“NOAH! Get your butt down here! We’re going to be late! Again,” I mutter the last word under my breath as I stand at the bottom of the steps with my hands on my hips.
My eyes snag briefly on the items scattered up and down the stairs: stacks of clean, sort-of folded laundry, books, my Amazon subscribe and save delivery—which is super handy, by the way, and the only reason we haven’t run out of toothpaste—all things Noah and I laid there with the best intentions of putting them away later. But we never did, and now they’re just another reminder of my chaotic life.
Glancing once more at my watch, I sigh.
Noah appears at the top of the stairs, looking unbothered by my urgency. His dark hair tousled from sleep, and his droopy eyes telling me he just woke up. Despite me setting his alarm last night for 5:45 am.
I can’t blame him, no one in their right mind enjoys waking this early. But alas, it’s what I signed up for when I was pinned as a nurse. Noah makes his way down the stairs. He looks especially grouchy this morning, so instead of lecturing him, I grab the granola bar out of my scrubs pocket and hand it to him as a peace offering.
He accepts it, barely sparing me a glance of his deep brown eyes. The eyes that I adore, but also make me want to cry. Because Mom had the same ones. My heart squeezes inside my chest. I miss her so much.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I bend to pick up the backpack sitting at my feet, and he turns so I can help him slide it over his arms. Without a word, he grabs his D.C. Eagles ball cap and heads out the door.
“Hockey practice,” I whisper to myself. The Eagles hat reminding me that tonight I need to pick Noah up from the rink on my way home from work.
It’s been nearly nine months since I became my little brother’s legal guardian, and I still can’t keep track of his schedule.
Nine months, and he still barely talks. (To me, anyway.)
Nine months, and this still doesn’t feel real.
Maybe in another nine months, we’ll have this all figured out. I doubt it.
We drive in my small car to his school, a route that’s as new to me as taking care of a kid, and living in Washington D.C.—and literally everything else that has transpired since our parents were killed in an accident nine months ago.
I don’t force Noah to talk, don’t push him. He has enough going on inside that child-sized head of his. Things no kids should ever have to process. His teacher tells me he’s still quiet at school—and still getting into arguments with other students in his class. But his therapist assures me he is making progress in therapy… so I guess that’s enough for now.
I pull into the drop-off lane, which is agonizingly slow for it being this early. I’m usually the first one here.
Tightening my hands on the steering wheel in irritation, I watch the mother in front of me step out of the car. “No!” I whine, even though she can’t hear me. “You never, and I repeat never, get out of the car in the drop-off line!”
I watch her unbuckle a car seat and lift her kid down. Pausing to give several hugs and kisses. Sweet, okay. But this is clearly a preschooler, and preschoolers don’t get dropped off in the drop-off line for this exact reason.
“Shove your kid out, yell goodbye, then put the pedal to the metal!” I yell at the windshield, throwing my hands in the air. I’m not usually this grouchy, but I’m already running late, and I don’t even have time to stop for coffee.
The mother waves goodbye one last time before sending me a steely glare. Oh, maybe she could hear me. “Shit.”
A very small huff of a laugh comes out of Noah, who is watching me, his eyes twinkling in the same way our Dad’s once did when he teased us. I smile at him, elated that he laughed. I should probably feel ashamed for yelling at the sweet mother in front of us, but I feel nothing but joy. And maybe a little hope, that we, me and Noah, will eventually be besties again.
He looks away, opening the car door and shuffling out. Right before he closes the door, he turns to look at me. “You owe a dollar to the sassy jar.”
I’d forgotten about the jar. When I first moved here to be with Noah, I realized how much of a potty mouth I was, not used to being around kids. In an attempt to clean up my act, I told him I’d put a dollar in a jar every time I swore, and if it ever filled up, we’d do something extra fun. Like go to a movie… or at the rate I’m going, fly to Paris for a luxury vacation. I’m not sure I can actually afford the sassy jar. Once again, a familiar pang of regret wrenches my gut… had I not moved away, we’d be closer. Had I not moved away, we’d feel more comfortable around each other.
“Damn it,” I mutter to myself.
“Two dollars,” he whispers, just before closing the door. Walking toward the school without even a look, or a smile, back in my direction. But he talked to me, even made a joke.
Despite being two dollars poorer, I drive away feeling like I’ve won the day.
“You look rough,” my coworker, Ronda, says to me when I slump down into a chair in the tiny break room. It’s almost three and I finally have time to eat my lunch. There’s no need for a large break room for ICU nurses, seeing as we hardly have breaks, anyway.
I look at Ronda, her royal-blue scrubs identical to mine. Her dark eyes that seem to sparkle like starlight against her dark skin, are half teasing and half concerned. She’s twenty years my senior, and yet, my closest friend here in D.C.
I shoot her a small smile, too tired for any witty comebacks.
She tucks a silver-grey curl behind her ear, one that escaped from her neat bun. “How much sleep have you been getting?”
I scoff. “I’m a nurse. I don’t even need sleep!”
Her lips purse, obviously not fooled by my sarcasm. “And when’s the last time you got out of the house for something other than work?”
I look up at the drab hospital ceiling, calculating in my head how long it’s been since I had a good night’s sleep or got together with friends.
“And how about a date?” Ronda’s voice filters through my thoughts. “When’s the last time a man took you to bed, hmm?”
“Ronda!” I gasp, rising from my seat and bringing my hand to my chest.
She sighs heavily, but I know she worries about me. About Noah. “You know I’m always here to watch Noah for you. We live on the same street. All you have to do is ask, Andie.”
I nod, appreciating her kindness, but quickly look away from those dark eyes that seem to pierce through my soul. I make myself busy by closing the distance between myself and the fridge, then remove my pb&j.
Ronda clears her throat, drawing my attention. Her head tilts to the side, gesturing at a Jimmy John’s bag on the table next to her.
I sniff, pretending to cry. Ronda shakes her head, trying not to laugh. “Don’t start.”
It’s too late, I’m already serenading her with my own rendition of an old Rod Stewart song. By the time my solo is finished, I’m smothering her in a hug.
She pushes out of my grasp. “Just hurry up and eat, you have maybe seven and a half minutes to shove that sub down your face.”
“True,” I concede.
Ronda rises from her seat to leave, when she passes me she grabs the pb&j out of my hand and tosses it in the trash on her way out. The break room is quiet now, aside from the beeps and quick footsteps right outside the door. I realize how little time I have to myself to think, and the quiet that once seemed normal, now feels overwhelming. Like instead of sensory overload, it’s the opposite. It feels weird… eerie even. In nine months, I’ve grown accustomed to the small sounds of living with my much younger brother. The ball he tosses against his wall before catching it again, the sound of his footsteps upstairs when I’m in the kitchen, the rustling of papers as he does his homework.
I know I could ask for help, and I do. But Ronda already helps so much, I hate imposing on her just so I can go out and… what, exactly? Pick up men? Get a pedicure? It all feels so shallow and pointless now. Plus, I can’t trust myself to take my eyes off of Noah when I don’t absolutely have to. Which is why I insist on driving him to school, even though he thinks I’m super embarrassing.
My heart thuds inside my chest, the familiar feeling of overwhelming sadness. That cloud fogging up my mind, making it seem like I’ll never see the sun again. I take a deep breath and think of three good things. Noah, my job, a reliable vehicle.
With another breath, I begin eating my lunch quickly, pushing all other thoughts aside.
