Don't Let Go(18)

“If Noah is there, not a word.”
She blew out a breath and did a little eye flutter like I didn’t know what I was talking about, but I knew her. Given the chance, she’d bow up with her little five-feet-five self and tell Noah Ryan just where to go and how to get there.
Ruthie wasn’t swayed by his smile or his eyes or the way he looked with his arms crossed over his chest. She was oblivious to all of it. Because once upon a time she’d believed in him. And he’d let her down.
An old conversation drifted up from my memory bank.
“I swear I’m screwed, no matter what I do,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Jules. Noah loves you,” Ruthie said. We were taking a break out back of the store, holding a bucket of chocolate chip ice cream with two spoons. “He’ll ride this out with you no matter which way it goes.”
I rubbed my basketball belly and took another bite of the cold creaminess, feeling a little foot push against the side.
“Maybe,” I said. “So why do I get the feeling that if I keep it, I lose my parents, and if I don’t, I lose Noah?”
Ruthie waved a spoon at me, pushing glasses up her nose. “You’re not losing anybody, silly. Everybody’s on your side, even if it’s different ones.”
So much for that. And Ruthie never forgot it. Not with my mother when I spiraled into a destructive mode afterward and she refused to acknowledge it, and certainly not with Noah, when he shocked the hell out of Ruthie by leaving me alone to deal with it.
She’d waited many years to give him a piece of her mind, and I could see the wheels turning.
“What’s your order?” she asked, clear-eyed and ignoring me.
“I’m serious, Ruth Ann.”
Her gaze turned deadly—if she could pull off deadly. “You call me that again and you’ll get a scene over there worthy of the evening news.”
I held my hands up. “Okay, okay, just—please don’t stir shit up. I’ve already talked to him twice today and I’m sure he’s as tired of the subject as I am.”
“Who cares how tired he is,” she muttered. “Look at you.” I looked down at myself in question and then back up at her. “One day back and he’s got you coming in late to work, avoiding public places, wearing blue jeans to work—which I happen to like,” she added, doing a little flair with her hands. “But that’s beside the point. It’s not you. You’re cowering in your own town,” she said. “Your town.”
I blinked. “You’re right.”
“Damn straight I am,” she said. “Once upon a time you thought you’d die without him. Then you thought you’d crumble into dust if you ever saw him again.” She leaned forward at me, intending to be forceful. “Well, he’s back. And you’re still standing.”
True. Although that crumbling part wasn’t that far out of reach.
“So, your usual order?”
I looked at her and shook my head. “Get me a cheeseburger.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and she chuckled. “Whoa.”
“And fries,” I added. It may not have been ballsy to anyone else, and it wasn’t as good as going over there, but it was a step outside my carefully constructed, lined, and sealed box.
I was still standing.

? ? ?

The cheeseburger only made me want more crap, so I figured that nachos would be a good follow-up for dinner that night. And the look on Becca’s face when she came in was nearly worth the empty calories we were about to consume. She looked almost as excited as Harley, who was sitting at my feet looking up at me like I was God.
“Are you dying?” she asked. “Am I?”
“Ha ha,” I said, chopping up the lettuce. “Check those beans in the microwave. See if they’re ready.”
She dropped her backpack where she stood and headed that way. “Is there a reason for the madness?”
“Is there a reason for your backpack on the floor?”
She waved a hand as she grabbed a spoon to stir the beans. “I’ll get it in a second.”
“And if you’d just put it on a chair to begin with, you wouldn’t have to get it, and we wouldn’t—”
“Be having this conversation?” she finished for me with a sarcastic expression. “Oh, yes, we would. You’d find a way.”
I sighed, already tired. “Becca.”
“Hi, Mom,” she said, turning. “Can we just do that? Do we have to fight?” Her gaze landed on my jeans. “Did you go to work today?”
I closed my eyes and sucked my readied comment back in. “Yes, I did. Hi, Bec. How was your day?”
“I passed my government test.”
I stared at her. “There was really a test? Wonderful!” I said, grabbing the shredded cheese. “Sounds like a good day.”
“Yeah, well, until Jill Bartlett decided to be a douche,” she said, her shoulders slouching a little.
I glanced up. “And why is that?”
Becca shrugged and did the scrunch-up thing with her face that said the subject was about to be done. “Nothing. It was stupid.”
“So tell me.”
“I did tell you,” she said, widening her eyes without meeting mine. She grabbed a plate from the cabinet and started building her nachos. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing enough to mess up your day?” I asked, attempting another angle.
“Whatever, Mom, can we just eat?” she said, clearly done. And irritated.
“Yeah, whatever.” I blew out a breath. “You bring it up and then get mad at me for it.” I pulled the sour cream container from the fridge. “I swear, baby, you make me want to bang my head on the wall sometimes.”