Authors: Claire Matthews
The insomnia was slowing driving her insane. For days now, she'd walked around like a zombie, running into walls and nodding off at her desk, only to crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling for hours. It was less than a week until she left for London, and she'd never been more scared. She wondered if she'd ever sleep again.
Emma leaned over and looked at Noah, his breathing deep and even, his face sweet and peaceful. She reached over and touched the pad of his bottom lip gently—a finger kiss—and rolled out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him as she wandered down the hall to the kitchen.
Should she eat or drink anything? Wouldn't that keep her up even longer? She settled for a glass of water, and was walking to the couch with a book under her arm when Noah wandered in from the hall, scratching his stomach under his t-shirt, squinting against the lamplight in the living room.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to bed."
"Mmmm," he mumbled, still in sleep mode. "C'mon," he ordered, taking the book from her and setting it on the coffee table.
"Noah, no…I'll just keep you awake."
He ignored her and grabbed her wrist, pulling her gently down the hall towards the bedroom. She acquiesced, letting him lead her to the bed. He reached down and pulled off her nightgown slowly, then took off his own t-shirt and slipped it over her head. It was warm and soft, and she looked up at him with an appreciative grin as they climbed under the covers. He drew her back against his chest, his feet beneath hers, his breath on her neck.
It was the routine they'd haphazardly developed over the last three nights—snuggled in Noah's shirt, tucked warmly against his bare torso, he would tell her stories, or play silly games until she was relaxed enough to drift off to sleep.
On this night, he began to hum against the skin behind her ear, as she snuggled her head deep in her pillow. His hand rubbed her hip lightly. "What song is that?' she murmured against his arm.
"Hmm…dunno…I think it's from a butter commercial."
She grinned and kissed the inside of his wrist. "Talk to me," she demanded.
"Okay, but not unless you promise to close your eyes. You need to sleep."
She nodded wordlessly, and after a long minute, she felt her muscles loosen and grow slack under his palms.
"Talk," she ordered stubbornly, her voice lower and smoother than before. “Tell me another story about when you were a kid.”
“Why? I was the most boring kid ever.”
"I know, that's why your stories help me go to sleep,” she teased.
“Okay...let's see. When I was little, I was constantly bugging my parents for a baby brother. But it had to be a brother. I don't know what I would have done if they'd brought home a baby girl—probably run screaming, or fit her with lead diapers.”
“Aww, you would have made a great big brother. I can see it now—you guys would play school, and you'd teach him baby calculus.”
"I didn't know calculus when I was four.”
“Baby matrix algebra, then. Toddler differential equations.”
"Are you through?”
“I think so. Go on.”
“So anyway, I was dying for a little brother. I was totally into rockets, NASA, anything to do with space. He would have been my space partner, you see.”
“Hmmm.”
“In my mind, a kid brother was basically a short slave. He would follow me around, do my bidding, and tell me how cool I was.”
“Isn't that what girlfriends are for?”
“Somehow it never works out that way. May I finish my story?”
“Sorry. I'm shutting up.”
“Anyway, I drove my parents crazy with the brother talk, so much that they bought me a puppy for Christmas to shut me up.”
“Oh, a puppy? What kind?”
“He was a Golden Retriever—Max. He became a space dog. A commander, I think, although he could never fly. The whole paws instead of hands thing. It was an issue.”
“I can imagine.”
“So anyway, we had Max until I was in college. He was the best dog, Emma. He used to wait for me at the window after school, and we'd play football—we must have bought him ten thousand Nerf footballs. Then we'd go inside and watch Speed Racer.”
“No doggie algorithms?”
“Max didn't have a mathematical mind. He was more of a doer than a thinker.” They were silent for a moment. Emma felt Noah's hand stoke her side soothingly, from waist to hip. She yawned.
“Did you ever have another dog?”
“No. Max died when I was in college, and then I married Jenny, and she was allergic, so...”
