Page 23 of Finding Noah

Like Soldier was my dad and he was married to Mom.

God, I wished Soldier could've been my dad instead of the one I had.

There was nothing I wished for more.

Soldier's eyebrows rose as he looked ahead. “That's one big fuckin' TV,” he muttered. “How big is that?”

“It's …” Mom bent over to read the price tag and snorted a laugh. “Ninety-eight inches. And it's … a lot of money.”

“It would fit the wall,” I reasoned, still looking up at Soldier.

“I mean, you're not wrong,” he agreed, hesitation pinching his brows together. “It'd fit the whole damn house.”

Mom wandered down the row of TVs and said, “I think we should be looking at something more like … this.” She pointed at a TV that was significantly smaller. “This one is sixty-five inches, and it's on sale.”

I sighed. “But this one is bigger,” I complained as Soldier laid his hands on my shoulders and steered me away from the biggest TV I'd ever seen in my life and toward one that was only a little bigger than the one Mom and I had in our house.

“But this one,” Mom said, “actually fits.”

“I can make big things fit into small places,” Soldier said absent-mindedly, glancing at the price tag for the TV Mom had found. “A little pushing and a little lube and—”

“Oh my God, Soldier, stop it,” Mom scolded, smacking his chest and rolling her eyes, but they both laughed and smiled at each other, and a warm feeling spread through my chest.

No, I had never wanted anything more than I wanted Soldier to marry my mom and be my dad forever. If that could just happen, I'd never want another thing for as long as I lived.

Soldier bought that TV, and he helped the guy at the store tie it to the roof of Mom's car. We drove it back to our community on the outskirts of River Canyon, left the big box in Soldier's living room, and then he suggested we order pizza for dinner.

We ate at our house, and as we sat around the table, eating and talking and laughing, I wondered why we couldn’t just live in one house.

One table, one couch, one TV.

Why did Soldier go home at night sometimes when his home could be with us?

I didn't say anything because I knew Mom would have some reason why things were the way they were, and I knew Soldier would just smile and shrug and say something like, It's just the way it is, buddy. But it felt stupid. I couldn't explain why it felt stupid; it just did. And maybe it was because home stopped feeling like home unless he was around. I couldn't say when that feeling had begun, but all I knew was, the second he left our house, he took the warm and comfy feelings with him.

When he wasn't around, I didn't feel safe, and even though Mom never said it aloud, I knew she felt the same.

***

“Ready to hang that TV, bud?” Soldier asked, leaning against the wall beside the couch.

Mom was in the kitchen, washing dishes from the breakfast we'd just eaten, while I played on the Nintendo Switch Grandma and Grandpa had given me for Christmas. I was hoping Soldier would sit down and play, but apparently, he had other ideas instead.

“Do you need my help?” Mom called from the sink.

“Nope, Noah's got it,” Soldier replied, waggling his brows at me.

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. “What? I can't pick that thing up! It's heavy! It's—”

“You know how you train your body to pick up heavy things?”

“How?”

He flexed his arm and said, “By lifting heavy things. Come on. I'll do most of the work. You'll just be my assistant.”

With a sigh, I dropped the Switch to the coffee table and grumbled, “Fine.”

I got off the couch and trudged my way to the front door.