33

Ethan shows up at my house on Monday morning when I’m back from camp drop-off. He’s standing at the kitchen door backlit by the sun. Dog on a leash, two coffees in hand. He takes my breath away. In one movement he puts the coffees down, drops the leash, and pulls me into his arms.

“Today we do no work,” he says with his arms around my waist and his lips hovering over mine.

“I’m pretty sure we did no work on Saturday,” I say, and kiss him.

“See? And I loved Saturday.” We’re interrupted by a text. It’s Phyllis: It’s time I met him.

Me: Who?

Phyllis: Don’t be coy

“Any chance you want to come with me to check on my neighbor? She needs eggs and is a little nosy.”

“Sure,” he says, and kisses me again. I could spend the entire day this way, just standing here in my doorway kissing Ethan.

I grab two eggs from my refrigerator and we walk over to her house. I let us in with my key and call, “Hi, Phyllis!”

“In here,” she calls from the sitting room, unnecessarily.

We walk through the front parlor and I see she’s put on lipstick. “Phyllis, this is Ethan Hogan.”

“Charlie’s son?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“I knew your grandfather,” she says. “William. He was in my fourth-grade class. Got better looking as he got older.”

“A lot of us are late bloomers,” he says.

“I’m very hungry,” she says to me, which is a lie because she’s never very hungry. I have to sit and watch her eat half a plate of eggs each day just so I know she’s eaten something. But, okay. I pick up a few glasses and head into the kitchen, trying to make out their conversation as I go.

When I return with the eggs, Ethan is sitting in the chair next to hers. She pats his hand and says, “He’s a lovely young man.”

“Yes,” I say.

I sit on the sofa across the room and watch them talk while Phyllis eats. She remembers William’s wedding reception in the backyard of the house. Her husband was from Illinois but made friends with William because he liked to eat breakfast at the inn. See, Phyllis never liked cooking breakfast, which is why we’re all sitting here.

When she’s done eating, Ethan helps her up and she goes in for her shower. “What now?” he asks.

“I just putter around here a bit until she’s out of the shower and dressed.” We go into the kitchen, which is original to the house. Wooden countertops tell the story of a million chopped onions.

“This house is amazing,” he says.

“Yeah, it’s always been my favorite. Like since I was little. So when my house came on the market I figured it was as close as I’d get. And it’s pretty close.” I gesture to my kitchen window right outside of hers. “I want to talk with her daughters about it, like what’s going to happen.” My voice catches. I hate talking about this. The thought of Phyllis dying feels like a punch in the arm right where you already have a bruise.

Ethan puts his arms around me. “She’s really lovely,” he says. “Do we come back at lunchtime?”

This makes me smile. “No. She eats vanilla pudding for lunch, and I pretend not to know.”

My phone beeps with a text from Frannie: Just a friendly reminder that it’s Monday.

I am truly living in one long Saturday. “I have to go to the diner for a bit,” I say. “Want to come? And then we can go back to your house and do absolutely no packing.”