If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now (12 page)

A girl with long brown hair who was as tall as me said, “Are you Noah’s mom? Oh, my god, he is
so
cute.”

A smaller girl ruffled Noah’s hair. “I am so totally in love with him,” she said to me. Her braces gave her a slight lisp.
“I just want to take him
home
with me.”

Noah smiled a little smile down at his toes.

“He’s already made a lot of fans,” Andrew said.

“Older women,” I said. “Clearly that’s the secret to success.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got to remember that.”

“I’ve seen your girlfriend. You’re not exactly hard up.”

“I blew the whistle twice!” Noah told me. “Only the first time I wasn’t supposed to.”

“But we worked out a system, right, Noah?” Andrew said.

“I can only blow it when Coach Andrew tells me to,” Noah explained.

“Do you need a babysitter?” the dark-haired girl asked me. “Because I’d totally love to babysit him.”

“Me too,” said the braces one, and a third girl, who had red hair cut in a bob with a fringe and who had been shyly hanging
back until then, took a brave step forward to say, “I want to too.”

A mom entered the gym with a small white puppy cradled in her arms, and all the girls squealed and raced over to pet it. One
of them stopped and turned and beckoned to Noah, who obligingly trotted toward her. She put her arm around his
shoulders and they walked together to join the circle around the dog.

“Wow,” I said to Andrew. “He made friends fast.”

“I’m glad I put him with the girls’ team. It was love at first sight.”

“Yeah, it would have been harder for him with boys, I think.”

He nodded absently. “Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Those are my favorite kind!” I said.

“Is Noah’s father in the picture at all?”

“Oh,
that
personal question.” I lowered my voice. “The truth is… there
is
no father. Noah was cloned from one of my eyebrow hairs.”

He shot me a look. “I’m fairly certain clones have to be the same gender.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” I said agreeably.

“Seriously—”

“Seriously, no, he’s so much not around that he doesn’t exist. Which is fine.”

“Have you ever thought about getting Noah hooked up with the Big Brothers organization?”

“The one that tortures people by putting rats on their face?” I said. “He can be annoying but I don’t think he deserves
that
.”

“I was thinking of the other kind of Big Brother,” he said. “The ratless kind.”

“Oh, I get it!” I said like it was all just dawning on me. “You think Noah needs a father figure.” Then I said, more normally,
“Noah has my dad, you know.”

“Does he take him outside once in a while, throw a ball with him, stuff like that?”

I grinned at the thought. Man, the guy did not know my father. Or Noah, for that matter. I said loftily, “Don’t you think
that’s a little sexist? Why couldn’t
I
be the one throwing a ball to Noah? Or my mother? Or my half sister? He spends time with all of us.”

“You could,” Andrew said calmly. “Does
anyone
in your household throw a ball with Noah or watch football games on TV with him?”

“No,” I admitted. “He doesn’t want to do that stuff. But we do lots of other things together—the kid gets plenty of attention.
Probably too much. But if he gets a sudden overwhelming urge to play catch, I’ll tell him to give Coach Andrew a call. How’s
that?”

“Good luck,” he said. “My home number’s unlisted.”

“Don’t you even
want
to rescue him from his miserable home life?”

He started to say something, then stopped. Then just said quietly, “I’m glad you’re letting Noah do this. We have a game on
Friday, right after school. Can he come? It’s here.”

“If he wants to, it’s fine with me.”

“All right, then.” He walked away.

I watched him go, twisting my mouth sideways, aware that I’d sounded pretty snarky. But the whole “you need a man around”
thing got under my skin like nothing else. I didn’t need a man around. Noah didn’t need a man around. We were fine.

“Mom?” Noah said, coming up to me with an uneven hopping skip that was weird even for him.

“What?”

“The dog pooped and I stepped in it.” He lifted his foot to show me he wasn’t lying. “You need to clean it.”

I looked around, but he was right: the job was all mine.

* * *

I called Ryan that night and asked him if I could come over. He said it “wasn’t a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m supposed to meet Gabriel and Sherri for dinner and a movie.”

“Would that be poor broken-hearted Gabriel?” I said. “Sounds like he’s really suffering.”

