26
" Is Lopez okay?” Moses greeted, not even saying hello.
“Lopez is okay,” Noah replied, a smile in his voice. “Thank you, Moses.”
He grunted, uncomfortable. But he didn’t sign off the way Noah expected him to.
“I don’t like worrying about people,” Moses said, his tone accusatory. “I’ve been worried for the last two weeks. Decided I better call.”
“Are you still seeing Cora?” Noah asked.
“No. Thank God. I was glad to see her go,” Moses said, unapologetic. His irreverence and disregard made Noah laugh. Noah’s laughter made Moses sputter.
“Holy shit, Doc. What I just said was mean as hell. And you’re laughing.”
“I’m laughing because you’re so transparent,” Noah shot back.
“Nah. I’m not transparent. But your wife is.” If that was Moses’s version of a “Yo Mama” joke, it could use some work. "
― Amy Harmon , The Smallest Part
27
" You look so tired.” He rubbed at the crease between her brows. “I’ve been worried about you,” he murmured.
Mer gasped, slapping his hand away. “You never say that to a thirty-year-old woman, Noah Andelin.”
“What? I didn’t say you looked old. I didn’t say you looked ugly. I said you looked tired.”
She scowled at him.
“Mer, come on. You always look amazing. Even when you’re tired.”
“I need specifics, Noah. Or I won’t believe you.”
“Every part of you is beautiful. The arch of your foot. Your toes. Even your knees are pretty. Your elbows. Your freaking armpits are pretty. Who has pretty armpits? Nobody.” He pointed at Mercedes. “But you do, Mercedes Lopez. Even your damn armpits are pretty.”
She giggled and raised her right arm, peering at her armpit, her sleeveless red sheath leaving them bare to her view. “They are kind of nice,” she agreed. "
― Amy Harmon , The Smallest Part
29
" Noah wasn’t surprised. He’d been unable to imagine a scenario where his mother would have had a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. It was hard to imagine her in any relationship at all. But knowing his father was a random, homeless man didn’t do much for Noah’s self-worth. He had no response to the revelation. What could he say? Surprisingly, it was his mother who broke the silence.
“You’re a miracle, Noah,” she whispered, haltingly.
“What?”
“You’re a goddamn miracle.”
Her vehemence shocked him, and he stared at her, waiting. She met his gaze before looking back at the TV. The honorable Harry Stone was comforting his bailiff, Bull.
“You made me a believer,” she muttered.
“In what?” He willed her to look at him again, afraid she would just stop talking like she so often did.
“In God.”
“Why?” he urged. His voice had risen, and she exhaled heavily, like the whole conversation just made her tired.
“I sure as hell didn’t create you. That piece of shit who humped me didn’t create you. We made your body. But we didn’t make your soul. Your soul came from somewhere else, I’m sure of it.”
It was the nicest thing his mother had ever said to him. The wisest thing. And maybe because she rarely said anything at all, he believed her. "
― Amy Harmon , The Smallest Part
