“Ember?” Noah calls from the kitchen. He knows better than to come down the hall and find me. Sky might tear his head off. “Do you want a bowl of fruit?” I hear the faint suction sound of the fridge being pulled open.
“I’m making bacon and eggs,” he yells, when I don’t answer right away.
Smiling, I leave the hall. Sky follows.
Noah’s back is to me, his gaze on the contents of my fridge. Placing my hand on the small of his back, I rise on tiptoe to set my chin on his shoulder. “You couldn't make that if you wanted to. Those food items cannot be found here.”
“I had to get you back out here somehow. I have to leave soon.” Noah pulls his phone from his jeans’ pocket and looks at it. “I need to be at the church soon.”
“Are you leaving, then?” Sky asks.
Leaning back to see around the open fridge door, I shoot her a glare.
She’s sitting stiffly at the table we keep in the corner of the kitchen, her legs crossed at the ankle and her hands folded on the tabletop.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” I offer, fisting my hands in his T-shirt and pulling, so he backs up. Stepping into the space he vacated, I pull cartons of fruit from the bottom drawer.
Noah’s doubtful eyes never stray from me the entire time I’m putting together breakfast.
“What’s that?” he asks hesitantly as I pour a little coconut oil on the fruit mixture.
“Grease.” I smirk.
“Haha.”
I hand him the bottle and grab the cinnamon from a cupboard.
“Coconut oil?” His face is a cross between fear and having smelled something foul.
“Don’t knock it. It’s full of health benefits.” I grab a spoon, toss it together, throw a handful of slivered almonds on top, and give it to Noah.
He doesn’t say another word about it. In fact, he inhales the whole concoction, and when I hand him mine after I’m done, he finishes that too.
Sky hasn’t said much in the last ten minutes, but she breaks the streak when she asks, “Is graduation over?”
Noah nods. “Last weekend.”
“Does that mean you’re back for good?”
I look away. We haven’t discussed this. The question has been lurking in the recesses of my mind since the second I saw him, but I can’t bring myself to ask. The answer, no matter what it is, carries a heavy weight.
“I’m supposed to head back to Stanford tomorrow. My roommate left yesterday for South America, and our apartment is empty. I tried out for Atlanta’s MLS team, but I haven’t heard back from them yet.”
I close my eyes and shut out the room. I might as well be eighteen again, waiting to hear if he will keep chasing the carrot being dangled in front of him. In this analogy, the carrot is a dream, and the person dangling the dream is Noah himself, the part of him that needs the glory of the sport to feel successful.
Under the table, Noah squeezes my knee. I meet his eyes and his gaze intensifies, unspoken words swirling around in a frenzy. What is it he’s trying to say?
I’m sorry.
I already miss you.
This may have been a mistake.
Let's do things right this time.
Noah drops my gaze, stands, and clears all three of our bowls. The back of my chair catches my slumping body as I realize those are all thingsIwant to say, and maybe things I wanthimto say.
“I have to go. Hair appointment.” Sky runs her hand through the blond locks that hang almost to her belly button. She closes the distance between our faces, until her nose is six inches from mine. “Are you going to be okay?” she whispers.
