“No, let me,” she says, reaching behind her to the blown-up piece of plastic and taking the few steps to the pool. Her husband talks to her in a low voice and her answers are equally quiet, but they are so close we can still hear.
He wants to know who we are, she’s explaining and his expression softens when she tells him the story I told her—there was an accident and I fell through broken glass a few years ago. No one else needs to know about my mother’s involvement. No one else needs to know anything at all. My therapist helped me realize that these scars belong to me. It’s my decision what I want the world to know and the world can know the truth—it was a terrible, terrible tragic accident that no one could have ever predicted.
The baby drops the biscuit onto the blanket and crawls. Her big brown eyes are glued on me and her devious smile indicates I’m her destination. I fight the urge to scoot away and brace myself for when the little ball of black curls pats the top of my flip-flopped foot with her even chubbier fist.
“You’ve found a friend,” says Noah.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with one of these.” My baby brother, Alexander, has been my only trip into the realm of things that cry and have no teeth, and it irritates me that Noah is better with my brother than me. Alexander laughs with Noah, blows cute baby bubbles for Noah, and Alexander spits up and poops on me.
Noah’s grin is so fast and so glorious that my heart skips a beat. “Babies aren’t as complicated as you think.”
A phsh sound leaves my mouth. “They’re plenty complicated.”
“They are. Alexander is tough—babies are tough—but I’m saying when the time comes, you’ll be a great mom.”
A thrill runs along my veins and it’s such a strong tickling sensation that I avert my gaze back to the baby. Me a mom and Noah a dad and someday we will be a real family. “I’m going to bake cookies. Chocolate chip. I want to be the mom who makes cookies with her kids.”
To be the mom who makes her children a priority. I’m going to be better than my parents and I can be and I will be.
“I can live with that,” Noah replies.
“Sorry.” The woman returns and scoops her baby into her arms and her mini-me giggles. Maybe babies aren’t so bad. That is, when Noah and I have them years and years and years from now. “My husband was curious about who you were.”
“I’d be the same way,” Noah admits.
He would be, and if his best friend Isaiah was around, he’d be curious, too. Thank God both of them are maturing and are finding more subtle ways of protecting the people they love, like asking for a float so they can politely ask what’s going on instead of throwing people into walls for answers.
“Do you mind if I talk to Jane?” I ask. “Show her my scars? I’m not at all suggesting that it’s going to solve her problems, but maybe it will help if she knows of someone who is also scarred. Maybe it’ll help that I’m not hiding them and maybe one day she’ll find the strength to live her life full throttle.”
Jane’s mom offers me a sad smile with eyes full of moisture. “I’d like that.”
I stand, Noah stands with me, and when we return to where we left our stuff, I take off the wrap around my hips and step out of my flip-flops. “Do you mind if I talk to her alone?”
“Not at all.”
A rush of guilt and I bite on my lower lip. My time with Noah is dwindling so fast that it scares me, but I can’t live with myself if I don’t try with Jane.
“Hey,” Noah says, and I look up at him.
He places a hand on my hip and gently brushes his thumb along my skin. “We’ve got all night tonight and all day tomorrow. You want to talk to Jane, and I want you to do this.”
Relief washes through me, and I extend up on my toes and give him a fast kiss. Before he can tempt me with kissing him any more, I press off his chest with both hands and head for Jane.