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I looked up at Ralph, and when he lifted his brows in confusion, I took the lead again. “I take it you guys aren’t close. What about your parents? They cool?” Easier question, I thought.
“Um, actually, I wouldn’t know these days. They skipped out a while ago. So, it’s just me and Tim.” Her eyes weren’t as quick to find mine, but when they did, I admired the strength in them.
“Their loss,” Ralph said. “I rag on my parents a lot, and they rag on me too. But maybe you oughta be happy that your parents spared you their shittiness rather than giving you a life full of shittiness.”
I looked at Ralph in the rearview mirror in horror until I heard Noa burst out with laughter beside me. Her eyes were closed and she full-belly laughed—tears running down her face. Ralph chuckled with a shrug, and I ran my eyes back and forth, not knowing what to think.
Noa wiped her eyes. “You’re exactly right,” she said when she finally caught her breath.
It was easy to lose myself in their company; their banter had me laughing along.
As we pulled up in front of Ralph’s house, Noa’s hand reached for mine.
If Ralph knew how ecstatic I was over her hand in mine, he’d lose his shit. But I was too busy currently losing mine.
“All right, love birds. Have fun and don’t stay out too late. Dex, I’ll stop by tomorrow.” He slammed the door before I could say anything in return.
I shrugged and looked at the time. If I headed to the theater now, we’d be waiting around forever.
“What should we do now?” Noa asked.
I turned to face her. I said I wouldn’t push her, but I wanted more. “We could always go to your house and I could meet your brother,” I offered.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She pulled her hand from mine.
“Hey.” I took it back. “Don’t.”
She sat quietly, her hand relaxing in mine.
“I have a better idea,” I said, pulling off. I drove with her hand in mine, and when we stopped in front of a park, she looked at me in surprise.
“This is your better idea?” She was smiling, but I didn’t know what she was thinking.
Surprise, surprise.
“Sure. It’ll be fun.” I got out, hoping she’d follow.
When she did, she took the lead, heading to the swings. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to push me. I’m a pro,” she said over her shoulder, a smile in her voice. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, and I caught the shimmer of the metal lining her ear.
“I get that you’re used to being this independent woman and all. And I’d never want to take that from you.” I came up behind her as she pushed off, grabbing the chains of her swing. “But you’ve gotta let me push you, Blue.” And I did. I pushed her a little, not too high like I imagined she went as a child. It was a slow, steady swing, and all I could hear were the crickets chirping and the squeak of the chains as she swung.
She placed her feet down, skidding to a stop, and turned so I could see her profile. “I think I’m a little afraid of you, Dexter Andrews.” She was so still, her breath going up and vanishing into the air.
It was getting darker out, and the streetlights cast a yellow glow around her. Snow fell lightly but I didn’t think to move. I didn’t want to break whatever moment Noa was having.
She stood up, shaking her hands out, and walked over to my car where she lay on the hood. The old Dexter probably wouldn’t like that, but I couldn’t get over the beauty of it. She looked so relaxed, her hair from her ponytail fanned out against the sleek black exterior. When I stepped up to lie beside her, she scooted over so I had enough room. And when our hands touched, she gripped mine tightly. Small flakes fell over us, and I couldn’t remember ever being so happy, just existing.
“Maybe those stars are actually souls. I think I read a story somewhere where that was the case,” she said, and before I could steer her back to me, she squeezed my hand. “I always ponder the universe. It’s comforting to think of something bigger than yourself. That way, if something terrible happens, it isn’t always your fault. And if something great happens…well, I haven’t been fortunate enough to experience many great things. But, I’d really like to try this, Dexter. I’ve never felt like this before. Not when it comes to someone I barely even know.”
“Like what?” I asked, afraid to look at her.
Intense, obsessed, euphoric, confused.
“Dependent,” she said—not what I was expecting.
“But why is that such a problem for you?” I asked.
She shifted at my question. “I know your parents died. And I’ve wondered if your condition affects your memories of them. Do you remember anything about them?”
