Between Octobers

March 13th

March 13th

Early in the morning, the phone rang. The blaring sound coming from the kitchen woke me and I knew it had to be him. "Hello?" I answered, breathless.

"I'm sorry I missed your calls. I ran into an old friend yesterday and lost track of time."

"Oh," I tried to concentrate, clearing the sleep from my head with a little water on my face.     

"So, what's up?" He asked, unusually cheerful.

"Well, I was worried. You said you'd call when you could. I waited because I knew you were busy, but you didn't call me at all. You've never done that before." 

"I ran into Stevie again."

"The guy whose number I destroyed?" It was the reason behind our first argument. I'd washed a pair of jeans without checking the pockets.

"The very same. He's looking for work, so I'm going to see if I can help him out."

"Oh," I mumbled, relieved and irritated.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing,"

 "Grace, I'm hundreds of miles away. Would you just tell me what I did so I can apologize?"

His willingness was pleasing, but still. "Don't you have to be on set soon?"

"Talk," he commanded.

"Fine. Well . . . I was washing clothes yesterday after you left. Stuff from Noah's room and some things from ours. I found condoms. Noah said they were yours—"

"He said what?" His tone was sharp. I realized my poor choice of words.

"No, I mean, he said that you gave them to him. Is that true?"

"Yes, it is," he replied, confidently.   

Okay, now I was mad.

"Why would you encourage him like that? You know how I feel about this. You said you would tell me if Noah was up to something he shouldn't be."

He took a deep breath. "Here's what I don't understand: most people would see it as a good thing that their son is being open and responsible. You see it as an accident waiting to happen. You know, you're an awful prude when it comes to things like this."

"I'm teaching him abstinence and you're giving him condoms behind my back!"

"Gracie," he spoke softly, "he hasn't done anything. But you can't have such ridiculous expectations for him. He's sixteen years old, a walking hard-on. It's going to happen sooner or later, and the stakes are too high for him to be left unprepared. Would you rather he learned the hard way, like me, or you?"

"You have crossed the line, Evan." The anger flowed freely as I stomped my feet. "I know you're only trying to help, but I don't see it as helping. It looks like undermining to me."

"That's not what it was at all. I'm on my way down to the car."

I wanted to scream. He was leaving for set and would be busy all day long. "I knew you didn't have time for this. Call me later. I love you."

"I love you, more than you know. I only ever wanted to do right by Noah and I'm sorry I upset you."

"Your definition of right is not the same as mine." 

After a quick goodbye, I re-played the conversation in my head. There was something unnerving about the whole thing. I grabbed my cell from the night stand and texted him:

-Just so you know, I did not hear an apology for what you did, only that you're sorry I'm upset. You don't have to agree with me, but you need to respect my methods.

A second later he answered:

            -OK. Sorry. Again. Will call when I get the chance. Too many bodies around.

The day slowly passed. I waited.  

Sure, he sent a text or two, letting me know he couldn't call, and even had Sheri call a few times to try and smooth things over. It irritated me all the more. Since when did we need a go-between?