Brazen

Noah walks back to me, carrying something in her hand. Heaviness swarms her emotions. Her innocence is shrouded by something harrowing. I started out my day by surprising Noah and trying to make her smile, but it has taken a drastic turn.

She returns to the spot between my legs, and my arms encircle her. I kiss the back of her head while wondering what I’m about to discover.

“What is that, baby?” I ask about what she has and she turns to face me.

“This is the letter I told you about from my mother that I haven’t opened yet. I want to open it, and I want you with me when I do.”

My emotions are mixed. There is pride that she wants me close while she tackles this, but it’s minuscule compared to the fear I have for Noah concerning what she’ll read.

“I’m here,” I tell her.

Her finger traces unidentifiable shapes onto the front of my shirt.

“I blamed myself. How could I not? I was just a little kid,” she whispers like she’s admitting a dirty secret.

“Do you still?” My arms tighten around her. It might kill me if she says yes.

“Some days. Most days, no. It’s hard to keep out the self-blame completely. She kept me for six years. How did she just decide that, one day, she no longer wanted me? What was the catalyst?” Her voice gets stronger as she speaks, but I can clearly hear the torment within her.

“Noah, you have no fault, no matter what’s written in there. You were a kid, her kid, and there is nothing you could have done to warrant being given away. Maybe something happened where she just couldn’t keep you. It must have been a hard choice.”

I can’t fathom any of this, especially growing up with the mother I did. My mom was gentle and always put me first. Something I never took for granted when I had Sunday’s parents who were prime examples of people who practiced conditional love.

“Do you remember your last day with her?”

“No, I remember my mom kept talking about an appointment. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized that was her hearing to waive her rights. I mostly just remember the man who took me to Golden Heights and the way he spoke to me with a mixture of pity and kindness. It took me a long time to understand I wasn’t coming home. But maybe the answer is in this letter. Who knows if I can even trust what she says though?”

“Open it. I’m here for you.” My thumb brushes against her knuckles.

With slow movements, she crinkles the envelope in her hand. I hold my breath, and she doesn’t take her eyes off me.

“Go on, baby. You’re strong, and you can handle this.”

She blinks, freeing a tear. I wipe the wetness with the pad of my thumb and then lightly kiss her nose.

“Let’s find out the real story,” I whisper against her skin.

Then, she slowly breaks the seal of the envelope with her pointer finger. I hold on to her knees just so I can feel her skin against mine and hope to transfer some comfort. Once the paper is unfolded in her hands, her eyes quickly scan from left to right. She reads it over once in her head and then closes her eyes tightly. I pull her into my chest and brush my hands against her back.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you, Noah. You just did something huge. This letter has been in the back of your mind, plaguing you. Just concentrate on that. You did it!” I lift her head and cradle her face.

Is the letter filled with loving words and fond memories? Is it written like a caring mother writing to her child who is merely away at camp with a return date? Are the pages filled with flowery accounts of her only child? Or is it riddled with guilt and desire for forgiveness? Is each sentence panicked and rushed? Maybe it’s full of rambling or sentences that are cut short.

“I want to read it to you,” she tells me.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to share this with me if you don’t want to.” I lower the paper, so I get a clear view of her eyes.

“I’m sure. I want you to know everything about me and within my heart. I want to share the good and the bad with you. I’m stronger with you by my side.”

“You’re strong all on your own, Noah.”

Her kiss is wet with tears as she leans forward and gently presses her lips to mine.

“Take your time. There is no rush.”

She pulls back and wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

As Noah begins to read, her voice breaks, and she has to take a minute before starting over. I fight back my own emotion. Seeing her like this isn’t something that is easy, but I stay strong for my girl.

My Noah girl,

By now, you surely hate me. By now, you must have come to your own conclusions about what I did. I’m not sure which is worse for my case—your imagination or the facts. You’ll be eighteen in a few days, and the only gift I can give you at this point is the truth.

When I was fourteen, I met a boy. He was kind and devoted to me. I’d never felt more treasured in all my life as I would when he looked into my eyes and told me how beautiful I was, but there was two sides to him. There was the boy who would compliment me with such emotion and the one who would vanish and go off with his friends and not call me for weeks. Yet, still, I loved him. More than I loved myself.

As these things tend to do, his behavior only got worse with time. The loving side of him got lost over the years, and the absent side took over. I began to crave his disappearances because I knew, when he came back, I would see the boy who once loved me so tenderly. He’d shower me with flowers and affection, and I’d be reminded of the origin of our love. I’d ignore the bad and bask in the way he would make things up to me. We were in a cycle, and I was addicted to him, to being in a relationship.

