Page 35

“ Y ou need to switch back to Psych.” A week ago Noah and his perpetual confidence planted a seed and the damn thing has taken root. With it, my once dormant life is flourishing.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop is a lifestyle for me, so I am working really hard to ignore those niggling thoughts that dog me and focus on the positive.

I love working at Beanz and Bookz.

I love my friends.

I love that I’m even thinking about making the switch back to Psych (if i even can) and most importantly, I think I love Noah.

Pretty sure he might love me, too.

There’s an energy that flows between us, creating a warm and gooey molasses- like thickening of my blood whenever he’s around. Even now, as he sits beside me, holding my hand while a neuropsychologist straps glues electrodes to my head, I feel a sense of calm.

Something unknown like this would normally produce a crippling anxiety akin to a tarantula crawling on the face of an arachnophobe, and in truth, without Noah, it’s likely I would be running in circles screaming, get off me at the poor woman whose job it is to help me. But again, in his presence there’s a peacefulness. A newly hatched belief that I will be okay. Safety.

On recognizing that, my brain attempts to steal me away on a tangent of he’s trying to fix you . W hat happens when he leaves? Unfortunately for it, Noah’s thumb sweeps over the back of my hand before he leans down and follows it with a tender kiss.

That sucker never stood a chance because as Noah said himself, he isn’t fixing me, he’s holding my hand as I heal myself.

“Okay, Charlotte, we are done.” With a tinny click, Wendy, the tech places the glue and syringe she’s used to stick the electrodes onto my scalp, back into her trolley and wheels to her desk laden with screens. A camera sits on one, and another two are mounted in different points on the ceiling.

“I’m hoping the doctor explained what an EEG does, but in case he didn’t, we are basically using electrodes to monitor the electrical signals that your brain cells make to communicate with each other. It will last around thirty minutes, and around a quarter of the way through I will get you to do some breathing tests, then we will test for photo sensitivity with a really annoying strobe light, then we’ll turn off the lights and have a little rest.”

“And that will tell you if Lotte has epilepsy?” Noah asks, foot tapping on the cold white linoleum floor.

“One EEG is never conclusive, so there may be another in future, but for now it gives us an indication if there is any seizure activity happening.”

I nod in understanding, but Noah adds, “Unlike me, Lotte knows all about this stuff. She studied Neuropsychology for almost two years. I’m trying to convince her to get back into it.”

“You did, did you?” Wendy plops into her seat, sends me a wink in the small gap between the monitors. “Well I hope your boyfriend is successful. There’s a chronic shortage in the field. We could do with a bright young woman like yourself.” The urge to correct her ‘boyfriend’ presumption, and dismiss their shared confidence is strong, but I ignore it.

“I hope he’s successful too.” In my periphery, I see him inhale deeply, pride filling his lungs as much as air.

I can’t help but do the same.

“Can you still see it?” I ask, staring into therear-viewmirror, and rubbing the lingering spots decorating my forehead. “It’s still red.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be if you stopped rubbing?”

An evil smile twitches my lips. “I thought you liked watching me rub things?” Silently, Noah shifts in his seat, plants his foot on the accelerator, and my smile blooms. “Thank you for coming with me. And for all the pep talks. I don’t think I could have done this without you.”

“You could have.” He nods emphatically, eyes wondering briefly from the oncoming traffic. “You can do anything you want once that brilliant little mind is set.”

“If someone had said that to me a few months ago, maybe even weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“And now?” The hope is his voice is undeniable.

“Now I think you might be right.” Like he did at the hospital, Noah inhales deeply, then bites his lip, eyes darting back and forth.

“What?” I ask.

“What what?”

“You want to ask me something?”

“How do you know?”

“Psychic. Now spit it out.” I’m well aware, and respectful of his gun shyness. Anytime he has questioned my intentions, or pushed me to be brave I’ve reacted like a wild horse being saddled. “I promise I won’t bolt.”

“That’s a good thing, especially since we’re in a moving vehicle.” Another inhale and he begins what I expect to be more prodding. “I want to take you on a date. A real one … in public. Around people.” He adds.

Giddiness threatens to prompt an immediate yes, but as demonstrated at hockey, and at O’Reilly’s, we are shit at hiding our feelings towards each other, and he had a sister who knows every man woman and child in greater Boston.

“It will get back to Claire.”

“Good. I want it to. She means well, but she has taken the overprotective sister bit too far.” His unfairly white teeth sink back into that plump bottom lip.

“And?” I ask, poking my index finger into his bicep.

