The Best is Yet to Come

Eleven: Noah

It's funny how fast time can pass undetected. My dad always said, "The days are long, but the years are short." I wonder if he had any idea how long that day had been for us.

I should probably call my mother today. This time of year is always the hardest for her and I want to make sure she's doing ok. God knows I'm the only one who checks. I'm the only one trying to be a decent son.

As the phone rings, I shuffle to the kitchen for another beer, ignoring Chris where he sits on the couch, digging into the take out he ordered.

"Noah!" my mother calls my name in greeting. I'm pleased, and honestly surprised, to hear her sound so cheerful.

"Hey, Mom. Just checking in. I haven't heard from you in a few days." I open the fridge, grab a familiar can and walk back to my room, snatching a container of fried rice off the coffee table as I walk past.

Chris gives me a snarky, "You're welcome" and I flip him off, hearing him laugh before I shut my bedroom door behind me.

"Oh darling, I'm doing great! I've been working hard with the girls to ensure everything is perfect for next Saturday. The flowers have been ordered and Giovanni's is set to cater."

I glance at the calendar above my desk once again. I'm confused. This is not at all how I expected to find her. I thought I'd get a sniffle and another guilt trip to visit this afternoon just like every other year.

"What's next Saturday?" I ask.

"Oh Goodness, Noah. Don't you remember? I told you about the charity event on our last lunch date," she. huffs.

"Sorry, I was a little out of sorts," I mumble, recalling the day she dragged me into Glory's. "I'm glad things are coming together nicely. I can't wait to hear all about it."

"Hear all about it? Noah, you have to come! I insist. Everyone is going to be there. The town has been buzzing about it for weeks," she pouts. I could practically see the frown that's undoubtedly contorting her face.

"I don't know. I'm not really in the mood for a meet n' mingle..." I start to explain, but she interrupts.

"Nonsense! I'll have a suit sent to your place. Grey with a black tie will suit you just fine," she decides, and I groan, "Hush. You'll have fun. You can thank me after."

Defeated, I lean my forehead against the wall and pinch the bridge of my nose. Why does she always do this to me?

"Oh, and let me know if you're bringing a plus one," she adds and my heart sinks. No. I'm not doing this. I can't.

I open my mouth to protest but she cuts me off again, "I have to run! Mrs. Jones is here with the table cloth swatches," and hangs up without so much as a goodbye.

As happy as I am that my mother has found something to distract herself with during a dark time, I'm definitely not going to another one of her stupid balls. I start running some good excuses that I'll be able to use in a few days to get myself out of this.

I start digging into the rice and turn on some mindless television, preparing myself for another crowded night alone with my thoughts.