“You should get a dog,” Emma mumbled into her pillow.
“Why? To keep me company after you leave?” His voice tightened a bit. He cleared his throat.
“No, I just meant—”
“It's okay. I know what you meant. I'd love a dog, but I'm at work all day, and my place is too small. Plus, dogs can't make up for people you miss. Even though Max was great, I still always wished for a brother. A new dog wouldn't make me miss you less.”
They were quiet then, and soon Emma felt Noah's face snuggle into her neck, heard his breathing grow deep and even. But she never did go back to sleep.
C
hapter Nine
Noah took the packing tape and closed another box in Emma's office, as she scrubbed the coffee stains off the top of her desk. The packing and cleaning was suffocating him, the ache in his chest growing sharper with each bookshelf he cleared. She'd leave tomorrow. Tomorrow. It hung over both of them like a dark, heavy cloud of sadness.
“I heard it rains in London all the time,” he murmured, glancing sideways at her.
“I'll take rain over a-hundred-degrees-in-the-shade any day,” she answered back.
“There's no barbecue...no good Tex-Mex. You're willing to go two years without Chuy's enchiladas?”
She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “It'll be tough, but they have great Indian food, and Asian food...I won't starve to death.”
“I read that people who live in England are forty percent more likely to suffer from depression than people in the United States.”
“Where are you getting these statistics?” she asked dubiously.
“StuffIMadeUp.com.” He grinned.
“No mosquitoes, no cockroaches, no
my mother
,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow, daring him to top that one.
“No me. No us.” That took the smirk off her face. “Austin's the only place that has us,” he said quietly.
Emma walked to where he was leaning against a giant tower of boxes. She reached out and linked her index finger with his, swinging their hands back and forth. . Their eyes both locked on the hypnotic motion.
“Facebook has us...and Skype, and email, and texts,” she said encouragingly. His silence spurred her on. “I wish I could make you understand why I have to go. I'm not even sure I understand it myself. I've just spent so many years trying to make other people happy—my parents, my students, Greg--I just feel like I have to get away, and get some perspective. Try to make myself happy for a while. Does that make any sense?” She looked up at him hopefully, and he knew that he couldn't argue with her...couldn't ruin this for her, no matter how much he wanted to.
So he smiled, and pulled her towards him by her crooked finger, and kissed her. “Yes. It does make sense. Just don't forget to come back.”
They hugged, and he felt her cling to him, her tears on his shoulder, and he didn't think it was possible, but it hurt worse, with every moment it hurt worse, and some kind of self-defence mechanism kicked in, and he knew he had to leave.
“Em, I'm...I've got to go. You're leaving early in the morning, and it'll only be harder if we spend the night together.” Emma nodded, her eyes shiny with fresh tears, and he kissed her, quick and hard, and rushed out the door, knowing that he would drop to his knees and beg her to stay if he didn't leave immediately.
****
Emma got her books together and made her way to the tube station, still getting the hang of her surroundings. Her classes had started three days ago, and she loved them. She loved her flat mate, a sweet girl named Rosemary who was studying to be a nurse. Emma loved London. Everything was perfect. And she was perfectly miserable.
Thoughts of Noah invaded her brain with increasing regularity. She told herself it was homesickness, and reminded herself of what a strong, independent woman she was, moving halfway around the world, living on her own terms, doing what she wanted to do. Sometimes she almost convinced herself.
As she arrived at her stop and made her way to campus, her phone rang, and her heart jumped to her throat, as it always did, on the off chance that it might be Noah. But no such luck.
“Hi, Mom,” she said wearily, stopping at a bench that faced campus. She was a few minutes early, she could stop and chat for a moment. “Gosh, it must be early there, what's up?”
“Oh, nothing, I just wanted to hear your voice,” her mom's voice was bright and hearty, and it made her feel guilty. For all the jokes she made about her mom, she did love her. She missed her.
