❃𝙺𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊❃
It's entirely possible that this is a mistake I'll regret. Then again, the risk is one I still have to take. I'll always have to take the risks now. For the sake of myself and my son, I'm just going to have to keep taking the risks that I'm sure will never really stop coming.
Noah grins. "Go ahead." He encourages as he returns a lazy hand to the wheel while we move to the second window.
"You've done this before, haven't you?"
He sighs deeply, grin disappearing in an instant. "Kiara, for the last time, I do not have any other children."
"That you know of." I smugly correct. He rolls his eyes but with a little smile. I know he hopes that's not the case though. I hope it isn't too. "But that's not what I meant." I dismiss with a wave of my hand. "I meant...You were kind of a parent to Aaliyah...weren't you?"
He pauses at that. He takes a few extra seconds to look over at me. "I guess." He weakly answers.
I raise a brow. "You have to actually answer me. Or else you can't ask your question." He seems to debate on letting the whole thing go, but ultimately decides against it. He nods and looks away, into the window while we wait a moment.
"My parents were around, but they didn't really like to do the whole parenting thing. Even when we really needed them, they liked to step back and say it was time we learned to do things on our own. It didn't matter that their six-year-old was about to get herself hurt real bad. To them, they were letting her learn the hard way." He seems to feel like his answer is a little deeper than a yes or no one. For me, his real answer is the one he reluctantly gives. "Sometimes I'd have to be there before she could hurt herself. After a few years of that, she sort of...stopped going to them."
I frown when he stops there, like that's all. "What do you mean stopped going to them?" I push. I have a feeling I know what he probably wants to ask, so I'm pushing my luck like he will.
Noah doesn't answer immediately, pausing when the window slides open. He has time to think about it while we're handed our milkshakes. I let him start up on his own, waiting until even after we've slid back into traffic to circle around back to my place. While I wait for him to go on, I stick our straws in our own cups so he doesn't have to fumble with it while he tries to drive.
"Thanks," He acknowledges me on a mumble. "Uh, well," He begins again on an inhale. "She tried to, um...you know, show them whatever craft she did when she first started school. Like, with the whole noodle necklaces and glittery shit kindergartners do. It didn't even take the entire year for her to realize they weren't paying attention. So, one day she just started bringing the crafts to me because she knew I'd acknowledge them. That sort of grew into her coming to me to show me other things she was doing outside of school. And then she started coming to me about her problems inside and outside of school. At some point, I guess I ended up being the first person she went to for pretty much everything."
I've heard little snippets of what he's talking about from Aaliyah. Sometimes, she talks and she doesn't realize what she's saying until she's already said it. So, naturally, I've heard a little about how in fourth grade, her fifteen year old big brother ripped her teacher a new one for forcing her to 'hug it out' with one of her bullies at the time.
It was something that I thought her parents were supposed to do, but I kept my mouth shut about that. She seemed so casual when describing it, as if it was completely normal for her brother who was only a handful of years older than her to be doing things her parents should've been.
I wasn't sure if I should've asked her or if I should've asked him about it. I probably would've gotten quicker answers from Aaliyah, but I still wanted to see if I could even get them out of Noah. He's a little less casual about it, already aware that it shouldn't have been his job.
"My turn." Noah decides before I'm fully finished with my questions. I huff which he chuckles at. "Yeah, you got more than one question out. You can ask the rest of 'em later."
"What's your question?"
His smug smile starts to fade off. For a moment, he contemplates his question. It's like he knows what can happen if he asks, but still can't help but do it anyway. "What happened to him?"
I frown, waiting for more. When he doesn't continue, I have to ask. "Who?"
"I—" He shakes his head and shifts in his seat. His grip on the wheel tightens. "I'm sorry. I probably have no right to ask but...I mean, I feel like I can because you kind of seem to see a lot in him in me. Plus, we have a deal."
I shut my eyes as soon as that last bit makes it out. It feels better if I shut my eyes. I'm not the one who needs to be comforted though if he thinks I see my dad when I look in his eyes.
"What happened to him?" Noah repeats the question. "You talk about him in past tense—when you talk about him. Which is basically never." He chuckles to himself. "Is he...what? Not around anymore?"
Still around as in alive or dead, I think. I don't know why he'd be so careful to say it though.
I turn my head away as soon as I feel the shift in his voice. Somehow, that's all it takes for me to know he's looking at me now. It won't be for long since he's driving, but I still look away and out my own window to watch the people walking down the sidewalk as we drive by.
I guess he has a point either way. I brought up something I knew he'd hate, so I guess it's fair that he brings something that I hate up.
"I don't know."
He hesitates to respond. "You don't know what? If he's still around?"
"Mm-mm." I shake my head softly to myself. "No idea." I admit on a whisper. "I don't think I care though. If he's dead or not."
"How long's he been gone?"
I take a breath while I think. "I was, um," I pause briefly. "I was twenty."
"Twenty?"
