“No. I don’t.”
It’s becoming a pattern. We say things that have a double meaning, and then we keep the rest unsaid. Others, he’s so clear on his intentions. I want him to finish his sentences; simultaneously, I want him to stop feeding me hope.
“Show me your room.”
“This is unfair. I’ll never get to see your room.”
“There was nothing special. I had a bed, shelves, and my trophies.”
When we reach the second story, we start opening doors. There are six rooms. The first four are empty. The first door we open has a king-size bed. It’s mauve colored and has lots of portraits around.
“You look a lot like your father, but you have your mom’s smile.”
When I see the picture, I frown.
“What is it?”
“This guy. I…saw him.” My mouth goes dry. “I did, in Miami. He was the first person who came to my rescue. Well, he wasn’t rescuing me, more like waiting for the ambulance to arrive. I remember him because he kept saying, ‘Stay with me, don’t go to sleep. Someone will be here soon. You can’t leave yet, son.’”
Ethan looks at me. I don’t understand if he thinks I was hallucinating. “I can’t use the excuse that I was high because that kid stole everything from me. It was probably…”
I take a few deep breaths. It’s still hard to deal with that one part of the ordeal. Someone else died. I know it wasn’t my fault, but it feels like he took my place.
“Do you want to come back another day?”
I shake my head.
“We should go to my room.” As we leave the room, I say, “Thank you. I wish I could be stronger to deal with this, but it’s overwhelming.”
“We need to leave,” he orders, reaching for my hand.
I look at him, wondering if he has an appointment or somewhere to be. “Why?”
“You’re closing up,” he mumbles. “I feel you shutting down.”
“Did I ever tell you that I could never cry or be sad in front of Mom? She didn’t allow it.”
“We’ll be back another day. This is enough, Z,” he insists.
I turn to look at him and nod.
“Thank you.”
He takes me into his arms and hugs me tight.
I feel his warm breath caressing my neck. I close my eyes and let everything flow.
The sadness.
The anger.
The guilt.
Today, I’m safe enough to let everything out.
“If I had been old enough, I’d have taken you with me,” he whispers.
I want to tell him that I love him. It’ll be too easy to beg him not to let me go.
But I don’t say a word. I’m not ready to be with anyone, not even him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ethan
From: EDK <[email protected]>
To: ZJH <[email protected]>
Subject: Big ass house in Alabama
My mother would like to know if my assistant—she’s talking about you— has found a house for her in the South. You promised a big place with a pool.
I don’t have time for this nonsense. Would you mind fixing it?
She wants to move out of New York. I have no time nor the energy to be dealing with your nonsense.
How’s life as a teacher?
Love,
Ethan
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I stare at the computer where the messaging program is open with the latest messages my assistant gathered, including my mother’s.
If Zeke weren’t avoiding me, I’d be driving to the academy to see him. This isn’t the first time we have had an intense moment and then avoided each other for days or, in this case, weeks. I’m respecting him while I try to fix myself.
Obviously, blaming him for my mother’s attitude isn’t right, but it’s a great excuse to begin a conversation. I don’t expect him to fix anything. I just want to be near him again—without other people around us. We’ve seen each other a handful of times since that fateful day at his parents’ place. The one when I almost kissed him to absorb his pain. They don’t count when he’s always at least six feet away from me and talking to everyone but me.
Renovating his parents’ house would give me something to do while I wait for him. I can’t. He doesn't want to discuss it. He told me that much last Sunday during brunch.
A few minutes after I press send on the email, I get a text from him.
Zeke: A kid projectile vomited all over me, but life is great.
I’m trying not to laugh, but I do. He thought dealing with little kids would be a breeze, but every time he tells me about the horror stories he’s living, I can see him wanting to do something different.
Ethan: Is it wrong to say that I wish I had seen that?
Zeke: Shut the fuck up. Kids are fun, but I want to ask for a day off myself when they are sick. Better yet, I want to tell their parents to keep them home. I should sue them for endangering my life. This was worse than that time when a girl sneezed all over my face. I’m still wiping my face with hand sanitizer every five fucking minutes.
Ethan: Don’t expect me to kiss you any time soon.
Zeke: Your loss. I might never have children after this.
Ethan: I’m sure it’s different when they are your children. You loved babysitting Grady and Aubrey when they were young and sick.
Zeke: They are family. I guess you’re right. I think I want to teach college students.
Ethan: What are you talking about?
Zeke: For one, I’m sure at eighteen those children know how to sneeze or where to puke. Also, I need to teach the future teachers of America how to be patient with young minds. I swear some of the people who are here think they’re giving a seminar to a bunch of forty-year-old geeks. These little ones are only a few years old. They need love.
Ethan: That’s a long rant. Is that the puke talking?
Zeke: Partially. I came home to take a long shower and burn my clothes.
Ethan: If you want, I’ll cook for you tonight to make it up to you.
Zeke: Look at you, finding ways to score a date with Mr. Hutchence. A dad asked me out today. You got some competition.
Ethan: But do I?
Zeke: Aren’t we cocky, Killion? About your mom, I’ll research a few places that might be good for her. She’s sixty, right?
Ethan: Sixty-seven, but you don’t have to. I’m just frustrated.
Zeke: In all seriousness, I’d invite you to dinner, but I’m crashing at Hannah’s place.
I scroll up to read the messages we’ve exchanged so far, and he sounds more open. I sigh with relief. It sucks that I can’t see him today, unless…
Ethan: I can get myself invited to dinner.
Zeke: Then I’ll see you tonight.
Ethan: Why don’t we go out for dinner? You wouldn’t have to drive to Huntington Point or anywhere. I’ll pick you up.
Ethan: Just the two of us.
Zeke: As much as I love that idea, I need to help Alex finish the gazebo for the wedding.
Ethan: Are they setting a date?
Zeke: No, but if we have that ready, she might set a date.
Ethan: Fine, I’ll get myself invited, but can we go out for dinner next week?