Echo
Noah and I slept deeply, we slept long, and then we held each other for longer than we should have. Now, checkout is looming.
Cross-legged on the middle of the bed, I cradle my cell and stare at three messages: one new voice mail, one missed call, one new text. Each one from my mom. There’s a pressure inside me—this overwhelming craving to please my mother, to gain her approval—that prevents me from deleting them. The memories don’t help...both the good and the bad.
Mom said she’s on her meds. She said that she’s in control of her life. If that’s true, is she mimicking my father’s parenting style by attempting to dominate my life?
Noah steps out of the bathroom fully dressed, and his hair, still wet from his earlier shower, hangs over his eyes, leaving me unable to read his mood.
“Did you call her?” he asks.
“No.” I pause. “But what if I did?”
Noah shrugs then leans his back against the wall. “Then you did. I don’t claim to understand, but I promised you back in the spring that I’d stand by you. I’m a man of my word.”
He is. He always has been. “But you don’t agree that I should call her.”
“Not my decision to make.”
I shift, uncomfortable that Noah’s not completely on my side. “I’d like to know you support me.”
“I support you.”
“But you don’t approve.”
“You need to stop looking for people’s approval, Echo. That’s only going to lead to hurt.”
My spine straightens. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”
“You asked me to be okay with you contacting the person that tried to kill you. Forgive me for not setting off fireworks. You want to call her, call her. You want to see her, then do it. I’ll hold your hand every step of the way, but I don’t have to like seeing her in your life.”
His words sting, but they’re honest. The phone slides in my clammy hands. “I won’t call her today.”
“Because that’s your decision,” Noah says. “Not because you’re trying to please me.”
We’re silent for a bit before he continues, “I called the Malt and Burger in Vail. They can fit me into the schedule this week. If I want in, they can give me the walk-through of the restaurant this evening.”
A sickening ache causes me to drop a hand to my stomach. A week. We were supposed to travel back to Kentucky today. We were going to take another route so that I could try new galleries. But Noah has this need to find his mom’s family. He desires a place to belong.
Just like me.
If he wants to search for them, I can’t be the person standing in the way. “You should ask them to schedule you.”
“What if my mom’s family is bad news? Why would I want them in my life?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a great question. One I deal with daily. Maybe if we go, Noah will finally understand my struggle with my mother. “Let’s do this. Let’s go to Vail.”
Noah cuts his gaze from the floor to me. “This means you’ll be giving up visiting galleries on the way back.”
It will. Granting him this can cost me my dreams, but I’ve had enough time, and I guess I’ve failed. “There are probably galleries in Vail.” Hopefully.
“We’ll stay in a hotel the whole time. I’ll pay.”
“Noah...” My voice cracks. “No. I’m fine with the tent or I can help pay—”
“Let me do this,” he says, and the sadness in his tone causes me to nod.
“So we’re still heading west,” I say.
“West,” he responds.
Noah
My head pulses with the same speed as the cursor on the computer at the Vail Malt and Burger. Champagne hangovers suck.
“Clock in as soon as you walk in, and clock out the moment your shift is done and this is where you put your orders, you hear me?” The manager of the Malt and Burger is in the process of explaining to me the way “his” restaurant runs. He’s a six-two, two-hundred-and fifty-pound black man who, like the other managers throughout the summer, thinks he’s the only one that uses the system of sticking the paper orders over the grill. Two words: corporate policy.
“Got it,” I answer.
“You hear me?” he asks with a wide white grin. “It doesn’t leave the grill until it hits one hundred and sixty degrees.”
“Yeah, I hear you.” Food poisoning’s a bitch.
He slaps my back and if I wasn’t solid, the hit might have crushed me. “Good. Called around about you. Hear you’re a good man. We get a lot of travel employees through here, and you aren’t the only fresh face working this week. I expect you to pull your weight and not miss a beat, hear me? Otherwise, I’ll put you out.”
Loud and clear, and it’s going to be a long week if he says that phrase as much as he has in the past thirty minutes.
“So we’ll see you tomorrow?” He uses a red bandanna to wipe the sweat off his brow.