It’s only a joke but it stings a bit. He’s right. We don’t have much in common. Even without Emma, even if he were into guys… he wouldn’t notice me, would he?

“You boys go do some work, I’ll call you when the cookies are ready.”

“The cookies?” Noah repeats, a bit surprised.

“Yes, I thought I’d prepare a snack today. How great is it that Will happens to bring a friend today! He won’t be able to eat them all now.”

Noah’s eyes searches for mine, but I can’t bear to hold any eye contact right now. He knows I don’t like cookies. My mother does too, of course, but it’s not one of her good days.

“Thank you very much,” Noah replies. “I haven’t had a homemade snack in forever.”

My mother seems pleased. “It is really nice to meet you, Noah. I hope we’ll see more of you!”

Noah promises, and we disappear in my room. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask about the cookies.

The essay writing moves on slowly. Not that Noah isn’t getting it, but we just keep being distracted and the conversation drifts regularly.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes after we watched our third YouTube video. “I’m wasting your time, aren’t I?”

I shrug. “We still have time. And I’m not the one who’s behind on homework. It’s me who should stop wasting your time.”

“You never waste my time,” he says firmly. “I always enjoy spending time with you.”

Given his tone, this wasn’t meant as a compliment; he was just stating a fact. However, it still makes me feel warm and giddy inside.

Then it stresses me out. I need to stop this. I should know better. I do know better.

I can’t have another Matt situation.

Especially since, this time, we won’t move anywhere, and I won’t be able to run away.

After an hour, my mother brings us a plate of cookies. Once more, her smile seems more genuine than it has been for months. I think she is relieved to see with her own eyes that I am getting back to normal, that I have friends, that they are nice…

Maybe seeing more of that can help her come out of the apathy she seems to be stuck in.

“Cookies?” Noah asks once she has left the room.

“Yes, it used to be the official Sunday snack.”

“Is your father fond of them?”

“Not really,” I answer before I realize that it was a trick question. If I had answered yes, Noah would probably have let it slide. His golden eyes stare at my face. I don’t know how he does that, but it feels like his gaze is burning my skin. I understand that he won’t ask any questions, but he won’t let go until I give him answers either.

“She just likes to bake.” It’s not entirely a lie. I’m getting quite good at half-truths.

“She could bake something else.”

“Cookies are easy.”

“So are brownies.”

His reply could have been enough to make me cry. She used to bake brownies all the time because they are my favorite. But then there was Peter, so we had a week each. When Peter wasn’t there anymore, she stopped baking altogether.

She started again when my father took the picture down. Always cookies, never on a weekend. I don’t know what’s happening in my mother’s head, but I know that she’s hurting, somewhere deep where none of us can reach her.

“Yeah, well she likes baking cookies better.”

His eyes are still on my face and I still can’t hold eye-contact.

“What’s his name?”

“Who?” I’m pretty sure I know who he’s talking about, but I am not going there until I’m certain.

“The boy in the picture. The one that isn’t in your living room anymore.”

Once, when I was in middle school, my English teacher came in with two different shoes. Different shapes and colors. Everyone giggled throughout the lesson. I only figured out why when someone told me afterward. So it always surprises me when someone notices something that isn’t obvious. We were in the living room for less than 10 minutes.

How are people so observant?

“Peter.”

“Big cookies fan?”

“Big cookies fan,” I confirm.

I finally hold his gaze. In his eyes, I see a boy who isn’t going away, who is there for me, and who is ready to receive all of my pain. Noah is right here, telling me with a look and a soft smile to stop keeping it all in, to let it out, and I trust that more than I ever trusted anything else in my life.

It’s crazy. No one could read that from someone else’s face, right? He is probably just curious but doesn’t really want to know about my feelings on the situation. It’s a generally accepted rule: when people ask ‘how are you?’, they are just being polite without expecting an answer.

Plus, if I were to share this with someone, it would be Lena. She’s the person I’m closest to, right? Or Austin, who’s nothing but light personified and who always makes me want to be happy. But Noah… we haven’t talked that much… it would be weird…

Except it’s not weird. Noah always seems to understand things without me needing to spell them out for him. I remember when he was here with Lena and how he always reacted the way I needed. I never knew if it was because he could tell or if I just got lucky.

Now, I know.

When Noah speaks again, his voice is warm like a hug, soft as a caress, deeper than the ocean.

“I’m sorry your brother died.”