oh—that’s New Year’s Eve.”
“I know. Is that okay?”
I think for a second about the symbolism of that evening, about new starts, the romantic adventure I suspect we’re about to embark on together. I grin. “Yeah, that’s just perfect.”
He gives me a big smile and makes an okay ring with his thumb and finger. “I’ll get you and the kid some sparkling cider.”
The kid . I like that. “Thanks,” I say. I scream it in my head, thank you thank you thank you.
He heads down the front walk and calls back, “We’re going to be just fine, Abby.”
“I know. Drive safe.”
“I will. Keep the kid warm.”
This time as I watch him drive away, it doesn’t hurt. I watch his brake lights flash red as he reaches the corner, and warmth bursts in my chest. I run my hand over my stomach, poke it with my finger.
Your father’s a very nice man, I tell my middle. He did a very nice thing for your crazy old mother, a nicer thing than anybody should be asked to.
I head upstairs out of the cold. I wash Noah’s mug and set it in the rack, head back to the couch, and turn the movie back on. I watch it and I cry and I laugh. I smile as George Bailey runs screaming through the middle of Bedford Falls. I think about clothes—about tiny baby clothes and about what I might wear on New Year’s Eve when I
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