“And I don’t think we should wait for the gossipers to do their thing. I don’t want us to hide anymore. I want us to tell her. Together.” Perhaps he expects me to yell, or take off my army boots and toss them at his head, because he squints, bracing for impact.

“She won’t be happy.”

“She won’t. But she has to get over it. You could really use her help to work out … everything you need to work out.” Carole, he means, but is too afraid to say. “And it’s my final year of college. I want it to mean something. To enjoy it. To not spend it hiding the girl I’m crazy about in the shadows.”

Heart swelling, ear ringing glee push me to pounce into his lap and scream ‘I love you’. The words fizzle and crack on my tongue like popping candy, but I swallow them, hearing them pop all the way down. Coming out to Claire, admitting to her that her brother and I want to be together, and confessing love to each other are two very different things.

I don’t want Noah to leave, but I very much want him to succeed. Since one doesn’t come without the other, I need to keep those three little words inside.

So I steel myself, and calmly reply, “Are you sure?”

“Never been surer.”

The promise of public affection has lust, fear, and excitement … but mainly lust, pinging between us as we climb the stairs to my apartment. Fingers fluttering over my goose-fleshed skin, Noah’s hands slide under my sweater, pulling him against him for the final few steps towards my door. “I want to taste you so bad.”

“Quinn,” I manage to mumble, proud that I remembered her this time. “Home.”

“I can be quiet if you can?”

“With the way my legs have turned to jell-o as I walk, I can make no promises.”

“Let me help with that.” Noah bends and sweeps me off my feet, and my ankles accidentally lock just above his ass. “You know, there are positions we can try that would keep both our mouths busy at the same time.”

“Eww.” The door flies open and there is Quinn, trash bag in hand, cheeks and eyes red and blotchy. “Not what I needed to hear right now.”

I release my grip, but Noah doesn’t so my legs swing like a pendulum and I pretend that’s normal. “Hi, Quinn.”

“Hi.” Dropping the trash, she leans against the door jam and folds her arms over her chest. “How was the EEG?”

“Tiring, but good. The technician couldn’t tell me anything about the results but still, it was good.” I take in the gray bags prematurely aging her lovely round face. “Rough day?”

“Could say that. Dad stopped by.” A fresh wave of tears stream down her face, leading Noah to return me to earth.

“Why don’t I take this out?” Picking up the bag, he kisses the top of my head then wanders away. I don’t at all take in that pert hockey butt as he does.

When I manage to tear my eyes away, I find Quinn, sobbing with her face buried into her hands. “I take it the visit didn’t go well, then?”

“Understatement,” she hiccups. “He worries too much. Wants too much control. Thinks no one is good enough for me.” As she speaks, I gently peel her hands away and lead her inside. “Firsthand experience tells him how frightfully lonely the life of a hockey widow is, and he doesn’t want that for me. I’m too young to even consider marriage, but he fails to recognize that. And I know things were messed up with Jordan the douche, but Troye isn’t him, but he just can’t let go.”

“Because you’re his little girl,” I almost whisper, “… his life. He wants you to be happy and safe. He’s trying to help.”

“Without considering what I want? No. I don’t need that. Don’t need him.”

Whether she’s trying to convince herself or me, the way Quinn speaks about not needing, or missing her dad, tells me the opposite is true. Her method of combing through childhood stories, desperately searching for the moment things went wrong between them, is further confirmation. It’s also a rare time that I find myself absorbing the positive in what I’m hearing, and not the negative. It also makes me miss something I’ve never known.

I can’t help but think of Noah, sitting in the same deadbeat dad boat as me. Though unlike me, I’m certain she can navigate it without a proverbial paddle.

He’s pottering around in the kitchen pretending not to listen, the initial pout he had when returning from the dumpster replaced by a look of concern.

“Quinn,” he says suddenly, the first time he’s dared to speak. “I can’t speak as a dad, or son of one, but I can speak as a guy, we can tend to think in black and white. Combine that with the urge to protect the ones we love …” my breath hitches somewhere between my heart and throat as his eyes dart to mine. “Sometimes, the need is so strong we don’t think of the consequences of our words. Look at Claire, she’s not even a dude and she’s determined to ruin my life.”

“Ruin?” Quinn sniffs, “You mean run?”

“Yeah, sure.” The deadpan expression he shoots her has a bright, but weary smile cracking through her gray and she looks between the two of us.

“And are you going to let her keep doing it?” she asks.

“No. No I’m not.” Another look to me. “We’re not.”