“We were thinking tonight?” A part of me wants him to say he is busy but another part wants him to say yes so that I can appease Noah.
“Works for me!” I can hear the smile on his face, “Where is your apartment?”
I never thought of it as ‘our’ apartment or even ‘my’ apartment. It has always been Noah’s. But now I realize that the spend every night here. I have basically moved in without a formal invitation. I know Noah doesn’t care but a guiltiness blooms in my throat.
“Copley Square,” I say loosely.
“Alright, send me the full address tonight and I’ll be there around 6, ok?” He searches for affirmation. It takes an enormous amount of bravery to agree to the plan. I have a fear that I will regret this. My father knows too much and Noah knows too little. This could go really badly really quickly,
“Sure.” I force the vowels out of my larynx, “I’ll see you then.”
I hang up the phone and hang it to Noah.
“He’ll be here at 6,” I say.
He looks at his watch and looks back at me, scared.
“It’s already 2. We have to go to the grocery store now,” he says as he starts to walk back to the bedroom. I follow close behind him. He starts to quickly strip once he is in the room.
I can’t help but watch him. As he pulls off his shirt, I see his back muscles flex and his shoulder blades extend. I walk over him and gently place my lips on his back. My arms wrap around his waist and I hold him firmly.
He sighs and throws his shirt on the floor. He attempts to rotate in my arms so that his face is facing mine. When he achieves this, he places a kiss on my forehead. He reaches his hands down and puts them against my stomach. He smiles so widely. I feel wanted and needed. I know if this baby is his then it will have a good and happy life.
“We’ve got to go,” he says. I know he doesn’t want to leave either but duty calls. I have to make dinner for my father.
I walk away from him and get dressed in my usual attire. Old t-shirt, jeans and converse. My apparel stopped maturing when I stopped maturing.
He wears a soft navy blue t-shirt that hugs his body in all of the right places. His jeans carefully caress his thighs and hang gently on his waist. When he stretches, I can see his white underwear band from below his shirt.
I am becoming obsessed with him slowly. I don’t know if this is unhealthy but I’ve stopped caring. I just want to be with him. I think I am at the bottom of the hole with no way out. I don’t mind it one bit.
“Alright, let’s go,” he says as he slips his shoes on.
He walks out of the bedroom and reaches for my hand. I grab it, willingly. He stops at his coat rack and pulls on a hoodie.
“It’s starting to get cold,” he says as he hands one of his hoodie’s to me. I take it from him and pull it over my body. It is a little big but it nestles me with warmth. I pull the hood over my head and smile up at him. He chuckles when he sees me drowning in his sweater.
“Come on.” He takes my hand again and we walk out together.
Things seem to be ok. I am happy where I am. I walk hand and hand with the potential father of my baby and I feel love in my heart.
We take the elevator down and walk through the lobby. When we reach the street, I immediately aim for a taxi. I start walking towards the line of them but Noah’s arm doesn’t follow me.
“That baby needs to have a healthy environment,” he says, “we should walk so that you get a little exercise in.”
I smile. He really does care.
I follow his lead and we walk through the streets of Boston. The cool breeze is becoming frigid and the leaves that were formerly on the trees have now made their home on the grass and concrete.
We pass car after car and walk through crowds of hundreds of people. I love the city. It has always been my home. It is a way for my introverted self to have the opportunity to be around people and receive social satisfaction while not having to be bothered with a conversation.
As we walk farther the wind gets colder. My hand begins to freeze against his and I feel my thoughts beginning to focus on the goal at hand. To get to the grocery store.
I don’t think that Noah had planned for the weather outside to be this cold. His face is growing paler and he looks pained. He doesn’t want to admit that we should have taken a cab but he knows very well that I was right.
“Are you ok?” I ask as our steps continue.
“Mhm,” he groans. This makes me chuckle. So much for caring about me being healthy. Now I am freezing to death.
“It’s only a block away.” He sounds hopeful.
I laugh at his unease. It is, after all, his fault. We walk across the street in a hurry and I can see the glowing orange sign from across the block.
In tandem, our feet get closer and closer. I can feel my hands go numb as I focus on the task at hand.
Then it stands before us in all of its shitty glory. The old building looks like it has been in one to many snow storms. A thick layer of dirt rises its way up the side of the building rests in the dissolving gutters. It makes me worry about the quality of the food I’m about to purchase. Though, on second thought, giving my father food poisoning has certain comedic value to it, so Noah and I continue our voyage into the store.
The automatic doors open. The metal screeches as it is pulled. I swear I see sparks coming from the old mechanics. I step through. The inside of the store smells of old plastic and disintegrating non-perishable items.
“What are we going to make?” I ask Noah. I don’t usually cook so I’m leaving this in his hands.
“Maybe just a simple Chicken Alfredo?”
I hate Alfredo.
“Sure.”
We walk towards the meat aisle and Noah inspects the packages of pre-sliced chicken like he is picking the most important thing in his life. He puts his hand under his chin and looks at them. I ignore him and grab a random one.
He looks offended but I grab a cart, throw the chicken in it and walk away. He runs after me.
“I see how it is,” he jokes. I am relieved that he isn’t actually upset over my nonchalantness in this matter.
We walk passed the vegetable and he stops me.
“Don’t you want to make it fancy?” He begs. I can tell he really want to impress my father. What he doesn’t know is that my father is easily pleased by everyone but me. He walks over to the produce and starts to grab random phallic objects.
“Cucumbers or zucchini?” He holds them both in his hands. He holds them up to show me. I laugh at the scene. He looks ridiculous.
“Always go for the bigger one,” I say with fake seduction.
“Always,” he agrees and he drops the zucchini in the cart.
“Now, we need sauce and noodles!” he declares. He starts walking. He is a man on a mission. I wish I had that kind of motivation for life, let alone a pot of pasta.
I follow him through the maze of aisles. Finally, the sauce aisle lays in front of us. He stands in power stance in front of the sauce. I go to grab a random one, yet again and he grabs my arm before it even gets to the shelf. He slips his fingers through mine. He holds my hand. I know this is a tricky ploy to stop my attempt.
I reach with my other hand and he turns to face me. He grabs my other hand and we stand in a prom pose in the middle of the sauce aisle in a shitty grocery store. He refuses to let me grab a random sauce but prefers to be a jokester rather than a hard ass. I can’t say I dislike it.
“This is an important process, Ana Henderson,” he says looking straight into my eyes. His faux seriousness makes me laugh. What a man I have here. He lets my hands go and faces the wall again. He attempts to read the italian labels.
“BeroCHI.” He emphasizes the last vowel, “CatastruNAM”