“How's Austin?” Emma asked, putting as much cheerfulness in her voice as she could.
“Hot...your Dad's already started running around shirtless in the evenings. God only knows what the neighbours think.” Emma grinned. It was their summer argument, and had been for years.
“Mom, Dad's just...Dad. What would you hound him about all summer if he ran around in a shirt?”
“Oh, I'm sure I'd find something.” Her mom laughed. “But what about you? How are your classes? How's Rosemary? That's her name, right? Is she nice?”
Emma filled her mom in quickly, but soon found herself at a loss for words. There was an awkward silence.
“What's wrong, Em?” her mom asked suddenly. “You don't sound like yourself.”
Emma felt tears sting her eyes, and she was too sad to even try to keep them at bay. “Mom...God, I know this is going to sound weird, but...I miss Noah. I love him. I mean, I'm in love with him.”
“Noah? Noah Jordan?”
“Yep,” she said miserably. Then she got annoyed when her mother laughed. Hard.
“What? What's wrong with me being in love with Noah?” Emma asked crossly.
“Oh, honey, nothing's wrong with it. I just can't believe you had to move all the way to London to finally realize it!” Her mom was still laughing, and now it was just getting irritating.
“What do you mean?” Emma was indignant, her tears forgotten.
“Oh, please, all those years you dated that horrible Greg, and it was so clear that you belonged with Noah. But God forbid I say anything.”
Emma gasped, both shocked and supremely ticked off. “So you're telling me you knew all along that I was in love with Noah,” she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No, I never knew for sure, but I certainly hoped,” her mother answered. Another delighted giggle escaped her.
Well. Emma stood up from her perch on the bench. Then sat back down. Why did she feel like crying
again
? God, she needed to get a grip.
“So what are you going to do?” her mom asked, relentless. Couldn't she show a little more sympathy here? Giggles were not exactly what Emma was looking for.
“About what?”
“About Noah. About you. Honey, do you really want to stay in London?”
Emma thought for a long moment. “I want to stick to my plan. Finish what I started. Prove to myself that I'm a strong woman.”
“Oh, that's bull,” her mom scoffed.
Mona Whitten, ladies and gentleman. Mother of the Year. Emma's eyes rose heavenward, looking for strength.
“You want to come home, and I can guarantee that poor Noah is miserable without you. What exactly are you accomplishing here? You want to get your Master's degree, to improve yourself, to assert your independence? That's great, but are you feeling self-fulfilled? Satisfied? Happy?”
Silence. Damn her for being right.
“Honey, I love you. And I'm sorry if I sound harsh. But life's too short to pass up happiness in the name of pride. Just think about it, okay?”
So she did.
Chapter Ten
Noah closed the last box in his office, grabbed his coat from the hook behind the door, and swept his gaze across the room, making sure he’d gotten everything. It was a hard decision to leave Travis High, but without Emma…he just couldn’t do it, couldn’t roam the halls every day faced with her ghost, wondering what he could have done differently to make her stay. To make her love him enough to stay.
Ever the gentleman, he had driven her to the airport two weeks ago, in the wee hours of the morning. He'd carried her bags to the curb, and checked to make sure that her luggage tags were securely fastened. His heart was so heavy he thought he might physically collapse from the pressure. Emma looked at him, her beautiful eyes pained, holding desperately to the strap of her purse.
“Do you have your passport?” She nodded miserably.
“Your ticket?” Another shaky nod.
“Noah,” she began hoarsely, but he held up his hand and stopped her with a fingertip to her lips.
“You’re going to have a great time,” he whispered, sliding his finger across her cheek, hooking a stray hair gently behind her ear. “I love you. I’ll miss you.” And when she choked back a sob, he kissed her temple and backed up quickly, waving once and then turning, walking, one step in front of the other, concentrating on the beat of his feet on the concrete, until he was back at his car. Where he slammed the roof so hard with his fist that he set off the car alarm.