Noah
Christmas passed by in a blur. While everyone was celebrating, opening presents and gushing about the gifts they received, I sat by in a daze, wondering how my life changed on a dime. People tried to engage me in conversation, but their words fell on deaf ears. If they told me congratulations, I mumbled thanks and moved to the next room. If they asked me a question, I nodded and proceeded to stare at the floor, the tree or the muted television. If they told me my team sucked, I agreed and didn’t bother to tell them how wrong they were.
I’m numb and it’s because of Peyton and her text messages to me. I thought for sure I could talk to her, explain why I left her in her hospital room and ask her what I should do, but she doesn’t want to see me. I don’t want you here. Those words have stung hard; have hit me in my heart like no other. I know I deserve them and more, but seeing them typed out so I am forced to reread them over and over again, it does something else to me.
I’m numb because the woman at the end of the couch is writing down everything she can, with the help of my little sister as she leafs through a bridal magazine. I haven’t found the courage to tell Dessie that the conversation she overheard, the one I was having with my grandma, was me telling her I have no plans to marry Dessie. She misconstrued every single word, screamed yes, kissed me and proceeded to tell everyone in my house we were getting married. Needless to say, you could hear a pin drop because of how quiet everyone was. You would think Dessie would catch on, but she didn’t. She immediately started texting whoever she could, sharing the news.
The worst part is I can’t seem to find the words to tell her it’s not happening because each time I try, she brings up the baby, and the endless cycle of self-doubt starts all over again. I know she was expecting a ring to be under the tree or in her stocking, but there wasn’t one. She hid her disappointment well though, more than I can say for myself.
I don’t want to marry Dessie or even be the father of her baby, but I don’t have a choice. The old adage is “stupidity doesn’t get you far” but I can attest it does. Stupidity gets you so far up shit creek there’s no amount of paddling to get you where you need to be.
The conversation I had with my dads has been nagging me for days. They’ve both tried to show me I could still be a part of the baby’s life without being married to Dessie, but I don’t see how. She lives in Portland because of me, choosing to travel back and forth for her shoots. She’s better off in California or New York, which means she’d move and take the baby with her. Marriage keeps her in the same house, but I’m not sure how this would be fair to her. A loveless marriage isn’t something either of us wants, and despite what she says, if she loved me, she’d see the turmoil I’m going through.
I look down at my phone, rereading the words I have memorized over and over again. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you here. Except that’s exactly where I want to be. With Peyton, helping her recover. Not here, in my parents’ home, hiding out because I’m too afraid of what might happen back in Portland. I’m using them as a buffer and they know it.
My dad walks into the family room and turns the television on. As luck would have it, there’s a game and it seems like he’s poised to watch it. I’m so pissed at myself for the way my season ended. Even if we didn’t stand a chance at the wild card, getting benched for the last game of the season is a blow to my ego. It would be one thing if Coach was trying to save me for next year, but he wasn’t. He was sending a message that he’s done with my piss poor attitude. I half expect him to call me in after the first of the year and give me my w
alking papers.
“Daddy,” Little B whines out his name. “We’re trying to plan a wedding here.”
I look away, not wanting to be a part of this conversation.
“Then go to the dining room or your bedroom.”
“Daddy.”
“Betty Paige, I want to watch the game. I’m sorry if it interrupts your play time, but you can go play make-believe somewhere else.”
My dad’s words are harsh, making me wish I could tell Dessie the same thing. By the time I glance over at her and Little B, they’re gathering their books and leaving the room. Dessie stops in front of me. “Are you coming?”
I shake my head, which causes her to huff. The last thing I want to do is sit in a room and listen to them prattle on about wedding stuff. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I want to get on a plane and fly to California to see Peyton, and maybe I should. She may be able to offer a little clarity and guidance on what I should do. If she agrees to see me, that is.
“Dessie, wait,” I say as I get up. She’s halfway up the stairs with Paige. “I have to head back for a meeting. Do you want to come or stay here?” The lie falls too easily.
She smiles widely. “I’ll stay. I have a lot of preparations to do.” Dessie gives me a little finger wave and continues on her way up the stairs. I wait until she’s out of sight before I go to speak with my father. He’s not exactly pleased because he’s going to have to be the one to tell my mom I left Dessie here.
The Powell-James condo looms in front of me. The wrought iron gate is locked and the code I used to use when we were all younger no longer works. I have no choice but to either access them from the beach or press the buzzer. The problem with walking along a private beach is someone is likely to see me and alert the authorities. Most of the neighbors around here know and look out for each other. The issue with being buzzed in though is the chance that Peyton is the one to answer the call and I have no doubt she’ll tell me to go away.
In hindsight, I could’ve told my mother what I was doing so she could’ve called Katelyn and let her know I was coming, but I didn’t want to have to explain to my mom what I was doing here, especially when I don’t even know myself.
Somehow I think seeing Peyton will make everything better, that she’ll tell me I’m making the right decision and she’ll promise to always be there for me. As delusional as it all sounds, I need her to understand where I’m coming from. It’s not like I could’ve accused Dessie of cheating on me without any proof or claim the baby she’s carrying isn’t mine. Leaving Peyton in the hospital that day was the hardest thing I’ve done to date, but I have a feeling facing her today is going to be even harder.
As luck would have it, a car pulls up along the sidewalk and Ben gets out. Surely, he’ll have a code to get in.
“Noah, what’re you doing here?”
I point toward the house. “I’ve come to visit the Powell-James family, with gifts,” I say, holding up the bag of presents I swiped from behind our Christmas tree. I don’t know how long it’ll take before my mom realizes they’re gone, but I’m hoping to be back in Beaumont before she does. I have no idea if she planned to fly out here herself or if Katelyn and Harrison are planning a trip to Beaumont. I needed a viable excuse and this was it.
“Anything in there for me?” Ben asks, pulling the edge of the bag a bit.
“Somehow I think they’re for the twins and Quinn.”
“Figures. Come on, they’re expecting me and you’ll be a nice surprise.” Ben punches in a code and the door opens. I follow him through and into the house, which is empty, but as usual, the back wall of windows is wide open and the people I’ve known as my second family is outside. Their laughter is loud and inviting.
Ben steps out first and goes right to Peyton, while I watch from the entryway. He gives her a hug and she motions for someone to come over to them. I freeze at the sight of Kyle Zimmerman shaking hands with Ben, who happens to turn and look at me, followed by Peyton. She doesn’t look happy to see me at all, which is going to make my plea even harder.
I slip my shoes off and step out onto the sand. It’s a bit cold compared to what it usually is in the summer, but comfortable nonetheless. Elle comes over and gives me a hug, followed by Katelyn. “Quinn is out in the water,” Katelyn says, pointing over her shoulder. I don’t correct her. It’s probably safer for her to assume I’m here to see Quinn and not her daughter.