30
I wake up Wednesday morning to a text from Ethan: Hey
Me: How was court
Ethan: Fine. I think Brenda misses you
I am smiling at my phone like a teenager. Me: I miss her too. Court today?
Ethan: Probably tomorrow too. But I’ve got to put you back to work
Me: I actually worked for myself yesterday. Looks pretty good
Ethan: Can’t wait to see
Carbonated again, I get up and start making pancakes. After camp drop-off, Phyllis tells me that I am different.
“I’m the same,” I say, and replace the plastic liner in her garbage bag.
“You’re light,” she says, an accusation.
“I cleaned out my kitchen. And Pete took a bunch more of his stuff.”
“Ah.” She smiles. “Lots of room now for something new. But please, have something with that nice young man. Don’t meet someone on the Internet—before you know it they’ve taken two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Was that Dr. Phil yesterday?”
“Dr. Phil most days. Also, crystal meth. Don’t do that.”
Ethan texts at ten p.m.: How’s it going?
I sit up in bed but don’t turn on the light. Me: Pretty great. Tackled Carla Garcia’s attic and my own family room today. Court again tomorrow?
Ethan: Yeah, I won’t be back till Friday afternoon
I have too many replies that want to shoot out of my fingers. I just want him back now. Me: Bummer
Ethan: I don’t think people say that anymore
I smile because I can hear him saying that in my head. Me: They totally do
Ethan: Don’t think so. Pretty sure it’s just you
I am trying to think of something to say. I like having him right here with me. He texts again: I also wanted to tell you I’ve been thinking about you a lot
My fingers can’t type fast enough: Me too
Ethan: Good. Okay I think if I say more I might go too far. So just good night
I feel these words in my heart. It’s like there’s a hope there, born of the fact that Ethan might have to hold back his feelings. Me: Bummer. Good night.
Thursday I clean out my bedroom and actually get Marco to come over and help me carry the old treadmill that haunts my bedside to the garage. Pete can have it, or I’ll give it away. Heck, maybe I’ll even use it. Strange things are happening around here at a pace I can barely keep up with.
When my kids are home from camp, I sit them down in the very tidy family room. I feel like our house is suddenly bigger by half. “So we don’t have anything this afternoon, but lucky for you I’ve hired you the services of a professional organizer until five o’clock.”
“For what?” asks Greer.
“Let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you.”
By the time it’s five, they are starving and exhausted but kind of excited about the way their rooms look. Cliffy’s created a reading nook in the corner of his tiny room with pillows and exactly six stuffed animals. We ceremonially bring two bags of stuffed animals to the garage.
Friday morning is light work in my bathroom. Everything but shampoo and a bar of soap must go, so there isn’t a lot of self-talk to wade through. I keep the candles because I wonder if they’ll actually be relaxing in a clean bathroom. Also, they cost thirty dollars.
I nearly throw my back out organizing Serena Howe’s garage early that afternoon and mentally recommit to updating my résumé. Two days of work per week are not enough, though hauling gardening equipment to a shed feels like a bit too much.
Ethan texts at four: Stopped for gas. I’ll be back in an hour. Too late to see you today right?
Me: Oh good! But no I’ve got my kids here
Ethan: Ok, maybe see you tomorrow?
I stare at the words “maybe” and “tomorrow.” I don’t like either of those words and am overwhelmed by how much I want to see him. I want to invite him to dinner. I try to picture this in my mind, Cliffy thinking it’s fun and the girls being politely cautious. He’s a family friend, and they’ve met him already. Also, I really want to see him. I text: I’m barbecuing chicken later. Want to come? Like at 6?
Ethan replies immediately: Fun-tastic! See you then
“What?” Iris asks. I’m smiling at my phone.
“Nothing. Scooter. He’s on his way back from Devon. He’s coming for dinner.”
Iris seems confused. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Is Frannie coming?”
“No, just Scooter.”
“And Brenda?” Cliffy asks.
“I’ll ask.” I text him: Kids want to know if you’re bringing Brenda. We’d love it
Ethan: I’ll see if she has plans