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Memories of Steven Whitaker, Noelle’s father – the man I chose to have a baby with, altering Noelle’s life in so many negative ways – come flooding to the surface with the force of a train. I’m angry and sad, and the small cab of Adrian’s truck is not equipped to handle twenty years of anger and regret. Maybe I’m overreacting, but my emotions are at war with what I know is rationale.
“You want to know about Noelle’s father?” I ask, rhetorically. “Here’s your answer. He’s gone, so you have no reason to be curious, or jealous, or even worry about how to fucking compete with him.”
Maybe my anger is wrongly directed at Adrian, but he’s the only target within reach.
“That’s not why I asked.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Lake. I just…” he hesitates, frustration coming off him in waves. “I just wanted to know where my place was.”
He reaches for me, and I bat him away. “Your place?” I rear back.
He runs a hand through his hair. “That was the wrong choice of words,” he admits.
Before I slam the door to his truck, I hear one last whispered plea. I’m not being fair, but I slam it anyway and don’t look back. Before I open the front door, I wipe away the tears and suck in a breath, trying to settle my nerves. Inside the house, a demanding and haunting melody comes from Noelle’s room, and it sets me on high alert. Her violin has always been an extension of her emotions.
Pressing my back to the door, I reach behind and flip the lock, hearing Adrian’s truck finally change gears and drive away.
Everything has an expiration.
Even something good.
I forgot how destroyed my house is now until I step further in and see the exposed concrete where my tile used to be. All my furniture is piled up at one end of the living room, and everything is covered in plastic. Flicking the light on, I stand in the middle of the chaos, feeling as though I am right at home with the raging emotions swirling around in my body at the moment. Taking a deep breath, I notice Noelle step out from the hallway.
Her long hair falls in waves around her shoulders and her blue eyes are red rimmed as if she’s been crying. Once she steps forward, she doesn’t stop until she’s in my arms, her shoulders shaking, and I forget everything that just happened.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, smoothing her hair and pulling her face away from my chest so I can look at her, worried she might be hurt or damaged.
She wipes the tears from her eyes and I can feel a shift in her, something telling me it’s permanent. When she looks up at me through tear-stained lashes, I know.
“I didn’t go to Sofia’s after practice,” she admits.
My hands cup her shoulders, holding her out in front of me as she makes her confession. Soothingly, I tuck her hair behind her ear.
“It wasn’t planned,” she says, shaking her head. “It just happened,” she shrugs. “I did everything you told me to do, make sure it was with someone I trusted, use protection…” her words die on her lips, and she wets them with her tongue. “I just didn’t think I would feel this way after.” A tear falls down her cheek and I capture it with my finger.
Taking a deep breath and hugging her to my side, I walk her into the kitchen. “I’d say this calls for some ice cream,” I state, forgetting momentarily that everything is wrapped in plastic. “Shit,” I say and both Noelle and I laugh.
“You know what?” I say, walking over to the refrigerator. “Fuck it.” I rip into the plastic.
* * *
“I thinkthis is the best ice cream I’ve ever had,” Noelle says, digging into the Chunky Monkey and plopping a heaping spoonful in her mouth.
“Ice cream tastes better after a heartbreak,” I tell her.
Noelle sighs. “I lost my virginity, I didn’t get my heart broken,” she says plainly, pushing the knife into my heart just a little bit further.
I know I’m supposed to be the cool single mom whose daughter is her best friend who can tell her anything – and I may very well be those things – but it doesn’t make it sting any less to know that your daughter is growing and changing in ways that make her more adult than kid. I’m reluctant to give up those parts that make her a kid, because even though she will be an adult soon, she will forever bemykid.
“Same thing,” I say, licking my spoon. “You’re saying goodbye to something that is never coming back. And before you tell me it’s sexist and outdated, it’s the same for boys, only they’ve been taught their whole lives to celebrate it instead of mourning it.” I touch her nose with the tip of my spoon, leaving a mark of ice cream, and I can’t help but think about the confession I made to Adrian about being jealous of the flour marks I’d witnessed my own mom give Beth. “It’s okay to mourn it.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, backs pressed against the plastic covered refrigerator eating ice cream.
“You should have warned me,” Noelle says, and I turn towards her, titling my head in question. “That our house looked like a scene fromIndependence Day,” she smirks at me.
“I make you watch too many nineties’ movies.” I turn back to the ice cream, feeling full but unable to stop myself.
Noelle laughs. “Yes, you do.” She takes the container from me and scrapes the sides.
“So, you and Gray?” I ask about her boyfriend, hesitantly. “Are you both good?” I didn’t ask before because I didn’t want to press her.
