27

We arrive at Ethan’s and pile out of the car with tiki torches, oatmeal cookies, and Ferris. Cliffy had a brief meltdown when Iris told him he only needed to bring enough daisies for the girls, but I assured him that the men would want them too. We ring the doorbell and he clutches the tote bag in which they are likely wilting. This has been a source of bickering in the car for the half-mile drive. Greer is firmly in the camp that Cliffy is killing them by shoving them in a bag, while I insist that gerbera daisies are a sturdy flower.

Ethan opens the door and I forget which side of that fight I’m on. He’s in a green and white Hawaiian shirt that brings out green specks in the gold of his eyes. But it’s not just that, it’s the way he’s looking at me.

“We brought flowers,” says Cliffy, and I come to.

“Yes, for everyone’s hair,” I say.

“Great,” says Ethan. “Let me take those torches. The grass skirts are out back.” Iris hands them over and we make our way past the living room with its giant donation pile in the center, through the kitchen that we haven’t even started on, to the backyard.

Frannie and Marco are already there with Theo, and Cliffy gives them each a flower for their hair. Ethan squats down so that Cliffy can put his in the exact right spot behind his ear. Ethan looks up at me and I wonder if all men should always wear a large pink flower.

“I found some luau music,” Ethan says to my kids. They follow him over to the bar, where he’s set up an actual record player and a stack of LPs. There really is a lot of stuff to clean out of this house. Cliffy chooses a Don Ho album and Ethan shows him how to work the record player. Ethan gives them each a grass skirt and Cliffy tries some hula moves. Greer’s pulled up what must be a hula-dancing video on her phone and they’re all trying to keep serious faces while he imitates the dance. I want Ethan to keep talking with my kids forever so that I can keep looking his way. He’s a beautiful man, I noticed that the first day, but there’s something now that makes me feel like my heart is racing out of my body to get to him.

When the kids are in the pool, the tiki torches are lit, and the dogs are chasing each other around the yard, Frannie and I face each other in the armchairs. I luxuriate in the feeling of holding Theo while he sleeps. Two days ago, I sat right smack in the middle of what was wrong with my marriage. I soaked in it. Yesterday Ethan started a fire in my body that has yet to be put out. Currently I’m wearing a grass skirt over my shorts, and I have the sense that I have been through the full range of human emotions.

“What’s with you?” asks Frannie.

“It’s been a big couple of days.”

“Sounds like things went well with Pete.”

“Well, yesterday Pete actually took the kids for twenty-four hours in a row.”

“That’s great for all of you,” she says. “Even Pete. Like he can rise to the occasion and you get a break.”

“It seems like they had a great time. I actually went up to Devon with Ethan for the day.”

“You had your first day off ever and you drove all the way up to Devon and back?”

“I know, not exactly a spa day. But it was fun.” I busy myself with straightening Theo’s sock because I don’t want to look at her.

“Careful with that.”

“With what?”

“You know with what.” She motions to Ethan with her eyes. “As much as it creeps me out, it’s clear there’s something brewing. Marco thinks it’s already happened.”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“Okay, okay.”

Ethan looks over his shoulder at me. He’s still talking to Marco but it’s like he’s tracking me with his eyes. “He’s a very good guy,” I say.

“He can be,” she says. “But he’ll never ever leave Devon.”

“Of course,” I say, and my voice is too high. Mercifully, Theo wakes up and starts to cry.

Ethan calls over to Frannie, “Can you get me some tinfoil?”

“I’ll get it,” I say, and hand the baby to Frannie. The kitchen has been redone to look like it could be original, if people had huge marble-topped islands and walk-in pantries a hundred years ago. The door to the pantry is open. It’s the size of a small closet with shelves painted a high-gloss royal blue. I decide we’ll start here tomorrow. Things are placed on the shelves randomly, and I move the oatmeal so it’s next to the Bisquick. Then I line up a box of Cheerios next to it, along with a glass jar of granola. This feels like a breakfast section now, but I want to move it all to the left so that it’s the first thing you see when you walk in. I like a pantry that moves with the day. In the middle should be peanut butter and jelly, maybe cans of tuna fish.

“What are you doing?” Ethan is right behind me.

I turn around, and the sight of him with that pink flower behind his ear makes me smile. “I couldn’t help myself. Can we start here tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he says, and takes a step closer to me. He takes the flower from behind my ear and moves my hair behind my shoulders. He places it behind my other ear. “Perfect.”

I can’t look away from him as he leans down to where his lips are nearly touching mine. “This is so complicated,” I whisper.

“I’m terrified of it,” he says, and kisses just my lower lip.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. “I want this,” I say. “For the record, in the light of day. I’m not going to regret it.” He kicks the pantry door shut and his mouth completely takes me in. His hands are on my hips pulling me toward him, and I am in a state of wanting that alarms me.

From a million miles away, I hear Frannie’s voice. “Scooter?”

Ethan groans. “I forgot where we were.”

I kiss him again because I can’t not kiss him again. I’ve been kissing him for weeks, but it’s different now, soaked in meaning and intent. “Okay, go.”

“In here,” he says, and opens the door. “Where does Mom keep the tinfoil anyway?”

Frannie’s standing there, hands on hips, staring at us. “Knew it.” She reaches past us, and I avoid her eyes as she grabs the tinfoil off the shelf and leaves.

“Sorry about that,” Ethan says. “I mean I’m not. I’m actually really happy.” He runs his fingers through his hair, like that’s going to smooth out his thoughts.

“We should get back, you go first,” I say.

“Okay,” he says, but doesn’t go.

“Go,” I say. I give his chest a push, and he catches my hand and holds it there.

“We’ll start in the pantry tomorrow,” he says.