I’ve never done well by myself. In my head, I’ve always measured my worth by how happy I could make someone and how much they wanted me.

Then, I got pregnant with you. At first, he promised he would be there. Then, his dedication showed signs of wavering, and before you were born, he vanished for good. He left a package on my doorstep with a note, some diapers, and a request to give you his first name. After that, I never saw him. But, still, even with him gone, I did what he wanted. If he ever came back, I wanted him to see how devoted I was. So, you were named Noah, after your father.

Then, I gave birth to you, and for the first time ever, my life was filled with an innocence and love like I’d never experienced. I thought everything was going to be different. You were my fresh start. I thought I could find the affection and love I wanted through my little girl who needed me completely. Looking back now, I realize that was way too much pressure to put on a little baby. I was overjoyed when I brought you home, but quickly, I realized it wasn’t the same.

At first, you gave me everything I needed. You would fuss, and I could soothe you, so that made me feel good. Then, it just became too much. I was tired, and I missed having adult relationships. I had no idea how hard being a single mother would be.

As you grew older, I began to date again, still looking for the man who would complete our family.

I’m not sure what you remember, but in the beginning, there were a lot of men coming in and out of our lives. Some of them disappeared, like your father, and others, I clung on to for way too long. But then I met Mark—the one, the person I wanted to commit my life to. He was everything I had been looking for—handsome, funny, caring—and he wanted to give all of his time to me, something I’d never had before.

There was one problem …

Mark didn’t want kids—at all. He didn’t want to have his own or be with a woman who had kids herself. I kept you from him, never bringing him home and leaving you more and more often with friends. Things got serious between us, and I knew I had to make a decision.

Him or you.

I played out a thousand different scenarios in my head, but I’m afraid I might have taken the way out that was easiest for me. I needed love. I needed a relationship. I needed a partner. Anyone could love you, but my time was running out, and I found what I had always been searching for. I guess I hoped he would eventually give on the kid deal-breaker, but he was dead set against the notion.

Noah, I love you. I swear that, no matter what you might think, I love you. I just couldn’t imagine my life without him. I loved him, too, and I needed him. I knew you’d be okay without me.

He never found out about you, and then I gave my rights to you away.

For him. I needed him, and I still do.

I can admit that I was also selfish in my plans. I was more scared to lose Mark than I was to lose you. That’s harsh and maybe cruel for me to say, but after all the years, I feel like you deserve the truth. I love you, Noah, but my passion for Mark consumes me. When I have to choose between him and anything, I will always choose him. I chose him over my own flesh and blood. I have regrets, but I’d do it all again. I’m sorry, but I would.

You’ll be an adult next week, and even without me being in your life, I’m proud of you. But, even after everything, I have to ask you a favor that I must insist you follow. Don’t contact me when you get out. Don’t come looking for me. He can’t know the truth about you. So, it’s better if we continue down our separate paths. After next week, I won’t know where you are, and I’ll lose even that connection, but the truth is, that’s probably for the best. I’m sorry for what I did when you were a little girl and for continuing to cut you out of my life, even now. It’s the way things need to be, and that’s all I can really say about it.

Happy birthday, Noah.

I love you.

Mom

Noah shakes her head in disbelief. “She’s more selfish and delusional than I ever could have imagined,” she says, dropping the letter into the grass. “This letter isn’t about truth, mine or hers. She didn’t write it to bring me peace or give me answers. This is all about protecting herself because my birthday triggered fear within her over her secret getting out. She needed to make sure her only daughter didn’t turn up and cause trouble. She needed to make sure I’d stay away.” Bitter disbelief distorts Noah’s voice.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” There is nothing I can say, and even the apology sounds stupid before it’s out. “That couldn’t have been easy, and your mom said some horrible things, but is there any relief in knowing the truth?”

“Not yet, but it’ll come. The wound is too fresh, but eventually, I’ll be glad I know what happened.”

The papers are left scattered around us as Noah curls up between my legs. Her arms grip around my back, and I just let her be for a while. I give her time to let everything she learned sink in and allow her the opportunity to feel whatever she needs to at this moment.

Crickets are chirping into the night before I walk Noah back to her front door. The emotions of the heavy day have drained us both, and we have no more words for one another. Right now, I want nothing more than to climb into Noah’s bed and sleep with her tightly tucked beside me, but I’m not sure she’s ready for that. Nothing about the need is sexual; it’s all about my instinct to be the man she can count on always. Still, I don’t bring it up. Instead, I kiss her until I sense a small amount of the stress leave her body. The connection isn’t sweet, and it isn’t filled with lust. It’s fueled by something much more important—love.