Todd
Noodle and I grab the subway to Jim and Carol’s—well, I guess just Jim’s. Noodle graciously asked Jim to Sunday dinner with her family.
Lines are blurring between us, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my distance from her. We never talk about Davis anymore, and although I wonder if he’s calling her, I never ask. I figure I’ll know when it’s over because she’ll be a basket case.
I knock on the screen door.
“Come in.” Jim turns down the television and sits up in his recliner.
“You remember Lia, right?”
He stands, and I’m impressed to see his new white T-shirt.
“I do.” He holds his hand out to Noodle. “Nice to see you again.” A pink flushes his cheeks.
“Nice to see you, too.”
I hold up bags full of groceries. “Here’s some food for the week. Go get a shirt. We’re taking you to Noodle’s.”
Jim follows behind me to the kitchen and is inches away from my face when I turn around.
He’s shaking his head. “I’m not going.” The shaking continues at a fast pace.
“It will be fun.” I put the groceries away in his sparse cabinet and fridge. “Her family is awesome. Actually, you might know her dad. He works at the same factory.” I mindlessly go about organizing his shelves.
“Jim, if it helps, my family doesn’t drink at Sunday dinners,” Noodle says.
I huff and realize why Jim is so panicked. I should have known. He’s been clean for a couple weeks, and I shouldn’t assume he’s ready to be strong enough just yet.
“They don’t?” He sits down in the wooden kitchen chair.
“No. My mom put a stop to it after my brothers got drunk and started beating each other up over a girl.” Noodle pulls out the chair next to him and sits down.
The redness fades from his face, showing he’s cooling down. “Okay. What’s your dad’s name?”
“Joe Fiore.”
Jim’s eyes light up. “You’re Joe’s girl? I worked third shift with him years ago.” He looks up to me. “We should bring something.”
We sounds like a family term, definitely not one that has been used between the two of us. But I like it.
“I help Noodle’s grandma when I get there.” I check my watch. “And we should leave now.”
Noodle hops up after she glances at the rooster clock on the wall. “Yes. Trust me, Jim. We don’t want to be late.”
* * *
The three of us walk through the door at Noodle’s parents’ house, and I leave Jim in her hands as I go hide in the kitchen after saying hello to everyone.
“How are you, Marie?” I grab the apron she’s put on the island and secure it around me.
The gray-haired lady is busy cutting up some vegetables and peeks up at me. “You’re a sight. I’m tired today.” Her shoulders slump down, and she rests the knife on the cutting board.
“You go enjoy yourself. I can take over for the day.” I pick up the knife and start cutting up the herbs at a much faster pace.
She slides a chair across the floor. “This is good training for you.” She crosses her legs, intently watching me. Davis’s appraisal of me doesn’t make me as uneasy as hers does.
I finish the herbs and toss them into the sauce she already has simmering. “Smells fantastic.”
“I know.”
“Modest, huh?”
“What are you guys doing?” Noodle flies through the swinging kitchen door. She’s pulled her hair back into a ponytail, exposing the nape of her neck. “It’s so hot in here.”
Especially now.
“How’s Jim?” I glance up to her before concentrating on the meatball mix.
“He and my dad are talking about the plant. I guess they worked together for a few years.” She ventures to the sink and washes her hands.
“Are you going to help?”
She slides on the stool in front of me. “I was thinking about it. I might not be as good as you, but Gram has taught me things over the years.”
“She follows directions well,” Marie says.
“See? Use me where you need me.”
“That’s tempting,” I say. Then, I cringe, remembering her grandma is five feet away.
Grandma Marie uses the counter to pry herself up. “I’m going to leave you two to it.” She exits through the door looking like she’s ready for a nap.
“Did she look pale to you?” Noodle whispers over the counter.
“She said she’s tired.”
“I’m worried.” She grabs the bowl of meatball mix and helps me roll the mixture into tiny balls.
“She’s good.” I wave my hand at all the pots going. “She did all this. I just think we should help her out a little more.”
We both reach into the bowl, and our hands brush. We look up at one another and smile. There’s a lightness in her brown eyes that isn’t usually there.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “You’re right. We should.”
I finish rounding my meatball and wash my hands. “You keep doing that.”
“What am I? Your line cook?”
“You’re always welcome to accompany me in the kitchen.” I rush over to the fridge to find everything I need. “Marie is awesome. I knew she’d have these.”
The huckleberries overflow in the carton. Marie must have bought them at the farmers market. Sometimes, I feel we’re one and the same. I guarantee she wanted to bake a pie but lost her energy.
“What are you doing?” Noodle continues to roll up the meatballs and attempts to find room on the crowded baking sheet.
“We’re going to bake a pie.” I dump the berries into the colander to wash them off.
“We?”
I laugh. “Yes, we. You said you thought we should help out. I need to train you to be my line cook.”
She meets me at the sink and knocks me with her hip. I pray it’s her way of flirting with me.
“You like doing that, don’t you?” I say.
She laughs and switches the faucet to her side. “I’m strong enough to push you away.” She wipes her hands on the towel then raises her arms in the air, flexing. “See, I’m strong.”
“You think you’re strong?”
“I do.”
“Stronger than me?”
“Maybe.” She tilts her head and shrugs.
We both know that’s not true.
My arms wrap around her waist, and I pick her up.
Mid-swing around, she hits me on the shoulders. “Put me down.”
“No. After this, you’re going to lift and swing me around the room.”
Laughter pours out of each of us.
“I’m serious,” she stutters. “You’ll break your back.”
“By lifting you?”
I hate her insecurity. She’s beautiful, and she deserves someone who will show that to her every minute of every day.
“Don’t act like you don’t see it.”
My arms fall, and she slides down the length of my body.
I cradle her head in my palms and stare her straight in the eyes. “You are nothing short of drop-dead gorgeous.”
Her eyes shift down, and her breathing increases. “Teach me to make a pie.”
“Don’t try to divert the topic. You do know how beautiful you are.”
She twists out of my hold and busies herself at the stove.
“Noodle?”
She doesn’t grace me with a response. I distance myself and watch her move around the kitchen, dodging the conversation we just had.
“You tell me why you’ve never had a meaningful relationship, and then we can talk about my self-esteem when it comes to my looks.” She leans against the counter and crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up.
My eyes cast down and then back to her. She looks down then unhooks her arms.
“See? I can’t keep my eyes off you.”
Her eyes roll, and she turns her back to me and stirs the sauce.
I break the distance and lean over her shoulders. “My past screwed me up. I trust no one,” I whisper in her ear.
Her head leans closer to me. Her back rises and falls against my chest, and I wish she were mine in this moment. I would love to ignite shivers in her from my lips touching her smooth skin.
“I’ve always been the fat girl,” she whispers back, continuing to stir the sauce, as though we aren’t divulging our biggest fears.