Before You Go

TWENTY

After my little workout, I feel so good I tackle Mom’s emails. I whip through them, keeping the most recent message open on my computer. I hit reply and write:

Hey Mom,

Sorry, it’s taken me a while to get back to you. I’m just trying to get used to the university, the people, and the coursework here. Starting over is harder than I thought it’d be.

Heard we’re all spending Thanksgiving together. Sounds good. I haven’t seen you for so long I’m starting to forget what you look like.

Say hi to Michael for me. And Stephen too.

Love,

T

Two could play at her game. She wants to judge and push and make me feel like shit with her snappy emails; I’ll dish mine up with a nice big dose of guilt. Touché!

It doesn’t make me feel better though; that’s the trouble. I’ve played the martyr too long. I hate to even go there, but maybe Dr. Payne has a point when she says I need to stop being a victim. A very small point. Not wanting to think about that or Mom any longer, I go outside to take a walk.

The temperature falls steadily as the sun begins to drop. It makes my nose run. I grab both the Kleenex and earbuds out of my pocket and make a left toward the park. My gloveless hands find warmth in the sleeves of my jacket.

Pumpkins and cornstalks decorate the porches and front stoops of the homes on my block. There’s a group of boys playing football in one of the front yards.

This is what normal looks like.

Once I get to the park, I grab a swing, close my eyes, and pump my legs. I move through the air in my own little world until someone grabs my feet.

I pull away and yank out my earbuds just in time to hear a familiar laugh.

“Want some candy, little girl?” Noah says between chuckles.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. He is literally breathtaking with his flushed skin and bright eyes.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strange boys in the park,” I tell him, grinning like an idiot. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be praying or fasting or something?”

“How did you know about that?” He sits on the swing next to me and rocks. His legs drag on the ground while mine dangle in the air.

“Professor Sands told me you were out of school for Sukkot,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Were you missing me at class today, Tabby?”

Yes!

I can feel the heat reach my cheeks but hope it passes for cold rather than embarrassment.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I laugh. “We started our projects today and Sands said we could have some extra time before our presentations because you’d be out for the Jewish holidays.” I raise an eyebrow. “Which is odd because I seem to remember somebody wearing a cross.”

“Guilty,” he says. “I have Buddhist beads too. I guess you could say I have a fascination with religion. I’m half Jewish, but I like to dabble in other faiths as well.”

“What? Like the boy in Life of Pi?”

“Kind of.” He bumps his swing into mine.

“Anyway, Sukkot is legit. I have the crazy family at my parents’ house to prove it. I just snuck out to grab a few things at my apartment and to get some fresh air. It’s been a long day.”

“I get that.” Boy, do I ever. I try to keep my eyes on his instead of staring at the way his sweatshirt hugs his chest.

“Ya know, I wanted to call you today to tell you I would be out and we’d have to reschedule our study session, but I didn’t have your number.”

He reaches in his pocket, pulls out his cell phone, and raises his eyebrows in question.

I bite my tongue and try to act like it’s completely normal for a guy to ask me for my phone number. It is a little easier knowing it’s only for homework purposes.

He punches in the numbers I give him and my heart beats faster with each one.

“Well, I better move. If I’m not back for our family dinner—” He shakes his head. “It will be ugly.”

He puts his hands on my shoulders and rubs my arms. “You need to dress better for the weather, Tabby. Get home before you get sick out here.”

Little does he know that my chattering teeth have nothing to do with the temperature outside.

My eyes follow him all the way out of the park. When he makes it onto the street, a red car stops and the guys inside try to get his attention. He ignores them and keeps walking. They yell something, but I can’t make out what they say.

Noah turns around with heat I’ve never seen in his face. I can hear his voice over the wind and the car’s engine. It’s clear as a bell. “No,” he shoots back, his hands bound in fists by his side. “I’m done with that shit. I’m done.”