“Give it a rest. I’d invite you to come along, but you’d say stuff like that.”

“Forget it,” I said. “Have fun.” I hung up.

I had already put Noah to bed, so I wandered down the stairs, wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to
be living with a guy who would help me tuck Noah in and then curl up with me to watch TV or read in our own master bedroom.

I heard voices and followed them to the kitchen.

My mother and Melanie were talking at the table, both of them cuddling cups of tea. Mel looked distraught. Mom looked concerned.

“What’s going on?” I joined them at the table.

“Halloween,” Mel said with the kind of tragic tone one didn’t normally associate with a fun holiday.

“What about it?”

“Gabriel’s mother is making a big deal out of how she wants to see the kids trick-or-treat. So he’s asking if he can have
them that night.”

Now I understood. That
would
be tragic, from Melanie’s perspective. I wondered how I would feel if I couldn’t trick-or-treat with Noah, but it was pretty
hard to imagine: I never had to fight anyone for time with Noah. I had to beg people to give me time
away
from him. “Can you split up the evening so you can both do it?” I asked.

“It’s too hard on the kids. They’d be exhausted.”

“I was saying we should just invite Gabriel and Sandra to come here,” Mom told me.

“I don’t know if I can stand that.” Melanie’s mouth trembled. “I mean, to be together like we’re still together—you know what
I mean—and have his mother there and then the kids all excited… It sounds unbearable.”

My mother put down her mug. “You have to think about what’s best for Nicole and Cameron.”

“I know, I know,” Melanie said. “I just don’t know if I can stand it.”

“Then don’t do it,” I said. “You’re the one who’s dealing with getting their costumes ready and all that stuff. What right
does Gabriel have to start making demands?”

“He’s their father,” my mother said. “He has every right. And he’s asking, not demanding.” She clearly didn’t like that I
wasn’t agreeing with her. She turned back to Melanie. “I know it won’t be easy. So you’ll have a glass of wine first.” She
shrugged. “Maybe two. But it will make the kids so happy.”

“It’s
Halloween
,” I said. “Free Candy Night. They’d be happy if some crazy homeless guy took them trick-or-treating.” Mom gave me one of
her looks and I knew she wanted me to back off—and I also knew she was kind of right, that Nicole and Cameron would love to
spend Halloween with both their parents. But it still felt to me like she was bullying Melanie into doing something Mel didn’t
want to do, and she’d done that to me too many times. “You should do what you want, Mel.”

“You’re right,” Mel said, and at first I was pleased because I thought she meant me—but she was talking to my mother. “Go
ahead and invite them.”

“But I just think—” I was going to continue the argument when my mother cut me off.

“I believe your son is calling you, Rickie.”

I thought she was just saying that to make me shut up, but then I heard an unhappy distant voice calling, “Mom? Mom? Where
are you? I’m scared.”

I went upstairs.

I let Noah climb into my bed and then I lay down next to him. He had had a bad dream and said he couldn’t stop thinking about
it, so I tried to distract him by reminding him that it was almost Halloween and we still hadn’t decided on a costume. We
considered various superheroes and characters from books and TV shows and then he bounced up and said excitedly, “I have an
idea! I could go as a coach!”

“Lie down. A coach?”

He fell on his back. “Yeah, like Coach Andrew! I could wear my whistle. And a baseball cap. He always wears a baseball cap.”

“Sounds nice and easy.”

“I
might
need some new sneakers. Mine are the wrong type.”

“I think they’ll be okay for this.”

He pouted briefly. “And sunglasses. Coach Andrew always wears sunglasses outside.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be night, don’t forget. You’d be blind in sunglasses.” Then I said, “You like him now, huh?”

“Who?”

“Coach Andrew.”

“He’s okay. I still hate PE but I like when I’m his assistant coach. Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I call my dad tomorrow?”

I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “Noah—”

“Please, Mom?”

“I don’t even have a current phone number for him.”

“You could get it online.”

“Says who?”

“You’re always getting numbers online.”

Whatever else you could say about Noah, he noticed things. Usually things you wished he hadn’t noticed. “It wouldn’t work,”
I said slowly. “I’m sorry, Noah. I don’t know where he is.”

