Between Octobers

March 12th

March 12th

Evan had just left for the airport after being home for three days while the films' location changed. Now, he was on his way to San Francisco, where they'd be filming driving sequences. It was a short flight, but he had to get right to work once he got there. He promised to call when he got a chance.

I had neglected plenty of work over the last few days—enough to keep me busy the rest of the day for sure. First thing, I walked Arnold on the treadmill. There were too many faces out front to get in a good run. Once he was happy and panting, I set him outside with fresh food and water. Then it was my turn. I started going at the highest incline, though it wasn't enough to mimic my hill.

After a shower, it was time for laundry—what I needed to do the most and the one thing I wanted to put off. But it was piling up and I had to wash some of Evan's things to take to him at the end of the week. 

I turned on the machine, threw in the soap and fabric softener ball, and then started grabbing jeans. I worked up a sizeable pile of dark denim and loaded it into the machine. About halfway through, I had to stop. Something was floating in the water. My fingers shook as I gathered the buoyant packages and started searching pockets. Elbow-deep in darkening water, I found the source pocket.

I wanted to feel relief that Evan's pants weren't the source, and I did, in a way. But how could I really, knowing my son was carrying condoms?

I had talked to Evan about Noah over the weekend. I confided in him over my worries that Noahs' newfound dating freedom, combined with the media attention was a dangerous combination. His cell phone was constantly ringing, his Facebook page was overrun with new female interest. Noah seemed to be taking it in stride, but what the heck did I really know about what went on with him outside the house, other than what he chose to share with me? Evan volunteered to talk to him and reported back that Noah was fine. He wasn't doing anything he shouldn't be at his age. 

When Noah came home from school, I was waiting in the kitchen. The shiny prophylactics setting on the counter in front of me made his eyes bulge.  

"Explain," I demanded. 

He was silent. I waited patiently, casually leaning against the counter. I had all the time in the world to watch him squirm.

"I want to know where they came from."

"You make me feel like I'm doing something wrong." His eyes were glued to the countertop.

"Are you?" I cocked my head, waiting for the answer.

He raised his head, pointedly looking me in the eye. "No."

"Then why?" I poked the pile on the counter. "Why do you need these?"

He flushed a little. 

"I want you to know, I wasn't snooping. I found them in the washing machine."

He nodded, "Yeah, I forgot about 'em."

If they were so easily forgotten . . . either he wasn't sexually active, or he was and was being irresponsible about it.

"Did you buy these or did someone give them to you?"

"Given."

"Who?"

I had three possibilities on my short list. Friend, school nurse, or—I didn't want to think it. The second seemed an unlikely source, being that schools don't dispense name-brand condoms.

He fidgeted. "I don't want to tell you."

My stomach tightened. But I reminded myself that he wasn't lying and that gave me hope, but his reasoning worried me. "Why don't you want to tell me?"

"You'll get mad."

"I'd like you to tell me anyways. I like to think that we can talk about these things together."

"But it makes me uncomfortable." He knotted his fingers together as he fidgeted.

"Life is full of uncomfortable things, Noah. This very conversation, for one, but we're still having it."

He sat on the stool by the counter, eyeing the bowl of fruit before taking an orange and peeling it. "It might cause problems."

"Evan." I knew it. Crap.

He kept his eyes on the fruit. "Don't tell him I told you."

"Did he ask you not to tell me?"

"No, but I don't want to look like a snitch."

"If he asks I'm not going to lie, but I will try to leave you out of it."

"If you mention it, he'll know." His face became nervous again. "Please, Mom."

"I have to talk to him."

"He just wants me to be safe, like you do."

"I know." I had no doubt about Evan's desire to help. It seemed to me that the problem with that was, we had two very different ways—completely opposite opinions—in the matter and I wanted him to butt the heck out.

"This is between Evan and me."

"I don't want you to fight about me." His brow furrowed. "I like him."

"Who's fighting?" 

Noah knew I was upset, though I did my best not to be angry. I had to get Evan's side of things first. There was always the possibility that he did not understand the damage he was doing. No, it was not going to be a fight. I would tell him he was wrong and he would concede that it was none of his business.

Noah slowly looked in my direction. "Can I go to my room?" I consented and he wasted no time in retreating.

I thought for sure I would've heard from Evan right away, but it had been hours since his plane landed and he still hadn't called. I waited until after dinner before trying. There was no answer, so I left a message. Another hour passed with no response, so I texted him.

When I was so irritated I could hardly stand it, I called one more time. His phone went straight to voicemail. The time was well past ten and I was starting to worry.

I told myself, if something was wrong, Sheri would call. He's probably working.

So, I gave up and went to bed.