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“Out front. He should be coming inside any second.”
My parents are up and out of their chairs in no time and heading for the front door.
“Mom. Dad.”
They don’t slow down. I pick up Mom’s sandwich, take a bite, and follow. They reach the door the same time as Noah.
“Well,” Dad says in a deeper than normal tone and steps in front of my mother. He didn’t seem mad a moment ago. Maybe it’s been building. This man did knock up his daughter, after all.
“Now, dear.” Mom squeezes his elbow. “Let’s not.”
“I’d like to know who he thinks he is?”
“Charles,” Mom scolds. “That’s enough.” She smiles at Noah and pushes Dad aside. “Won’t you please come in?”
Noah walks in, and I hook him by the elbow.
“Shall we go to the living room?” Mom asks.
“Do we have time?” I ask Noah.
“Time?” Mom repeats.
“I’m going back to New York with Noah.”
“Today? Now?”
“We have time,” Noah says.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Noah and I sit on the couch, and Mom and Dad sit in their chairs. It doesn’t take Noah fifteen minutes to have my parents eating out of his hand. Another twenty minutes after that, he receives a call. “Would you excuse me? I have to take this. My brother.”
“Of course,” Dad answers.
Noah gets up and walks a few feet away.
“I like him,” Mom whispers.
“I do, too,” Dad agrees.
“Thought you might once you got to know him.”
Noah comes back. The phone call was brief. “I hate to be rude, but the plane’s ready. Shall we get your things?”
“Why don’t you help her, dear,” Dad says. “I’ll keep Noah busy.”
I give Noah the there’s-nothing-I-can-do shrug.
He answers my dad, “I’d like that.”
“Good. Let’s sit back down, then.”
I touch Noah’s hand and leave him there.
“So,” I hear Dad say and stall when Mom and I reach the stairs.