“He’s my
dad
,” he said. “He probably wants to talk to me.”

I was silent a moment. I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. This was a conversation we’d had before. The other kids
at school had fathers who cared, even the ones who were divorced. Even the kid with two mommies had a biological father who
showed up for his school performances and cheered loudly. Everyone had a father who cared except Noah. It broke my heart.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, but we both knew it was an empty promise. “Now go to sleep, Noey. It’s late.”

“Don’t move me,” he said. “Don’t put me back in my bed, okay? I want to sleep here with you tonight.”

“Okay, but if you kick me, I’m going to be tired and mad tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” he said.

He did and I was.

The girls won their basketball game on Friday. It was a close game, and I was glad I got there in time to see the exciting
last ten minutes. Whenever a substitute was about to go in, she’d quickly rub the top of Noah’s head and murmur something.
I asked him later what the girls were saying, and he said, beaming, “ ‘Top of the head for good luck.’ Sophia came up with
that. And it worked because we won!”

In the car, Noah said, “Oh, hey, Mom? Austin gave me an
invitation to his birthday party. I’m not supposed to tell anyone because most of the boys in the class weren’t invited. But
it’s probably okay for me to tell
you
.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “Do you want to go?”

“Yeah. Except—” He stopped.

“What?”

“It’s a sports party. You know how bad I am at that stuff.”

“You’ve got to stop saying that, Noah. You’re not that bad. But you also don’t have to go to the party if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” he said. “But don’t leave, okay?”

“I promise.” So, even though I knew that it was a huge mistake, and that we’d both be miserable and isolated there, I e-mailed
Maria Dellaventura later that day and said we’d come to Austin’s party.

Melanie arrived at our house on Monday afternoon—Halloween—soon after I’d brought Noah, Cameron, and Nicole all home from
school. She was wearing a black sweater dress that was long and clingy.

“Wow,” I said admiringly. “That looks great, but it is so not like you.”

She blushed. “I know. My mother sent it to me. She thinks I need to ‘make more of an effort in the looks department.’ Direct
quote. I wouldn’t normally wear it, but Nicole said it would be a good witch dress and the kids wanted me to wear a costume.
I have a hat too.” She put the witch’s hat she had been holding on her head and struck a pose. “See?”

“Gabriel’s going to be very sorry he was such an idiot when he sees you in that dress.”

“That’s not why I wore it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure it isn’t.”

“Are
you
going to wear a costume?” Noah asked me. He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some GF toast, swinging his legs and
looking fairly adorable in a baseball cap that was way too big for him and kept falling down over his ears. I had sent him
to school in one that fit, and he had come back wearing Coach Andrew’s UCLA cap. The other cap was gone, not in his backpack,
although he insisted he had put it in there and that someone must have taken it out and stolen it, which was what he always
said when he misplaced something.

“Nah,” I said.

“You always look the same,” Noah complained. “You never look pretty.”

“Noah!” Melanie exclaimed. “Don’t say that. Your mom’s very pretty.”

“But she doesn’t ever wear a dress or cut her hair or anything.”

“He’s got a point,” I said. “I mean, look at me.” At that moment, I was wearing jeans that were torn at the knees and a men’s
size-large sweatshirt that my father had gotten for free at some conference. My hair was in its usual messy ponytail.

Melanie diplomatically chose to change the subject. “Do you know what we’re doing for dinner?”

“Mom’s ordering in pizza,” I said.

“What am I going to eat?” asked Noah.

“I’ll make you a GF pizza.”

“Don’t forget to make it so it’s ready when the other pizza comes.”

“Okay.” He was right to remind me: I often forgot to start his pizza on time, which meant poor Noah had to wait for it to
cook while everyone else was scarfing down fresh, hot pizza.

“What’s for dessert?” he asked.

“It’s Halloween, Noah,” I said. “What do you think?”

“Oh. Candy, I guess.”

“He’s a genius,” I said to Mel.

“He is,” she said with a lot less sarcasm and smiled at him.

That was the last genuine smile I saw on her face that day. An hour or so later the doorbell rang, and Gabriel walked in with
his mother and—surprise!—Ryan.