Page 79 of Tutored in Love

Ivy:I like this Marcus. He’s a good influence.

Me:You’re both the worst. But yeah, he has mad skills. Now, what the heck do I say to Noah?

Ivy:Reach out. Ask about his brother. See what happens.

Chapter 40

Contact

Noah woke in Matt’s bed.He didn’t remember falling asleep after his breakdown, but early-afternoon sun now lit the west-facing window. Panicking, he grabbed his phone, sighing in relief when there were no missed calls or messages. He sank back into the pillow, allowing his adrenaline to spool down while he stared at the ceiling.

Other than nap grogginess and some post-losing-it congestion, he felt better—slightly guilty for abandoning his mom but physically stronger.

He blew his nose, made the bed, and hauled himself into Matt’s bathroom. The large, beveled mirror proved he looked as bad as he felt—greasy hair sticking up in all the wrong places, puffy eyes over dark circles, two days of beard. The smell was worse.

Counting himself lucky to find a clean towel under the sink—there were several used ones on the floor—he started the shower and cupped cold water from the sink against his eyes while the shower got hot.

Once in, the rain showerhead and spacious glass enclosure made him want to linger, but thinking of his mom alone at the hospital spurred him on. He hurried through his wash and shave, glad to have his own shampoo and razor from his duffel, and came up with a game plan as he finished his shower.

He would sleep at Matt’s for now. He’d contact his boss and professors to let them know the situation and text his roommate so he wouldn’t worry when Noah didn’t come back to their apartment—not that he would. The clothes he’d packed for Mexico—supplemented by Matt’s—would be all right for now, but he’d need to do some laundry soon. He could throw Matt’s things in with his own and get the place tidied up for when his brother came home.

If.

When.

Reluctantly he turned off the water, dried, and dressed. He ran a comb through his hair and brushed his teeth, then gathered all the dirty clothes and towels into an empty laundry basket he found in the closet. Momentum carried him into the living room and kitchen, where he limited himself to collecting the trash. The rest of the cleaning would have to wait until later. Mom was alone.

Back in the bedroom, he grabbed both sets of keys and his phone, checking again for anything from his mom. There was nothing from her, but there was a text from an unknown number. Unlocking the phone, he opened the message.

And sat down hard on the bed.

Hey, Noah.

I got your number from Jane. I hope you don’t mind too much. Just wanted to see how you’re doing. How is your brother? I’m so sorry about the accident. Praying for you and your family in this difficult time. Take care.

—Grace

Noah’s heart pounded in his ears. He wiped at his eyes and read the message again. And again. He should reply. But what would he say?

A notification banner pulled down as his thumbs hovered over the keyboard. It was from Mom:Bring me a sweatshirt, please?

He texted back, letting her know he would and that he was on his way. Hopefully he could figure out how to reply to Grace as he drove.

Back at the hospital, he tried to convince his mom to spend the night at Matt’s, but she wouldn’t listen to him. She remained doggedly bedside, until Noah caught her head-bobbing in her chair sometime after midnight and sent her out to the waiting room to get some better rest.

While she was gone, Noah sat at his brother’s side, debating. Repeatedly he read Grace’s text, felt the comfort it brought, and started to reply, only to shove the phone back into his pocket and argue with himself.

I shouldn’t be thinking about Grace.

It would be rude not to reply.

My family needs me.

Grace deserves to be acknowledged.

I don’t want to text her.

Yes, you do.