As the wedding drew closer, Noah began asking more practical questions.
What should he wear?
Would there be food he liked?
Would he know anyone there?
I answered what I could.
For the rest, I told him we would find out.
We went shopping for a shirt on Saturday.
Noah tried on two and chose the one that felt comfortable around his neck.
He didn't care much about the color.
He wanted to know whether he could wear his usual shoes.
I told him he could.
On the way home, he carried the shopping bag on his lap.
"Do you think Dad will like it?"
"I think he'll be happy to see you."
Noah looked out the window.
"That's not exactly what I asked."
I smiled a little.
"No. It isn't."
He waited.
"I think he'll like your shirt," I said. "But I don't think you need to dress a certain way to make your dad love you."
Noah looked down at the bag.
"Okay."
We drove the rest of the way home without talking about the wedding.
I thought we had settled it for the day.
Then, while I was making lunch, Noah asked whether Ethan would remember the things they used to do together.
I turned from the counter.
"Of course he will."
"Even if he has a new family?"
I put the knife down.
"Yes."
Noah was standing beside the refrigerator, holding a glass of water.
He looked smaller than he had a few months earlier.
Or perhaps I was finally noticing how much he had been trying to manage without telling me.
"What makes you think he'd forget?" I asked.
He shrugged.
"I don't know. He has a lot to do now."
I wiped my hands on a towel.
"Your dad can get married and still remember you. Those things aren't opposites."
"But what if he gets busy?"
"He might get busy. That doesn't mean you stop mattering."
Noah took a drink of water.
"How do you know?"
I had no perfect answer.
I couldn't promise that Ethan would never disappoint him.
I couldn't promise that every phone call would be returned or every plan would work out.
I could promise that Noah deserved more than occasional attention when it was convenient.
"I know because you're his son," I said. "And because you deserve to have a father who makes time for you."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he set the glass down.
"Can I ask him something?"
"Yes."
He picked up his phone.
I didn't follow him this time.
I stayed in the kitchen and continued preparing lunch.
A few minutes later, Noah came back.
"He's going to call me tomorrow."
"Good."
"He said he has something to show me."
I stopped cutting the vegetables.
"What is it?"
"He didn't say."
Noah looked excited, but there was uncertainty underneath it.
I didn't want to spoil the moment by imagining reasons Ethan might have for keeping it secret.
Maybe he had a practical detail to discuss.
Maybe he had found something Noah would enjoy.
Maybe he simply wanted to spend time talking with his son.
I let the possibilities remain open.
The next evening, Ethan called as promised.
Noah took the phone into the living room.
I heard their voices, but I couldn't make out the conversation.
At one point, Noah laughed.
It was a real laugh, sudden and bright.
I stood at the sink and smiled.
I hadn't realized how much I missed hearing it when Ethan was involved.
After the call, Noah came into the kitchen.
"Dad found an old picture of us."
"Which one?"
"The one from the park. When he lifted me up and I was scared of the ducks."
I remembered it.
Noah had been very small, and Ethan had held him above the ground while a group of ducks crowded around their feet.
Noah had been laughing in the photograph, though he had spent most of the afternoon asking to be carried.
"He still has that?"
"Yes."
Noah seemed pleased by the discovery.
"He said he remembers that day."
I smiled.
"That's good."
"He said we should take another picture at the wedding."
I looked at him.
"Just the two of you?"
"I think so."
There was a pause.
"That's okay, isn't it?"
I felt the old reflex to protect myself rise up.
For a moment, I imagined Ethan and Noah standing together while I waited somewhere out of sight.
I imagined the photograph being shared with relatives and friends.
I imagined people looking at it and deciding that Ethan had managed everything well.
Then I looked at my son.
He wasn't asking me to approve of his father's choices.
He was asking whether he was allowed to enjoy a moment with him.
"Of course it's okay," I said.
Noah smiled.
"Good."
He returned to the living room.
I stayed in the kitchen, thinking about how easily my own hurt could become another burden for him.
I had spent months trying not to make Noah choose sides.
But there were quieter ways to force a choice.
A sigh at the wrong moment.
A remark that sounded harmless until a child understood what it meant.
A silence that made him feel guilty for enjoying something I had lost.
I didn't want to do that to him.
That night, I called my sister and told her about the wedding.
She asked whether I was planning to attend.
I explained that I would bring Noah and make sure he was settled.
"And how are you feeling about it?" she asked.
I looked toward the living room, where the invitation still sat on the table.
"I'm not sure."
"That's fair."
I waited for her to say something else.
She didn't.
Sometimes, the people who knew you best understood that you didn't need advice every time you admitted something difficult.
After we ended the call, I sat alone for a while.
I thought about the years Ethan and I had spent together.
I thought about the things I missed and the things I didn't.
I missed having someone to share small decisions with.
I didn't miss feeling as though every disagreement proved I had failed to explain myself properly.
I missed the family photographs.
I didn't miss the effort it took to make the people in them look happy.
I could hold both truths without choosing one.
Perhaps that was what I wanted Noah to learn.
Not that divorce was painless.
Not that people always made good choices.
But that a person could remember what had been good without pretending the painful parts never happened.
The next morning, Noah came downstairs wearing his new shirt.
He had put it on over his pajamas.
"Does it look okay?"
I laughed.
"You haven't even taken the tags off."
He looked down and noticed the small tag near the side.
"Oh."
I removed it for him.
He turned toward the mirror by the hallway.
"I think Dad will like it."
"I think so, too."
He folded the shirt carefully and placed it back in the shopping bag.
Then he returned to his room.
I watched him go.
For the first time, I wasn't thinking about what the wedding might prove to other people.
I was thinking about what Noah hoped to carry home from it.
A conversation.
A photograph.
A memory that belonged to him and his father, even if the rest of the day felt strange.
Those were small things.
They were also enough to matter.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Invitation Was Still on My Table When I Finally Admitted That My Biggest Fear Was Not Seeing Ethan Move On
The Wedding Invitation That Arrived Before I Was Ready to Explain What His Father Had Done
Part 7 of 20