"Mhm,"
"Sorry—Twenty? You were twenty when he finally left?" Noah quickly clarifies, as if he hadn't heard me right.
"Yeah," I confirm. "I was already out of the house though. When I turned eighteen, I moved in with a friend."
"Hang on—You were almost twenty-two when we met, right?" He's still caught up on that time frame. I think he was expecting me to tell him I was younger.
"Yeah. Talk about robbing the cradle."
"Shut up," He doesn't laugh like I hoped he would because he's still stuck. "You—He—Your mom..."
"Never left him." I finish when he doesn't. "She thought I needed a father—no matter how fucked he was." I finally find it in me to open my eyes and look over at him. He keeps his eyes ahead even though we're at a red light. "Noah..." I take a breath. "I don't want you to think I'm comparing you to him right now—But why do you think she was so against me running away before I could find you?"
His head slowly and numbly shakes his head, a thousand yard stare stuck on the road ahead. "I thought..." He doesn't seem to even know what he thought.
"She's an old fashioned woman." I reason. "Her father was just like mine. And her mother stayed with him until the very end just like they promised each other in their vows." I explain gently. "She hates that Cameron didn't have a dad at the beginning. She doesn't care about what I was afraid of, she just wants him to have his father."
He doesn't answer me for a long time. In that time, we sit in complete silence. Not even the radio can save us because he never turned it on when we got in. I thought it'd be too awkward if I did it myself. He doesn't drive with the radio on, for some reason.
It's weird. He doesn't mind the sound of Cameron rambling to himself in the backseat—doesn't mind chatting the whole drive—but he doesn't turn the music on. He listens to music normally, I know that, so it's not like he doesn't like music. He just never seems to have it on when I get in the car with him.
"What made him go?"
I'm still staring down at the radio thoughtfully, wondering what would happen if I just turned it on. "Hm?" I coax on a sigh. I wasn't planning on telling him so much about this today. Or ever, to be honest. But—again—the risks.
"You moved out at eighteen and it wasn't until two years later that he got rid of himself. What changed at twenty years that made him go?"
"Oh," I acknowledge. I have to think about his question for a minute before I come up with an answer. "Honestly, I don't know. I remember when my mom called to tell me though."
"Tell me about it."
I glance at him. He keeps his eyes on the road still. Rarely takes them off of it. I don't think he likes to look anywhere but the road while driving—which makes sense. It's not safe. "Um...Well. I remember it had been, like, a week and a half since I heard from her. I had been thinking about checking in once I was sure he was at work or something. I never came over if I knew he was there. So, when she called, I thought it was to tell me he wasn't there so I could come visit. But she just told me he was gone. Left all his things there and skipped town, I guess."
He waits for more. When I don't give it to him, he comes back with another question. "You believe her?" He knowingly asks. I don't know what possesses him to ask me a question like that—a question that has a hint of accusation in it—but he somehow finds the courage to do it. And I'm almost a little impressed.
I evade. "He was really a terrible father. Terrible husband too. They never went out on dates, he never told her he loved her, never even smiled at her. He did all those things with any other woman than his wife, and he didn't try to hide it. He was also stupid when it came to money—barely ever even had a twenty on him. He borrowed it a lot—So much that he could never pay it back. So...You know."
"So, he found another woman and skipped town because of loan sharks." Noah sums up. I don't answer him. "That what she told you?"
"Mm." It's a so-so answer. My mom never did tell me where he went or if she even had any theories. She stuck to the facts. One day his things were there and he wasn't. He was a liar and a cheat. He owed people money.
Make of that what you will.
"Huh." Is all Noah responds with.
I swallow as I find it in me to continue even though he didn't ask. "I had these uncles." I look out my window again. "I wasn't actually related to them—They were just really close friends of my mom's. She met them at work. They'd come by every couple of days every week to check in on us. They'd stay for a really long time, and I think my dad hated it." I chuckle to myself and lean a little closer to my window when I notice we're coming up on a man walking a beautifully fluffy dog on the sidewalk. "I always wanted a dog like that."
"Like what?"
"That." I nod towards them before we pass, and hope Noah sees.
I relax in my seat once they're out of view of the rear view mirror out my window. "What happened to your uncles?"
"I don't know." I admit thoughtfully. "Even after I moved out, I saw them a lot when I was around my mom. But after my dad left, I didn't see them anymore."
"No?"
"Mm-mm," I shake my head softly, uncaring if he's watching me to see it. "My mom stopped working there not too long after."
"Shit." He whispers to himself. I lay my head back against the headrest lazily.
"You remind me of my uncle Randy sometimes."
"Do I?"
I start to smile. "He had a stupid sense of humor too."
"It's not stupid."
"A little."
He doesn't respond to that, letting me have the very small win. I like the stupid sense of humor he has. Despite his obnoxious behavior earlier, he does know when to quit.
Noah sighs loudly and dreadfully. I cock my head back and slowly look over at him. "What?" I coax as I pick up my milkshake from the cup holder in the middle.
"Your backstory's more tragic than mine."