Page 152 of Before We Break

“Uncle Noah,” Auggie says, reminding me I still have to be an adult today.

“Fine. Let’s go make breakfast.”

He jumps off the bed with a loud thud and scurries to the kitchen as I throw back the covers and stand. The fresh tattoo on my thigh throbs under my sweatpants, and I make a mental note to pull off the second skin later. Gwen did an incredible job.

I’ve learned to do a lot of things with my left hand lately, but tattooing isn’t one of them.

Case in point: Auggie’s breakfast. I drop the first set of toaster waffles onto the floor and manage to save the second attempt. The chicken nuggets survive, though, so at least there’s that.

I don’t usually drop him off at preschool until later in the morning, but Auggie begs to go as soon as they open, and I have no excuse not to let him. It’s not like I’m working, and I’m not exactly the best company to be around these days. I can’t draw with him or make forts and shadow puppets.

Signing is nearly impossible, so Jonah has taken over bath time since I can’t do that, either. It’s good for them, though. They need the extra bonding time. I’m thinking about asking Jonah to move in since he’s been looking for a place. He’d have to sleep on the pull-out, but it’s better than Emma’s lumpy couch.

The transition hasn’t been easy; there’s a lot of history we need to reconcile, but Jonah’s in therapy twice a week and he attends meetings to maintain his sobriety. I’m not sure we’ll ever be as close as we used to be, but for Auggie’s sake, I’m willing to put in the effort.

We arrive at the school as soon as the doors open, and Auggie barrels toward his classroom as fast as his little legs will carry him. “Bye, Uncle Noah,” he calls over his shoulder.

“See ya, buddy.”

The noise must draw Clio’s attention because she steps out of her classroom just in time to catch him in a tight hug. My breath catches in my throat.

There’s that smile I’ve missed so much, only it’s not directed at me, and I’m not sure it ever will be again. She ushers him to his cubby nearby. While he hangs up his backpack, we lock eyes across the corridor, and time stands still for a fraction of a second.

I raise my hand and wave. She waves back with the smallest lift of her hand. Neither of us says anything, and the hole in my heart becomes a gaping chasm. I’m not sure how much longer I can withstand it.

The morning passes at a glacial pace; without work to keep me busy or Clio to distract me from my misery, I don’t know what to do with myself. What do people do all day besides wallow?

Me: I’m bored.

Jonah: Spend a year in jail then you can talk to me about bored.

Emma: Too soon.

Me: Lunch?

Jonah: Only if you’re buying.

Me: Deal. Meet me at Catalano’s in 30.

Emma and Jonah are already at a small four-seater table when I arrive. Bypassing them, I head up to the counter to place my order. After a minute with no Ben, I do the asshole thing and ring the bell. I never liked using those, but it’s not like Ben to make his customers wait.

A few seconds pass before his head pops over the swinging doors to the kitchen. “Be there in a sec. Oh. Hey, Noah. My baker quit, so it’s gonna be a minute. You want your usual?”

“Yep.”

“You got it. I’ll be back.”

I head over to the table and sit across from Emma. In the midst of a prolonged, awkward silence, she picks up a napkin and folds it into an origami swan.

Jonah’s the first one to break the silence. “Do you remember the time capsule we buried back behind the old house?”

Emma’s brows draw together. “What? When was this?”

I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “You were only like six years old, so you wouldn’t remember.”

“Peak trauma. Got it. I'll bring this up with my therapist later. Go on.”

Jonah chuckles. “What are the odds it survived?”