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“Um…” he hesitates.
“Maybe I should drive you home. I need to ask your mom about taking you to the movies tonight,” I remind him.
He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. I can tell that he’s still worried about me seeing his house or maybe even meeting his mom. I take a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to put him at ease and show him that we’re not so different.
“What’s the address?” I ask him.
“267 Locke Lane,” he mumbles, and I nod.
“I actually grew up a few streets over,” I tell him, and his head snaps my way.
“You did?”
“Yeah, I was on Alastair,” I say.
I steer the truck toward that side of town. As we drive, the houses start to get closer together and more rundown looking.
“Where do you live now?” he asks me as we drive down the pothole-ridden streets.
“I’m actually staying at my mom’s house. She passed away recently and I’m fixing up and cleaning out her house to sell it.”
“I’m sorry about your mom,” he tells me, and I shake my head.
“Don’t be. She wasn’t a good mom or person. We weren’t close. I actually joined the military as soon as I could to get away from her.”
“Really?” he asks, and I nod.
“Yeah, I wanted to be able to take care of myself and make my way in the world. There wasn’t a whole lot here for me. The Mayson brothers were some of the only guys who were nice to me. To everyone else, I was the poor kid without a dad, and a mom who skipped town half the time.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly, and I wonder if it’s the same for him.
“It got better though. I made new friends in the military and got a whole new skill set.”
I turn onto his street and see a row of small apartment buildings. I pull up in front of the one he points to and park, and Noah immediately hops out.
“Let me help you with the groceries,” I tell him as I climb down and open the back door.
“But those are yours,” he says in confusion.
“Nah, they’re for you. Just something to get you by until I see you next week. We can make a trip to the store at the end of our Saturday sessions from now on. How does that sound?”
“But…” Noah furrows his brow, looking from me to the backseat filled with sacks of groceries. I know he wants to protest, to tell me he can take care of himself and he doesn’t need my help. I can practically see the words printed on his forehead.
Then his stomach growls again, and the kid dips his head down, nodding in defeat as he trudges closer to me. I place a hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away from me.
“Life isn’t supposed to be this cruel, especially at your age,” I tell him. Noah shrugs. “There’s no shame in getting help when you need it. It should be your mother’s job to provide the basics, but…” I take a deep breath, not wanting to let my anger get the better of me. I don’t want to make him more embarrassed than he already is. “But until she’s able to do that, I’m happy to step in.”
Noah nods, peering up at me through his shaggy hair. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s thankful. I’ll take that as a win.
We each take some bags and I grab the case of water before I follow him up the stairs and into the ground-floor apartment. There seem to be two on each floor with four floors total.
“Is your mom home?” I ask when Noah opens the door without using a key or anything.
“Doubt it,” he mutters.
I look around at the bare space as I follow Noah into his bedroom. It’s tiny, barely bigger than a closet, but the whole place seems like that. I’ve lived in similar places and hated each one.
Noah sets his bags down in his closet and I drop the water and bags of food that I was carrying in the same spot. I debate asking him for more details about his family or his home, but he seems agitated having me in his space.
