37
It’s Saturday morning and Pete’s picking Greer up from Caroline’s house to take her directly to soccer. I did everything I could. You never, ever want to be the first one to leave the sleepover. Your departure opens the circle, and when it tightens and closes again, the new, smaller circle will gossip about you. These are the rules. I could not make Pete understand these rules. He actually said, “You sound a little crazy, Ali.”
I text her at eleven: How was the sleepover
Greer: Fine
Me: Oh, great!
Greer: Not great, fine
Me: Sorry, are you ok?
Greer: I’m fine
I send a heart, she doesn’t reply, and that’s the end of it.
Ethan and I spend that day like a regular couple. I love having him in my house and seeing him interact with my things and my space. At his house, I sort of feel like we’re house-sitting for his parents. Plus, there are all the boxes, though honestly we haven’t done much packing and he’s sort of stopped talking about the Realtor. At my house, I feel like he’s stepped into my life.
It’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow night and I’m hosting Sunday dinner in his honor. I haven’t had my dad here in a few years because I didn’t really have the bandwidth for it, and also because I thought it might sting too much to see him see me in my swirling mess. I am excited to show them my newly revamped home—the lanterns in the yard, the flowers in every vase. The empty spaces where you can rest your eyes and hear yourself think.
I invited Frannie and Marco. My dad knows Frannie from my kids’ birthday parties, so there’s that, and also the extra nonrelated guests distract from the fact that I don’t know how to talk to him. I try to explain this to Frannie, who always says, “But he’s your dad.” I can see why she wouldn’t understand; there’s an intimacy between Frannie and her dad, like she could cry in front of him or tell him something embarrassing. I never got there with my dad; there was always a gap between us that I couldn’t cross. It’s almost like we’ve been trying out for a play about a daughter and her father; we get the words right but can’t quite deliver them in a natural way.
I’ve also invited Ethan, who is all in on this party. He’s been to the grocery store with me and is outside sweeping my patio when my dad calls to see if Libby can bring tuna casserole from Stop & Shop (no, thank you). I mention that Frannie’s brother is in town and I might invite him. “You know I love a full table,” he says.
“Oh good, he’s a nice guy,” I say.
“Oh?” And I have the feeling that he is onto me.
“Not ‘oh,’ ” I say. I don’t know what to say next.
“Ali, it’s fine for him to be a nice guy. You deserve a nice guy.”
I feel tears welling up. I never would have told him, but it feels so good that he knows. “Thanks, Dad. He is a great guy, actually.” I look out the kitchen window to where he’s dumping leaves in the creek.
“You deserve it, angel,” he says.
It lands right in my heart. He used to call me “angel” when I was really little and stopped at some point, maybe when he got so involved with Libby’s kids. I’ll never forget the first time I heard him call me Ali, like he was one of my friends. “Thank you for saying that,” I say.
“It’s true. You deserve your own happiness.” He doesn’t add, “separate from your mom,” but I know he means it.
The next night my dining room table is set for nine, plus a high chair for Theo, and it looks beautiful. My mother would say it sparkles. I have the sense that I have stepped into my very best self. I feel warm and generous, as if the love I’m letting myself feel is touching everything around me. My dad and Libby arrive fifteen minutes early. Libby has brought a macaroni salad from Stop & Shop.
Iris and Cliffy are all over my dad, and they take Libby and him out back to show them the frogs in the creek. I call upstairs to Greer that the party’s started, and she calls back that she’s coming but doesn’t come. When she got home from Pete’s this morning, I asked again about the sleepover in my too-chipper voice. To reiterate, it was “fine.”
Frannie, Marco, Theo, and Ethan arrive together.
“Does your dad read? I don’t know how I don’t know this, but I got him a book,” Frannie says, laying flowers and the birthday cake on my kitchen counter. “What happened to this place?”
Ethan crosses the room and puts his arm around me. “I kissed her, and now she’s no longer a frog.” I give him a nudge and he holds me closer.
“They’re coming,” Marco says, and Ethan releases me.
My dad and Libby walk into the kitchen, and hugs and hellos are exchanged. He reaches out his hand to Ethan. “Nice to meet you, I hear you’re a great guy,” he says.
I have never seen Ethan so caught off guard. “Thank you,” he says.
“And I like your parents,” my dad goes on.
“Thank you,” Ethan says again. “I like your daughter.”
Dinner is lively. We eat a New York strip roast with whipped horseradish sauce, roasted potatoes, and green beans. There’s an endive salad, and the popovers turned out great because I cleaned my oven. The food, the laughter, and maybe the distance from her phone have perked Greer up. My dad wants the report on the Hogans’ relocation to Florida and wants to know why Ethan lives in Devon instead of Beechwood when his nephew lives here.
“It’s sort of a long story,” he says. I wait for him to elaborate on the long story. I want to jump in and explain about the dog parade. “I like my work,” is all he says.
“Life isn’t all about work,” Libby says. I am starting to be embarrassed. Like they spent the whole drive here plotting how they could lasso me a guy.
Cliffy saves me. “There’s also skateboarding.”
Ethan gives him a side glance. “Yep. And Cliffy and I are starting tomorrow after camp in the high school parking lot.” I haven’t heard anything about this, and the thought of Cliffy skateboarding terrifies me. But I do love that they’ve made plans and the happy way I imagine this makes Cliffy feel.
Frannie rolls her eyes. “You were always so embarrassing riding that thing around like it was attached to you.”
Ethan says to Cliffy, “It really takes some women a long time to realize what’s cool.”