Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
TWENTY-FIVE
Sophia
The smell of something butter and vanilla wafts into my bedroom as I pull on my jeans. If Oliver’s trying to cook, he’s going to burn down the entire building. I grab a sweater and head out.
I poke my head into the kitchen and find Noah over the stove.
“I’m making pancakes,” he says.
“You are?” I ask. “I don’t have ingredients for pancakes.”
“But you have a store on the corner that does.”
“I do?” I start to laugh, and Noah grins.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been to your apartment before,” he says.
“You live in Cincinnati,” I say.
“It’s nice,” he adds.
I can’t remember the last time I spent time with Noah without Mom around. She was always the central point that we’d all circle.
“Thanks. It’s a rental. And Jules is still paying rent. At some point, I guess I’ll have to find something else.” Then I think about Worth. He’d have us living together. It’s weird, because if I’d just started dating someone and we liked each other a whole lot, I might consider moving in together if my lease was up or something. But with Worth it feels different somehow. Like it would be a lifetime commitment instead of it being about sharing utilities.
“Maybe you could get another roommate,” he says. “What about that guy you came to Cincinnati with on Thanksgiving?”
“Not sure he’d want to room with me here.” But if I asked him to, he probably would. “Where’s Oliver?” I ask, keen to change the subject from Worth.
“Running. He’ll be back in a minute.”
“So what are we going to do today? Go to a museum or something?”
Noah shrugs. “Hang out. Watch a movie. Take a walk.”
“And, just so I can brace myself, when am I getting The Talk?”
“The Talk?” he asks.
“The one where you tell me Dad’s still our dad and I should make an effort because he’s sorry or whatever.”
Noah slides a pancake onto the plate resting on the side of the stove. “Oliver might have that planned—it was his idea to come and visit—but that kind of talk isn’t on my agenda.”
“So, out of the blue, the two of you just came to hang out?”
Noah flips two pancakes in the pan and I watch, willing him to do it without breaking them. “It’s not out of the blue,” he says. “Dad’s second family bombshell has… well, it’s been a lot.”
I grab plates from the cupboard and flatware from the drawer.
“Understatement of the year, but yeah,” I say.
“To say that I’m pissed off with Dad doesn’t even come close,” he says. “But you know, I’m also pissed with Mom.”
My heart lifts and squeezes in my chest. I thought he and Oliver were so blasé about the situation. It’s comforting to know Noah isn’t just taking it all in stride, although I wish he wasn’t hurting. “I know what you mean,” I reply.
“Mom was trying to protect us, and she didn’t want to have three kids on her own—I get it. But it feels like our entire childhood was a lie.”
“Exactly,” I say, relieved he gets it.
Oliver comes in from his run and his gaze volleys between us. “What happened?”
“We were just talking about Mom and Dad,” Noah says.
Oliver scrapes his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to feel,” he says. “I’m mad at them but I love them. I want things to go back to normal but that can’t ever happen.”
“Right,” Noah says. “I can’t imagine not having Dad in my life, but I can barely look at him at the moment. I used to think he was the kind of man I wanted to be. But now… he’s exactly the opposite of the man I want to be. I’d never want to hurt my family, my kids, the way he’s hurt us.”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so connected to my brothers than I do in this moment. The three of us are all going through the exact same thing—and no one else in the world can relate in precisely the same way. It’s just the three of us on this island.
“I’ve been selfish,” I say. “I thought you two were happy to go along with things. I had no idea you felt this way.”
“It’s been hard,” Oliver says. “On all of us.”
“Normally I’d talk to Mom if something massive happened in my life, but I can’t talk to her about this,” Noah says. “Because she’s part of the problem. If I criticize Dad, she’s so unfazed by it, because she’s had twenty-five years to get used to it, that it just makes me feel angrier. It doesn’t help at all.”
“Yeah, I think Mom just wants us to be over it already,” Oliver says.
“She’s ready to live her life—and that’s the other thing. I feel intense guilt that I was the reason Mom hasn’t lived the life she’s wanted to all these years,” Noah says, pressing his fingers into his eyebrows. I’ve never heard him sound so bereft before. Noah’s always so measured and even. It’s hard seeing him so upset.