July

I wiggle down into the bed. On a sailing boat off the coast of California, halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

The sea was eerie in its quiet. Except for the crack of the sails and burble of the water against the hull. The boat rocks left to right like a lullaby and keeps me on the edge of sleep. Two sets of small hands hang on my life vest in the tiny bed. They cuddle closer with each beat of the sea. He said he wanted to go sailing, and that was the start of an adventure I can't put into words.

He spent years working on the boat, and it was done and time for a test sail. I wasn't prepared for how beautiful the sailing boat would be in the water. The large sails never looked all that impressive sitting next to the workshop. The wind never filled them up, but from the second I saw it from the dock, I realized my mistake. It was larger than what I thought it was going to be. A below-deck cabin cramp, but well laid out. He took us on a little tour of the boat, giving stories of other boating trips he took with his dad, sister, and friends. Teaching Sim and Ade lessons on how to boat.

The kids after we wrangled them into the life vest mistake the whole boat for a McDonald's jungle gym. All the nautical terms run through my mind faster than Noah first explained them and go out just as quickly. Maybe it was that first day and the excitement of the adventure to come, but I can't remember falling asleep.

The sweet smell of heat and fresh coffee beans roasting. I crack open that one eye I'd been fucking with keeping it close. I watch as Noah's gigantic hands place the fresh roast coffee beans into a mortar and pestle for the grind. The stove with the boiling water rocking next to him in time with the water.

A copy of my stupidly large coffee mug sits on the table next to him. He primes the coffee mug and filters with some of the boiling water. Then dumps out the water into the sink. Noah puts the coffee grounds into the filter next as he pours the scalding water over the coffee. The smell blooms in the small cabin, perfuming the nectar of the gods.

Like a zombie rising from the dead, I follow the smell of the freshly roasted cup of coffee. The little table in the cabin waits for me and I sit down at it like a dead husk. He hands me the mug and I take that first sip of black perfection. The coffee had the correct roasting. I preferred roasting, so it has got a smoky flavor without the kickback. The hot cup rolls over my tongue with that spicy floral taste. I sigh with my first hit of the day. My church praise hand pops up like a coffee boner.

I let the aftershocks of that perfect cup spread out through me. Push down that moan that wants to rocket its way out of me at the second sip of this coffee. Bury that moan deep to not wake up these kids and ruin this perfect cuppa java.

I look up at Noah, his vast body in this little cabin taking up so much room with us here. He looks at me like he expects me to hate it.

"It was wonderful. Do you like coffee?"

"No." He sets the rocking stove up for breakfast. The sun's not up yet and the tiny amount of light hinting at morning hasn't shone through the porthole.

"Where did you learn to make coffee?"

"Practiced on Maurice," for the trip, was the unsaid word filling the room up.

"Oh." I should have said more like oh thank you. It was just so, though I didn't know what to do with it. I finish my cup of coffee as he makes a second one without a word of prompting, pouring it into my big mug.

"Thank you, Noah."

Noah pulls two small packages from the cupboard packaged in paper and twine. The kids' names spelled correctly on them. Each birthdate correct as well. Most people confuse the dates because they are within a week of each other. The joint party isn't until the fourth of July next week. We have always done it that way, even though they hate sharing a birthday month on top of it so close to a holiday. Their dad liked it that way to keep everything straight. He got time off work and thought it was a good idea.

Noah got them gifts. He remembers their birthday. He made an effort. My eyes water up as I make eye contact with first the packages and him. I got no idea what's in him, but it's so damn considerate I don't know what to do with it. His storm blue eyes make full contact with me on one of those rare occasions. He catches my held-back tears.

The kids wake up and come over to me.

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Yeah!" The kids yell in the small space.

"Let's go out to the deck and have more room," he offers.

I take the kids and my coffee out to the little table set up on the deck. It's pretty with the light of dawn just crawling up the dark stain of night. The water reflects the night sky streaks with the promise of morning.

Noah follows us up to the deck with a little egg, toast, and bacon. Nothing insane, and the kids tear into it as if they have never been fed. Ade holds his cape and pulls it close. He finishes his toast and eggs.

The waves are hypnotic. No wonder why people buy boats. It's relaxing as hell on these things. I wish I could have a lot more days like this. I pull Ade close to me. Sim leans over the side of the boat, trying to catch a peek at something in the waves. Noah's hand causally hooks into the back of her life vest. Sim steps back.

He takes the two small packages with his other hand off the serving dish and sits them in the middle of the table. Noah lets out a little cough.

The kids turn back to the table and spot the two packages with their names on it. Their eyes zero in on me like little raptors waiting for the all-clear to grab for the prize. I shake my head yes. They rip open the brown packaging and pull out the items. Ade pulls out a wooden star wars toy set hand-carved with over forty characters, complete with Lando wearing a real cape. He takes Lando from the set and puts it in his pocket immediately.

Sim opens hers and it's a box with wooden stars hand-painted. Inside the box are three tickets to the Morrison Planetarium.

"If your mom is ok with it, you can go with her while we are on the trip. We're stopping, it's by the coast."

She smiled at the tickets. Then she carefully closed the box.

"Thank you," she says to Noah. She brings the box to her chest, pulling it in tight as if a box of tickets and stars could be the best teddy bear in the world. It wasn't a telescope, it was a hundred times better. Thank you, I mouth at him. He nods back to me. We all sit awhile together, waiting for the sun to finish its rise over the sea.

It's beautiful.

Ade has that look in his eyes. The look of thousands of questions left unanswered. His cape blows in the slight wind of dawn, held tight in his fist. Little Man looks sleepy. He leans into me.

"What's assurgersp like?" He trips over the word. I sit in silence for a second and look at Noah. I have the feeling he learned that word from his father. It's a conversation we really should have had sooner.

"That's Asperger's, baby, it's a form of Autism."

He nods his tired little head and leans back into me, "but it's not polite to ask about that. He has to offer that information, it's personal. Manners?" I pull my tired son into my lap. He sighs, that comfortable little boy sighs, all played out. A piece of his wood Star Wars toy set clutched tightly in his fist. He's almost outgrown his Lando Calrissian cape.

Noah looks up and in one of those rare times when he makes eye contact with me, he smiles. Two in one day. The way he smiles, it's like light shines down and the sun comes out in a short time in a storm. My son sleepily smiles back at him from my lap.

"Having Asperger's is like being a tiny sailing boat in a big stormy sea," Noah says in his deep voice.

"A boat like this one?"

"Yes, except the sky is dark with storms all around and huge waves."

"I don't like storms, I go to mom's room when a storm come and...and," he frowns at Noah, worry spreads across his little face. "You should go to my mom's room when storms come. You can hide under the covers. She says it's ok for big boys to be scared sometimes." Noah holds his breath in a valiant attempt not to laugh.

"Eh, baby, he's a bigger boy so, he braves the storms," I say to him.

"But the sea is real big mom." His wide eyes look around the boat. The big blue sea goes on for miles in both directions. Not a soul except for Noah, my son, my daughter, and myself.

He's right, it is lonely.

A/n this whole chick lit thing is hard. I'm working on it though. Thank you for reading :)