31
We move a folding table from the garage to the backyard and cover it with a blue and white tablecloth. Cliffy cuts a few hot-pink hydrangeas and arranges them in my mother’s cobalt-blue vase. We are having one person and a dog over for dinner, but we are all acting like it’s a big occasion. I try to think of the last time we used a tablecloth.
It’s five o’clock and I have potatoes and carrots roasting in the oven. The chicken is ready to grill and I have corn on the cob to cook at the end. It’s five o’clock and dinner is all organized. Literally everything has changed. The TV is off; this is rare. Greer has a friend over; rarer still. I can hear them upstairs laughing in her bedroom. Cliffy’s brought all of his trucks outside and there is a happy amount of zooming in the mud.
Greer comes downstairs with her friend and says, “Oh, we’re just having some friends over later,” like we are the coolest family in the world.
Ethan rings the bell at six o’clock. I’m carbonated again, so I ask Iris to get the door. He says something that makes her laugh and then there he is, standing in my kitchen, with a cold bottle of white wine, a box of chocolate-covered pretzels, and a dog. These are three of my favorite things, and I briefly wonder if I mentioned it in my graduation speech.
“Hi,” I say, and don’t move toward him. I am at a total loss as to how to proceed. I want to run into his arms, but my children are standing here. I need to act casual, and that doesn’t appear to be in my arsenal right now. He’s in a white button-down shirt and navy blue linen shorts, and his shoulders look like something I need to look away from. I’m just standing there, carbonated.
“Where’s your mess?” he asks. “I thought you said the cobbler’s children have no shoes.”
“We have shoes,” says Cliffy.
“It’s been a really productive week,” I say. “I can’t even explain it, and if you saw all the stuff in my garage, you’d flip.”
“Come see my room,” Cliffy says, and leads him by the hand upstairs.
I’m a little relieved when he’s gone. I need a second to regroup. Brenda’s staring up at me. Greer has taken a seat at the counter and is looking at me too. “You look nice, Mom,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say, and know that I need to start acting like a normal person. I open the bottle of wine and take out two glasses. I pour myself a half glass. “Let’s go check on the grill.”
When Ethan and Cliffy join us outside, Cliffy is beaming. “This kid’s got a lot of talent,” Ethan says. “Did you see what he made today?”
Cliffy holds out a folded piece of paper with a bunch of separate drawings on it. “I drew a book,” he says.
I take it from him and sit at the table to look at the sequential drawings. Two people meet, they play catch, they fight, they walk away, and then they sit at a table to draw. “I like this story,” I say, and pull him onto my lap. Cliffy has an understanding of how things are supposed to go. And I know he feels the transactional nature of the love Pete offers him. Cliffy’s not going to play ball, not on any level. And he’s going to be just fine.
Cliffy gives me a squeeze and gets up to organize his trucks. I look up and Ethan is watching me.
“I didn’t get you any wine,” I say, and walk back into the house.
Dinner is fun and easy. See? my mother whispers from the geraniums. Iris talks nonstop and asks Ethan questions about the X Games. Greer suggests Iris not talk so much. Cliffy performs a song about farts that he learned at camp, and the dogs fall asleep under the table.
After dinner, the girls go to their rooms, and I take Cliffy up to bed. “I’ll just be a minute,” I say as we go upstairs. I read him the last chapter of Cam Jansen and go back down to find Ethan sitting on the sofa outside. I sit down next to him, and he hands me a glass of wine.
“So,” he says.
“So,” I say. And we are smiling at each other the smallest bit.
He takes my hand, and I love the feel of it. I don’t know what’s coming next, but whatever it is, I hope I can keep holding his hand. “How did it go with your client?” I ask.
“Fine,” he says. “Well, I think really good. Find out next week.”
“Ah,” I say. Now I have my other hand over his and I’m exploring a scar along his thumb.
“I also need to figure out what happened with the kids’ permit last weekend. And I have a new client with an asbestos complaint.” He’s quiet for a second and we listen to the crickets along the creek. “Anyway, that’s all boring. I had a lot of stuff I wanted to say.”
I look up at him but don’t say anything. I’m not really sure what I want him to say.
“What’s happened to you?” he asks. My hand flies up to my hair for some reason. “You seem lighter.”
I smile. “I don’t know. I had some space. I was ready. I cleaned up.”
“Oh my God, I’m freaking Prince Charming,” he says.
“Are not.” I laugh.
“No, I totally am. I kissed you and you’re not a frog anymore.”
“First of all, your knowledge of fairy tales is sad. And it wasn’t just that.” I look down to where I’m still holding his hand. “It’s all of it.” I don’t dare look back up, but he squeezes my hand.
“I guess what I wanted to say is that I really like you.” I look up at him to see if he’s being casual or intense. “I am very afraid that you’re going to break my heart. And I think it’s worth it.” Intense.
“I don’t want to break your heart,” I say.
“Okay, then don’t.” And he leans in and kisses me.