Winter, Crocker Art Museum, Sacramento California after hours.

"He's late," Jo-Lee's teenage daughter Bonabell points out.

"Yep, he's very late with the kids." I passed her the five dollars for winning the bet on top of her normal babysitting fee. Bonabell pockets the five smooth as her momma's butter cookies. A part of me was trying to channel Carly's optimism. It cost me five bucks, serves me right. Noah stands at the door to the Crocker Pressroom. He looks so out of place, towering over the reporters entering. Zoey works the reports like a pro. All that time doing The Tour reality tv show has come in handy. She has each reporter laughing before they enter the Crocker press room. Noah looks over at me like a hostage ready to make his hostage tape. I laugh at him and he smiles back at me in that Noah way he does. I find myself categorizing his smile language. It's almost like discovering a hidden treasure at sea. Each smile is a little different, but this one is a new funny one. His smile is all ocean blue and a little vulnerable. It's full of mystery, like staring out into the ocean while standing on the edge of a treeline cliff. Bonabell peers at Noah, and then at me. She smiles as recklessly as her mother. I realize why I missed this girl so damn much when she's gone.

Bonabell spent three months with her paternal grandparents every year. She came back different this year. Not in a hugely noticeable way, but in withdrawn moments. Jo-Lee has shared custody with them for years, but I don't think the south agrees with Bonabell. She leans into me, giving me a side hug. The smile that was so easygoing and young isn't there. It's some big change that happened in a few months, and I keep waiting for that young woman to return. She hasn't though. But this young woman who smiles a lot less has returned in her place. I still love her dearly. We are family, maybe not by blood, and that's the family we made. But she's no less family to me. My mother took care of her while Jo-Lee worked when she first came to California years ago. Diola Tyson loves without reserve because that's the way my mother is. I hope that I'm taking after her.

Bonabell pushes her shoulder into mine in a familial bump. A part of me just wants to know what is going on in that head of hers. Is it a teenage high school issue or something bigger?

"Bonabell, if there's anything you need to tell me that you can't tell your mom feel free to, ok?"

"Ok," she replies a little quickly, like she's dismissing it. Not meanly dismissing it, but that way of teenagers when they think they are on an island. And no one in the world has ever felt the way they felt.

"Bell," I insisted. The baby's name was a low blow on my part. Bonabell hesitates, her features so reminiscent of her funny mother but without her mother's ready smile.

"MOMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, Mr. Noahhhhh!!!!!!" A screaming Little Man waves at me and runs right past me to Noah. His cape is in perfect Lando wave. The problem though is his clothes don't match the cape. Lando likes to be in full style and the colors don't match the cape. I bet it took a small army to get him into the dress, short pants, collared shirt, and loafers. He looks like a little kid going to a business meeting, then my kid on the weekend.

"No, running Ade," I warned. He slows down and slides on the ground, directly into Noah's side. No screaming too, but sometimes take the small wins when you can get it.

I feel the grasp of a hand on mine. My daughters holds Bonabell and my hand in each of her own. I caught Bonabell's eye and told her without words we will talk about this later. Either come to me or I'm coming for you. It had more, I'm a mom, then I'm a friend. But I was in mom mode and some things can't be helped.

Sim waves at Noah from her spot between us. She doesn't appear anymore pleased with her dress, it's pink instead of purple. Not a single star or a NASA pin on the dress. Her Father follows after the kids' suitcases. He sits down the suitcases and spots Ade telling Noah all about his time with his dad loudly. Space Girl looks up at her dad and I see the teenage girl she will become for a tiny second. She really is big mad about that pink dress. Sim pulls Bonabell's hand toward Noah, and the older girl follows to join Ade with Noah. I flag down one of the Crocker workers. I had already arranged to put Ade and Sim's stuff with Noah's gear that was coming back with us. I slap the RFID tag on the suitcases. He takes the suitcase to the back rooms with Noah's stuff. When I turn around, I bump into the chest of Theo.

"So, that's him," Theo muses over my head. A careful step back from Theo's chest and I look past him. Noah is talking to both kids, regaling him with their adventures. "The snowflake artist," he follows it up with joking derision. He doesn't say it is cruel, but there's not many nice ways to call someone a snowflake. His eyebrow comes up as if he expects me to smile back at his joke. With my gaze on him, Noah comes over with the kids and Bonabell in tow.

"Ice cream, ice cream," both of my kids sing together as they come closer to us.

