Mare Moody - [blank]

When we walk onto the curb, Noah bursts into laughter. His once glued on seriousness fades away and I am left with a giddish mess. I can't but laugh along to his infectious laughter. He puts his arm over me as we walk, laughing.

"Goddamnit Noah." I laugh.

"You were the one who knocked over the ENTIRE gum shelf." When he says this, his laugh grows louder and more intense. He has reminded himself why he was laughing.

"Let's get a cab this time," I mock him.

"Yes, lets."

"Get that pan!" Noah insist.

"This one?" I am digging through his disorganized drawers, attempting to find his desired pan. "Can't you just make it with one?"

I hold up a sturdy pot. The shiny metal glows back a reflection of my face.

"No." He is adamant. He has the zucchini placed on a cutting board and he is slaving over it. The slices he makes are so precise. He is stressing too much over this.

"It's just my father, Noah," I remind him, "he will like you no matter what."

He stops cutting the zucchini and looks at me.

"This is super important to me," he says as he looks into my eyes, "I am about to tell him that I got his daughter pregnant."

He doesn't know that he might not be the father. Just thinking about that makes my brain so much more fogged. I push the thought away and focus on Noah. I can understand his worries but I can't relate. I will never be in the same position as him. I wish I could understand but I know even if I tried, it wouldn't come close to an actual understanding.

"Ok," I say, "do what you need to do to bring your anxiety down."

"Thank you," he says, "now, I need that pan."

He once again points at the drawer. I grab yet another pan and I am immediately shot down. I reach for another one when Noah turns around.

"Oops," he says under his breath.

I am worried. Fear is written all over his face. My mind automatically skips to the worst case scenario. Is my father already here? Is something on fire? My brain races. I turn around quickly and mentally prepare myself.

"I left the pan on the stove," he says.

Lo and behold, a stainless steel pot sits on the stove. It looks identical to the three others I attempted to give him earlier. He takes it off of the stove and walks over to the sink.

"I'm sorry." He says this like I will be upset. If anything I find it comical.

I laugh and shake my head. He really needs to get his nerves under control.

He turns on the water and fills the pan half full. He places it back on the stove then immediately occupies himself with the zucchini yet again. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. I press my face to his back and hold him tightly. His grey t-shirt feels soft against my skin. Although, I can't see his face, I can feel his smile radiate onto the table in front of him. He carefully cuts a chunk of zucchini off and blindly attempts to put it in my mouth even though I am still standing behind him.

I bite into it and let the sweet water fill my mouth. The frail inside breaks with even the slightest pressure from my teeth. I chew it quickly.

"Thank you." I smile into his back. He turns around and puts his arms around my waist. He hugs me tightly and temporarily I am pulled off of my feet.

"No problem," he says, "now go put the noodles in the water"

He slaps my butt as I walk away. Immediately after the smack hits me, I slap his butt in return. He laughs and continues to cut the zucchini.

The water is boiling. Large bubbles are being forced up by the heat and popping on the surface. I open the package of noodles next to the stove and put the noodles into the disturbed water. They calm down the angry water and bring it to a soft current.

I turn back to Noah who has now put the sauce into a pot and is carefully stirring the zucchini bites into it.

"Now we wait," he says.

"Now we wait."

I hold Noah's watch in my hands. I am growing impatient. The clock reads 7pm. I have been watching each second tick away until my father knocks on the door. I begin to wonder if he will come at all. Noah waits in the kitchen with the completed pasta sitting in the oven.

"Is he coming?" Noah asks. I can tell he is growing as impatient as me.

"I don't know," I say, "I'm sorry."

I don't even know how defend my father actions. He has never actually cared so I don't know why I expected him to actually give an asserted effort now.

A part of me is happy that he didn't show up. Now Noah might understand my family's impact on my life. They know literally nothing about me and I know that now of them truly care to find out.

They cared when you were with Kane.

Maybe they would if you went back.

Deep breaths. Ignore them. I was in sophomore year of high school when I started to date Kane. My mother and Grandparents were still alive. People cared about me because they cared about me. Now, they are gone and I have to fend for myself.

Noah sits down at the table we pulled out. We got everything ready for the most undeserving of our affection. Just as he lays his head on the table in defeat, a knock is heard through the apartment.

I walk to the door slowly. Deep breaths. I have to let this happen. Noah needs to understand how little my family cares.

I open the door and there he stands. Robert Henderson in all of his bastard glory.

"Hey there!" He says enthusiastically.

"Hi Dad," I groan. Why did I agree to this, again?

I open the door and let him in. Noah is standing in the living, anxious as ever.

"You must be the new boy." My dad walks over to him and pushes his hand out. Noah grabs it and shakes hard. He is good at covering his nervousness. He knows he has to act tough around my father.

"The name's Noah, sir."

"Sir?" He looks back at me, impressed. He turns back to him and smiles from ear to ear.

"My name is Robert but you can call me Rob."

"Can I take your coat, Mr. Henderson?" Noah asks, politely.

"Why sure!" He says as he pulls his jacket off and lays it in Noah's outreached hand.

"And it's Rob," he corrects.

"So what's new with you, Kitten?" He looks at me.

"Other than Noah, nothing much." Noah looks at me in confusion. He was expecting me to tell him about my pregnancy but I want to put that off for as long as possible. At least through dinner.

"Well, you know me, never doing much these days," he sighs, "my bad knee has gotten me down most of time and I'm having to get disability."

I smile politely but frankly, I don't give a fuck. He starts to sense my uninterest and moves his focus to Noah who is frantically trying to get the pot of pasta out of the oven.

"So what do you do for a living?" He interrogates.

"I'm a firefighter," he says. This comes as a surprise to me. He never went to work when I was here so I assumed he didn't work.

"I'm on leave for a bit because of a nasty burn I got a few weeks ago," he says.

I try to think about any scars he had. Am I really that selfish? I didn't even know my own boyfriend's injuries.

"Wow," my dad says.

"Yeah, wow," I say nonchalantly. I feel so stupid.

Noah smiles at me. He knows very well that I never noticed or even asked. He places the giant pot on the table. Thankfully, it is still warm. I owe that to Noah.

"Looks delicious," my father says as he sits at the table and greedily grabs the tongs. He serves himself a heaping pile and immediately starts to pig out.

Noah makes a face at me. He is starting to draw an accurate picture of my father. A picture that he did not expect though I warned him. Noah grabs a serving but passes the plate to me. I blush and take the plate. My father looks extremely impressed. His standards are obscenely low.