The first pancake sizzled on the griddle, filling the kitchen with a sense of normalcy. But even this familiar routine felt different now, colored by the awareness of everything that needed fixing. The cabinets Luke had said were barely hanging on their hinges.The window over the sink that didn’t quite close, letting in a draft. The floor slanting slightly toward the back wall, evidence of settling that went beyond normal aging.
“Dad?” Eli’s voice pulled him back to the present. “You’re burning it.”
Sure enough, smoke curled from the edges of the pancake. Noah flipped it quickly, revealing a charred bottom. “Sorry, buddy. Got distracted.”
“Thinking about the house?”
“Something like that.”
Eli accepted his plate of slightly crispy pancakes without complaint, drowning them in syrup while Noah poured himself a second cup of coffee. The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window. Luke had noticed the window yesterday, commenting on its wavy glass and original brass hardware.
“They don’t make them like this anymore,” he’d said, appreciation evident in his voice. “We’ll need to restore these, not replace them.”
We. Such a simple word, but it wrapped around Noah’s chest like a vise. When was the last time he’d thought of home repairs—of anything, really—in terms of we instead of I? Even before the divorce, everything had fallen to him. If it wasn’t simple enough to fix with the help ofYouTube, it was his responsibility to call the appropriate service provider and be there when the repairs were done. Jenna hadn’t wanted to deal with handypersons because she hated how so many of them heard a woman’s voice and saw dollar signs.
“Dad?” Eli’s voice broke through his thoughts again. “Can we get a tool belt like Mr. Luke’s? Tommy says his dad has one, but Mr. Luke’s is way cooler.”
“We’ll see.” Noah sipped his coffee, trying not to think about how Luke’s tool belt had hung low on his hips or how his hands had moved confidently as he examined each problem area. “Finish your breakfast, okay? We need to straighten up before Grandma and Grandpa call.”
“But they’re boring,” Eli protested. Noah couldn’t disagree. They called every week as if that would somehow fill a void in his and Eli’s lives, but really, it was the part of the weekend both of them dreaded. “They just talk about their bridge club and ask if I’m reading enough. I bet Mr. Luke tells way better stories.”
Noah couldn’t argue with that. His parents meant well, but their idea of connecting with their grandson involved quizzing him about academic progress and sending books about famous scientists. They’d probably have opinions about the house too—about Noah’s decision to buy it, about accepting help from someone they’d consider “just a handyman.”
The thought made something protective flare in his chest. Luke wasn’tjustanything. He was skilled, patient, good with Eli…and completely off-limits. Not only because he was doing work on the house, but because Noah wasn’t…he didn’t…
He wasn’t even sure who he was trying to lie to at this point. Or why it mattered. His parents had never been outwardly homophobic, but their views on anything that broke their heteronormative expectations were clear. He wasn’t sure what he was, but he found himself thinking about Luke far too often to insist he was straight. Then again, that wasn’t anything new. Hisfascination with Luke confused the hell out of him when he was a teen too.
The coffee suddenly tasted bitter. Noah set his mug down, focusing on cleaning up breakfast dishes instead of examining that particular train of thought. He had enough to deal with without adding an identity crisis to the mix.
But as he watched Eli carefully add another detail to his disaster map, Noah couldn’t help wondering what Luke would think of the finished product. Would he smile the easy smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners? Would he crouch next to Eli, pointing out details he’d missed?
Would he look at Noah the way he had yesterday, with a mix of professional assessment and something warmer, something that made Noah’s skin feel too tight?
“Stop it,” he muttered again, but this time, the words felt hollow. Like the house itself, some things couldn’t be fixed by sheer force of will.
He just wasn’t sure if that terrified or thrilled him.
Noah hadn’t sleptwell Sunday night. The budget discussion with Luke had been sobering to say the least, and every time he closed his eyes he imagined the house crumbling around them before he could come up with the money. His exhaustion was making for a miserable Monday morning.
The whiteboard marker squeaked as Noah underlined the phrasethe green lightfor what felt like the hundredth time. Twenty-five pairs of teenage eyes stared back at him withvarying degrees of engagement, most of them glazed with the type of exhaustion that came from discussing symbolism during first period on a Monday.
“So,” he tried again, “what does Gatsby’s obsession with the green light tell us about his character? About his relationship with Daisy?”
Silence stretched across the classroom like saltwater taffy, sticky and resistant. Then, from the back row, “He’s, like, super invested in something that isn’t worth it?”
“Interesting perspective, Jessica.” Noah set down his marker. “Can you elaborate?”
“Well…” Jessica straightened in her seat, warming to the topic. “He spends all this time and money trying to get this perfect life he imagined, but it’s not even real. The Daisy he wants doesn’t exist anymore, if she ever did. But he can’t let go of this dream he built in his head.”
Something about her words hit uncomfortably close to home. Noah thought of his own green light—the perfect house he’d imagined creating for Eli, the way reality had crumbled his dreams like rotted wood. Nothing in his life existed the way he’d once seen it, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it ever had.
“Mr. Thompson?” Another student—Marcus—raised his hand. “Is it kind of like when you want something so bad you don’t see how impossible it is until it’s too late?”
“That’s…” Noah’s phone vibrated in his pocket, derailing his train of thought. “That’s an excellent observation. How does this relate to the American Dream theme we discussed last week?”
Noah couldn’t say he’d managed to stay focused through the rest of the class, but he’d faked it well enough that the students didn’t realize his mind was still at home. He finally checked his phone during his planning period. He should be grading essays, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Luke.
Just checking in. Got some quotes from suppliers. Let me know when you want to go over more concrete numbers.
