Page 37 of Finding Noah

“When Sean Kinney's kid spun around really, really, really, really fast, even though everyone was telling him to stop, and he fell into Harry, who was, I'll remind you, carrying two big bowls of chips.”

“Ah, yes,” Mom said with a sigh. “Definitely a highlight.”

“And then, as if wasting two whole bags of chips wasn't enough, that little turd had to go ahead and puke everywhere,” he went on, using his arms to emphasize the words, as if we hadn’t been there too.

“We'll laugh about it one day,” Mom replied, her eyes closed as she patted his chest.

“Oh, really? You think so? ‘Cause I dunno, Ray. Not sure I'll ever find anything funny about hosing down that many pairs of shoes at my kid's birthday party.”

I stared ahead at the TV, not paying attention to whatever show we were watching as my shoulders shook with laughter.

“These are the good old days, babe,” she said with a longing sigh. “One day, you'll look back and—”

“Ah, yes, the good old days,” he mused wistfully. “I have many.”

“Oh, now you did it,” I said to Mom, biting my bottom lip as another chuckle rumbled through my chest.

“Sometimes, I like to reminisce on the time some fuckhead, who liked to be called Spit, tried to pull a shank on me in the shower because I’d snagged the last dinner roll. That was a good time.”

“Spit, huh?” Mom replied, unfazed.

“Yeah,” he said with feigned adoration. “Oh, and you know what my favorite good old day is? That time I took a bullet to the thigh. Yeah, I love thinking back on that. Fun times.”

“Or the gut,” I threw in for good measure, glancing at him. “That was my favorite part, personally.”

“Right?” Dad deadpanned. “Honestly, nothing holds a candle to that. Marriage, you kids, this place …” He swept his eyes around the living room. “Nah, I like to think about that time I fuckin' died because some asshole from the good old days couldn't let go of a damn grudge.”

“Okay, okay,” Mom replied as she got to her feet, clearly no longer amused. “You guys don't have to be jerks, you know. I was just saying—”

“Come on, baby. I'm sorry,” Dad said, taking her hand and pulling her back down to fall against his side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I'm just being an asshole. I know what you meant.”

“I thought it was a good day,” Mom said, pouting.

She always seemed to get emotional around Miles's birthday.

I wondered if she felt that way about my birthday too.

If she ever did, I hadn’t noticed.

“It was,” Dad insisted, kissing her forehead again. “Just … let's not invite Sean next year, okay?”

“Kinda hard to invite all but one of the Kinney brothers, don't you think?” Mom jabbed, her mood lightening quickly.

“I mean, arguably, Sean is the most boring of the four of them,” Dad replied with a shrug. “Patrick would back me up. I'd bet money on it.”

Mention of Patrick Kinney spurred thoughts of his daughter Meghan.

Meghan, the soft voice who'd kept me company on my run to the police station.

Meghan, the prettiest woman I'd ever laid my eyes upon.

Meg.

The angel on the phone.

After officially meeting her face-to-face, I'd gone out of my way to catch glimpses of her throughout the years. I was nothing but a kid in her eyes. I mean, of course I was, but that didn't make it feel any less like an insult when she smiled at me in the way adults did and spoke to me in that unintentionally condescending way. Like she didn't outright hate me, but didn't want me around her all the same.

Still, a momentary glimpse of her was enough to welcome the smallest stream of sunlight to reach the shadowy corners of my mind.