Noa’s father died when she was a baby in a car accident, but I always remembered Lynn Shaw to more than make up for his absence.
Ma reaches over and pats my arm. “That’s a story for her to tell. For now, I’m glad she’s with us and I want to make her as comfortable as possible in our house. She needs to feel like she belongs.”
I ask wryly, “Are you saying I’m making her feel less than belonged?”
“You do have a talent for that.”
“I’m making up for it.” I lean forward on the handlebars. “I’m staying out of her way, letting her live her life and giving her the space to take care of you.”
“If you think that’s doing the right thing,” Ma says, “you are so far from reading women, you’re in outer space.”
I frown. “She told me in no uncertain terms to let her be.”
“Yes, and did she also tell you she didn’t want you as a partner anymore?”
“A partner in what?”
Ma smacks me. “In the cooking class! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. Noa’s been bouncing around the house for days, looking forward to the first session tonight, as much as she’s trying to contain it.”
I’d completely put the deal we’d made at the back of my head, what with so much else to unpack.
“Shit. I mean, shoot,” I amend at Ma’s sideways glare. “It slipped my mind, but before you counter, I have no plans for tonight and can still do it.”
Ma nods with more confirmation than required. “Exactly as I thought.”
We reach the end of the street. Ma’s breath comes out shorter and I casually turn us around, heading back to the house as if it were my idea. She’d never admit the need to go home. “What exactly are you thinking, Ma?”
“Noa didn’t fire you from the sous chef position. That’s a sign if I ever saw one.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m hardly a sous chef. More like I’m her only option, and if she wants the slight chance at pursing her passion in this town, she has to tolerate my presence.”
“She could very well tell you to bugger off, but she didn’t.” She glances at me sideways before adding, “if you can’t read the room, then there is no hope for you, son.”
I give a befuddled shake of my head. “If she wants me to go, then I will.”
Though, I can’t disregard the swell of relief at the answer to why Noa’s so excited these days. It’s not another man. It’s cooking. I’m shocked she’d want me around, but I’m not about to bring up our sore spot and re-hash the pain that was the night of the Merc incident.
It’d be a pleasant change from the wake up before sunrise, clean manure, go home and eat breakfast, nap, talk to Ma, repeat. If she wants to put aside our emotions like mature adults, then I’ll be her vegetable cutter or oven opener or whatever she needs.
How hard could it be?
“That’s all I’ll say on the subject,” Ma says. “Oh look, a hill.”
“Ma—”
She turns left before I can stop her, flying down the same dip of roadway I flew over when I was a kid, both on a bike, on a winter sled, and on the rubber of my soles when fleeing cranky Mr. Jenkins after throwing manure on his lawn.
Ma takes similar flight, releasing her handlebars and holding her arms out wide. I come to the top of the hill and throw one foot on the ground and letting it scrape along with my back wheel until I’m at a standstill.
Ma’s kerchief comes off, billowing in the wind that carries her laughter into my ears.
I don’t chastise her when she has trouble pedaling back up the hill. When I meet her at the bottom, I give her a high-five.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Noa
Former cattle worker Sam Barnes has some trouble today and I work overtime to get him comfortable and as pain-free as he can be before giving instructions to his wife and a tight hug. She pats my cheek and wishes me good luck in my class tonight.