"Yes," Bonabell agrees. "We need to go before the hyper wears off and the grumpy shows up." I thank her for taking care of the kids while I'm at work.

"Tell me about the soon to be had Bonabell adventure when I get off work." A kiss to Bonabell's cheek followed by two more for each of the babies they went heading home. No, Noah and Zoey's house, I correct myself. It's funny when Noah and Zoey's house became home.

Theo's all too familiar hand on my back. It was so habitual. Years of stress, touches, and introductions. The habit of what would have been a lifetime. I simply ignored the hand on my lower back because making a scene would draw more attention to it. Added to the fact that it might have been one of those habits we both forgot for a second.

"Noah this is Theo, Theo this is Noah." The two men next to each other looked nothing alike. Theo in a three-piece suit plus long dress jacket next to Noah's henley, flannel, and Jeans. Noah's Sandy blonde locks to Theo's Cuban dark hair. They size each other up. Theo's 5'11 to Noah's 6'7, Theo quirks a smile and his eyebrow comes up. He holds out his hand for the handshake. Noah, who is usually wary of unwanted touch, shakes his hand. Surprise, surprise.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Noah."

"Thank you, nice to meet you, Theo."

It was like a cat meeting a dog. Not an all-out war, but just two different human beings. I stood like a fly on the wall as the two made an effort to meet some kind of guy on common ground. The secret formula of non-guy drama. It was easy to see Theo, saw Noah as not my lover. No, we haven't talked about love stuff so the guy I'm fucking... is not a threat to him. If he saw him as that, it wouldn't be a completely unique reaction.

I had a bodybuilder client. I admin his page, and he's one of my best clients. He's not openly Bi, but he's not in the closet either. It's simply he's about the bodybuilding lifestyle. You wouldn't know one way or another with him. He's currently in a long-term healthy, happy relationship with a man. I expect to be getting a wedding invitation within the next year. That didn't stop Theo from getting wildly jealous. I was spending time in the initial setup with a half-naked man on a video conference for large amounts of time. But he's a bodybuilder. At some point in winter or summer, he's always half-naked. The arms on clothing don't always fit correctly, depending on if he's cutting or not. It's almost like the reality of large breasts on women. The more you try to hide them, the more it looks like you're smuggling two small children out under your shirt. Best to show them off nicely, then try to smuggle curves.

The car crash I expected with Noah and Theo doesn't seem to be happening in front of me. But it doesn't change how uncomfortable it is to stand between the two men. The guy speaks goes on and it's not like Noah is Mr. Talkative to begin. Theo is carrying the conversation to sports.

"The Kings..."

Yeah, I'm not sure that is going to work out for Theo. I barely hide the giggle, but Noah looks down at me and smiles. I watch as Theo's eyes light up at Noah's smile. He speaks faster and more excitedly about sports. Oh no, Theo doesn't think that Noah is smiling at his sports stuff? Oh shit, he does! Which of course causes me to snort. I changed it into a cough midway. The conversation on sports turns into a walking conversation about sports, as we go through the Crocker Art Museum. I didn't join in because I couldn't trust myself not to laugh at both of them. Noah, for trying this sports conversation he wasn't much into. Theo did not bother to notice Noah's actual interest. We stop in front of a painting. Finally, Noah gets a word in edgewise.

"Stephen Kaltenbach, Portrait of My Father," Noah announces in awe. "Kaltenbach painting of his dying father."

"It's a little creepy." Theo shuddered. Dark ominous spots move in on the painting of the dying man. Noah opens his mouth to speak, his face contorted in a frown. But before he could say anything about painting at all, Zoey catches up to us.

"Noah, the press event is starting," says Zoey. Noah and Zoey leave together through a doorway down the shortcut narrow hall.

"We need to talk about the kids," Theo insists.

A/n: We have a firenado.

https://youtu.be/fOGKD-uOO-8

 Almost everything I was doing is on hold due to the fire season being awful this year. Suxxxxxxx. We are cool but it makes it hard to stay awake due to coughing. 

Also, this chapter is 4 parts probably.  About 7 days between each new post :). Thank you for reading so far.

 I have someone nice helping me with them. NikkiJohnson705 if you have proofing needs. She does it professionally and she can give you her rates. :) Although, I haven't posted her edits yet. I want to learn to write better so I've been going over them a few times. 

I was asked to better describe Theo. I do such a poor job and I'm working on that in edits. But here's a pic of what Theo would look like. The guy from Star Wars

Theo played by Oscar Isaac

Ubiquitous picture of Noah because ya girl always provides.