Seven Weeks to Forever (Love / Romance)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I holler out the chorus of a song I must have played at least ten times already today, stirring the boiling water in a pot on the stove. If I lose my voice later, that's fine. It only gets me into trouble, anyway.

If I were my own neighbor, I'm sure I'd hate myself right now. I've had music cranked for most of the day, the bass thumping so loudly that it vibrates the pictures on the walls and my kitchen windows. I can't hear myself think, and that's entirely the point.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I jump. My hand that's holding a wooden spoon and stirring a steaming pot of macaroni comes up with me, spraying water droplets all over my arm. I suck in my breath at what feels like dozens of tiny needles burning into my skin. It figures I'd scald myself while making mac and cheese. It was supposed to be comfort food.

"As always, your timing is fantastic." I wave the spoon at Noah before setting it down on the counter and crossing my arms. "Was that really necessary?"

"To be here? Absolutely." He reaches for the volume knob on the stereo and turns it down.

"To maim me," I correct him.

"I think you'll make it until all of your pain goes away in The Life-After." I do a double take. Sarcasm is my thing, not his.

"Touché. What is it you think I want to talk about?"

"I'm pretty sure you know." He takes off his fedora.

I turn back to the stove. "I love you, but you aren't helping me much."

"Someone else loves you, too, but I think you know that."

"That's doubtful, if we're thinking of the same person. You were watching us at the beach this morning, unless you stopped right after that little vision of Riley leaving the flowers." I pick up the spoon from the counter and stir the macaroni again.

"I saw everything, and don't try to act like you weren't a good part of that. People say things they don't mean to when they're provoked, and I think you provoked him on purpose."

I stop stirring, my hand tightening around the wooden spoon. "Do you want to repeat that one?"

"Sure." He leans against the counter, looking at me. I move my eyes back to the pot of boiling water. "I think you wanted that fight today, but there's one thing I can't figure out."

I start stirring again. "What's that?"

"Are you afraid of what happens when you leave him, or are you afraid of him leaving you?"

"You're really asking me this? Ow!" Water spits out of the pot and onto my arm. I grit my teeth, grabbing onto my hand.

"Turn down the heat on that." Noah reaches over and adjusts the heat dial for the element. The water in the pot slows to a gentle boil. "And yes, I'm really asking you that."

"Why?"

"Because I think it's a question you need to answer for yourself, and I hope you'll be honest about it."

I give the macaroni another stir. "Why is it you think you know so much?"

I feel Noah's energy connecting with mine. He's trying to calm me down. Good luck, buddy.

"Because I know a bit about what goes on in your head and heart," he answers. "I'm not trying to be cruel."

"So why are you asking me to think about this?"

"You need to. You'll feel better when you do. There's almost no point to you being here if you're going to keep putting blocks in your own way just because you're afraid." The guy is a broken record, I swear.

"I thought I was here to help Riley," I say.

"You can't be much help to him when you're barely stumbling through your own life here." He leans back against the counter, watching me.

"I'm trying. Riley's not the greatest at opening up, if you haven't noticed. He starts to and then he backs away."

"And you?"

"And me?" I ask. "I don't follow."

"In those moments after you open up, do you also take a step back?"

"I don't think so." I put the wooden spoon down on the counter.

"Uh huh. Did he push away this time, or did you?"

"You were there," I tell him.

"I want your take on this."

"Maybe we both did," I say quietly.

"At least one of you shouldn't have. You're the one who knows better, since you have a job to do. What you saw on the beach should have made you more sensitive to that. You're supposed to help him get past his pain, not close off when he reacts to it. Of anyone, you know what he's going through."

"Sure, kick me when I'm down." I walk over to the stereo and crank the volume back up, then go back to the stove.

"Stop acting like you're six, and start acting like a second-timer." He turns the volume back down.

"You can turn that back up if you're going to keep lecturing me."

He ignores me. "I want you to go find him."

"I'll text him," I mumble.

"I didn't say text him. I said go find him."

"And what do I say when I get there?" I pick up the spoon and give the macaroni one last stir, and then turn off the element.

"You could start with hello."

"Sheer brilliance. Do you write scripts in your spare time?"

He doesn't answer me. I open the cupboard beside the stove and grab a colander from one of the shelves. I bring it over to the sink and pour the contents of the pot into it, letting the water drain out.

"What do I say?" I ask again, watching the water go down the drain. Steam rises from the sink.

"You'll know what to say. Just listen to your heart instead of your fear."

Amarleen said the same thing. I open my mouth to ask him if he's getting his lines from her, but he's gone.

"Thanks for leaving me on my own for this one," I call out. I think I hear a chuckle somewhere in the distance.