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“You’re going out again with Elliot?” Noah watched as she applied her mascara.
She turned to face him, and found herself once again momentarily stunned at how much her child looked like her lover—his eyes. It was as though—through him—she’d been given the opportunity to explore what never was, and yet what should’ve been.
“Yes,” she told him, meeting his stunning blue eyes, and smiling brightly. “We’re going to dinner.”
Her son continued to watch her as she turned back to the mirror to apply her lip gloss. “Are you in love with him?”
She nearly dropped the applicator. “Excuse me!?”
“It’s just . . .” Noah began and shifted his weight awkwardly. “He gave you that necklace, and you never take it off. And . . . every time you talk about him, your face gets all schmoopy.”
“Schmoopy,” she repeated with a laugh and raised an eyebrow in question.
He nodded earnestly. “All soft and silly,” he explained. “Mostly you’re stern, but then with him you’re schmoopy.”
She shook her head, biting back laughter. Trust her son to call her stern. “Stern . . .” she repeated. “I could show you stern.”
He took a deep breath and looked down at his feet before looking back at her. “It’s okay if you are. I like him, too.”
Was her son giving her permission? She was torn between being charmed and feeling the need to put him in his place. “I’m glad you approve,” she answered wryly.
“It’s okay really,” he answered in a rush. “I just want you to be happy. You’ve been sad and cranky for a long time.”
It was a punch to the gut, hearing her child call her sad and cranky. And she braced herself against the bathroom counter. “Have I really?” She didn’t want him to confirm it, but she needed to know all the same.
“It’s okay,” Noah said, smiling wanly. “You’re a good mom. It’s just . . . I want you to be happy, too.”
Happy.
So many people invested in her happiness. She reached up to touch the compass. Elliot had said it was to lead her to happiness, and now her son was wishing the same thing.
“You’re getting schmoopy again,” Noah observed. He shifted his weight again as though measuring his words. “It’s okay if you do love him. I like him, too. I think you should . . . go for it,” he finished in a rush.”
Go for it. Was her son really giving her permission?
“Do you?” she asked, and cocked her head at him.
“Yeah,” he said, looking down at his feet. “I think he loves you, too. He got all schmoopy, too, every time he talked about you . . . when we were coming back from Connor’s place.”
She blushed, and looked away briefly. She knew that look, she’d seen it, and felt it warm her from the inside out. “Yes . . .” she answered. “Well . . .”
“Have fun, Mom.” He wrapped his arms around her to embrace her from behind. “And . . . it’s okay if you bring him back here after.”
She blinked and bit her lip. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? “Noah . . .” she cautioned, neither willing nor prepared to have this conversation with her child.
“You love each other,” Noah said. “Right?”
She couldn’t deny it, and there was no doubt she looked schmoopy again as she felt a blush creeping up her chest and into her cheeks. Yes, yes, she loved Elliot, and she wasn’t going to lie to her son.
With a soft smile, she nodded. “Yes, I’ve loved him for a long time,” she confirmed.
“And he loves you,” Noah said. “I know it.”
I love you.
At the time, at the nadir of his grief, his words had hit her like a slap. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let herself process them or the implication. Now, though, she found herself often thinking back on it. He’d not said it since then—instead dancing around it with phrases like “I care about you,” and “you mean the world to me.”
She knew that she was going to have to be the one to say it next—and there was no denying it—it was obvious even to her son. Absently, her hand drifted up to the compass. She knew enough to know that it had cost him a few months’ salary. The gesture was far more than symbolic. He may as well have given her an engagement ring.
And she wore it with the same intent—a tangible reminder of him, of their link.
“Anyway,” her son’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “It’s not like I don’t know about sex.”
“Noah!” He may as well have said Stop dancing around and get a room already. Her beautiful, cherubic son was growing up, and she was not prepared to deal with it.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a little kid anymore . . .”
“You’re not twenty-eight either.” She shook her head. “And even if you were . . .” she shook her head and changed the subject. “I’m glad you like him.” She paused. “You’re gonna be okay on your own? Do your homework and everything?”
He sighed, dramatically. “Mom. Go. I’ll leave everything out for you to check when you get back. And . . .” he paused again and smiled. “Go for it.”
End