39
Greer’s taken over my Instagram account and her recent post of Carla Garcia’s attic got thirty-six likes, more than four times more than I’ve ever gotten before. Greer and Ethan think something about this is hilarious.
I spend nearly all of the hours that my kids are occupied with Ethan. Our days feel like a honeymoon in five-hour increments. We take out a double kayak and paddle all the way to Connecticut and back. We eat fish tacos on his grandparents’ terrace and watch the sailboats from their bed. We break through the Ghost Gate with our dogs and look at the city in the distance. We go to the skate park, where there is no breeze at all, and I master turning around on a flat surface. Once I’ve done it, I cannot stop doing it. With my weight on my back leg, my hips make the turn happen and propel me forward. Ethan talks me through going back and forth on the mini ramp. It’s only three feet high and the trick is to shift my weight and lean into the transition at the top. But I don’t get going with enough speed to get there, because I’m afraid I’ll go right over the edge. We cool down afterward in his pool and make absolutely no progress on the house. I am happy in a way that I haven’t felt since before I was married.
My dad calls when I’m driving to Ethan’s, and apparently, he’s noticed too. “Hi, Ali,” he says, a little hesitant. He doesn’t just call me unless it’s to discuss specific plans, and we don’t have any.
“Hi, Dad. What’s going on?”
“Nothing really, was just thinking that Cliffy’s going to be tall.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I saw some other kids his age at the park, and I even asked how old they were. Much shorter. Does his doctor say this?” There is no way this is the reason for his call.
“He’s definitely above average,” I say. “I’ll ask for a percentile next time we’re there. So what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing, really. Same things.” He’s quiet for a second. “That Ethan’s a nice guy.”
Ah. Now I see. “Yes, he really is. And the skateboard lesson went pretty well too.” Ethan is basically the only thing in the world I want to talk about, but I don’t have enough experience talking with my dad about personal things to feel comfortable in this moment.
“Good. Good. Just wanted to say so. Also, that I liked the way he listened to you.”
“Dad, seriously?”
“Yes. I mean, every time you opened your mouth to talk he acted like you were about to perform a never-before-heard Beatles song.” He laughs, and I do too. I am so touched that he noticed this. “Pete, I mean, he’s fine. But he always did this thing like he was waiting for you to finish talking so he could say something. Even early on. I hate that.”
“Thanks, that’s nice to hear. About Ethan.”
“There’s something between you two that’s just sort of…”
“Right,” I say, almost to myself.
“Yes, it seems right. That’s exactly it.”
“Okay, thanks, Dad.” I pull into Ethan’s driveway and have the sense that my dad has more to say. I find myself wishing that we’d been having these conversations all along so that this would feel easier. I wish this felt more like sitcom banter and less like each word drops like an anvil.
“Well. Just wanted to say I like this new guy. That’s all.”
“Thank you,” I say. “For calling. It was good to talk to you.”
“Yeah, it felt good,” he says. And we say goodbye.
I’m a little raw from this conversation when I walk into Ethan’s house. He opens the door and pulls me into his arms like he didn’t just see me yesterday.
“Hey,” he says, and kisses me. I wrap my arms around his neck and sink into this kiss the way I always do. I will never get used to this. I can’t imagine ever just passing Ethan on the way out the door with a peck on the cheek.
He’s leaving this morning to go up to Devon to appear in court this afternoon, and Frannie’s here sorting through her mother’s china cabinet. I didn’t want to make any decisions about that stuff in case it’s valuable, and Ethan doesn’t want to look at it.
“Do you want this silver tea service?” she asks as he’s getting ready to leave.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Tea?”
“Not a huge tea guy. You keep it.”
“I don’t have any place to keep it, but it was Great-Grandma’s. Maybe I’ll pack it up for Theo for a wedding present someday.”
“Perfect,” he says. “Then Theo can put it in his attic and give it to his kid.”
Frannie laughs. “The Hogan legacy of packing and storing. Love it.”
“The Realtor came by Thursday and says she wants me to clear out that kind of stuff anyway, so this place will appeal to young people. I just don’t know any young people that are going to want a giant old house in the middle of town.”
“The Realtor came by?” I ask. I don’t know why this surprises me. The whole point of cleaning this place up has been to get it on the market.
“Yeah, Thursday. It goes on the market in two weeks.”
I have a feeling of having woken from a dream. The kind where you wake with a start and that fuzzy world that your mind has created fades away and you’re just looking at the clock on your cable box. It’s time to get up. The summer is almost over.
“You okay?” Ethan must notice a look on my face.
“Of course, sure,” I say. “You should get going.”
He crosses the room to me and takes my hand. “See ya, sis,” he says to Frannie. “I’m going to let my girlfriend walk me out so you don’t have to watch me kiss her goodbye. You’re welcome.” I want some of this lightness right now.
He grabs his bag with his free hand and leads me out to his car. “Seriously, are you okay? You don’t look right.”
“I am,” I lie. “I think I just got really tired. Maybe I’ll go home for a bit.”
“Fake cleaning up won’t be that much fun without me anyway.”
“It won’t,” I say.
“I’m not going to tell you I’m going to miss you because that would be embarrassing. But I am.” He pulls me into a hug and I just want to stay there. In this moment, where my head is in his chest and his arms are around me and he’s still here.