But then I see him. Ethan arrives like an angel sent from heaven. His steps are heavy, his stride purposeful as he walks toward me.
As he walks past Charles, his little duck pecks at Charles’s pant leg, and Charles jumps in place, trying to get away. “What the…!” Charles says, his voice panicked a little.
I’ve never been quite as happy to see anyone as I am in that moment.
“Is that him?” Ethan asks, and he has a wicked glint in his eyes.
“That’s him,” I reply as he marches straight up my steps and bends his head to kiss my cheek. He presses a small bouquet of flowers into my hands. “And her,” I add, nodding my head in her direction.
“He picked her over you?” he says with a snicker close to my ear. “I can’t see why.”
As I compare the two of them, Ethan and Charles… I can’t. I simply can’t. There is no comparison. They are as different as night and day, or light and dark. As different as any opposites that ever presented themselves, that’s the difference between Charles and Ethan.
I lift his little nosegay and inhale. The wildflowers smell like outdoors and happiness. They smell like him. “They’re beautiful,” I say.
“So are you,” he replies softly, and he lifts his hand to rest on the center of my back. I melt a little when he lifts the bottom edge of my t-shirt so that his hot palm touches my skin.
“Who’s he?” Charles asks, his face and neck suddenly blotchy and red.
Ethan raises his hand. “Name’s Ethan,” he says. “Nice to meet you.” His duck has made it all the way up the steps and sits squawking at the intruders. I step a little closer to Ethan, and I feel his hip press against me. I’ve never felt quite as safe as I do in that moment. I’ve never felt quite so loved, and that makes tears sting my eyes. I blink them back.
“Tell me if you want them gone, and I’ll make it happen,” he says to me, his brow furrowing. He reaches over and very tenderly brushes a lock of hair behind my ear.
“You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do just about anything for you,” he replies, his voice soft. He stares straight into my eyes as he says it.
“Wait,” Charles calls out, his voice interrupting the tender moment. “Are you fucking him?”
Sandra grabs for his arm, but he jerks it out of her hands. She falters for a moment, surprised by his anger. She stares at him.
But she can’t stare long, because Ethan is already charging down the steps in his direction. He stalks forward until he bumps his broad chest against Charles’s. Charles is the same height as Ethan, but he’s not made like Ethan, not on the inside and certainly not on the outside.
“What did you just say?” Ethan asks quietly.
Charles leans to the side so he can look around Ethan’s body. “Is this guy for real?” he asks me. Then he steps around Ethan and walks toward me. “Are you fucking him, Abs?” he asks, his voice filled with fury, as spittle flies from his lips.
“Her name is Abigail,” Ethan says just before he shoves him back. Charles stumbles and has to windmill his arms to stay balanced.
“I know exactly who she is,” Charles retorts. “I’ve been married to her for quite some time.”
“So you just conveniently forget that you’re married to her when it suits you.” Ethan’s duck wanders around his feet, honking in Charles’s direction. Ethan walks forward until they’re chest to chest again, and then he says very slowly and succinctly, “See, I don’t think you ever knew her at all. If you did, you’d know she hates to be called Abs. And you’d also know that she doesn’t want you here. She came here to get away from you and your trouble.”
He addresses Sandra, but his tone gentles considerably when he talks to her. “And I think you made a bad choice. But it was your choice to make. Why, exactly, are you here?”
“I just wanted to apologize.” Sandra hangs her head.
“Why?” Ethan presses.
“Well, Charles’s mother is pretty angry, and she won’t even see me until she knows Abigail is all right with all of this. So I was hoping maybe you could accept my apology, and then give her a call and let her know that you’re okay with it?” Her voice trails off as she stares hopefully at me.
So, my mother-in-law has refused to accept their relationship or to accept Sandra unless Sandra can prove that I’m okay with all this. Huh.
“I’m not okay with all this,” I reply. I start to tick items off on my fingers. “I lost my job, my house, my husband, and my marriage, all because you wanted to fuck my husband. Why am I supposed to be okay with that?”
She wrings her hands together. “I fell in love with him.” She looks at him for confirmation, but he’s trying to get away from the duck who is going after his shoelaces with a vengeance. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Answer one question for me,” I say to her.
She nods. “Okay.”
“How did it start?”
She looks toward Charles like she wants his help, but he’s still side-stepping the duck, who is now bossing him around like Charles is a bug Wilbur wants to eat.
“I went to dinner one night and he was there, at the restaurant. He was alone, like me, and we ended up sharing a table.”
“You spend a lot of time with your grandmother!” Charles calls out defensively. He yelps as the little duck nips the back of his leg. “I went out to dinner, alone as usual. Sandra was there eating alone too. And we shared a table. I made her laugh. She thought I was funny.”
“She thought you were funny.” In my mind, I look back through our relationship timeline and realize that everything that ever brought forth change in our relationship revolved around something I’d done for Charles or some variation of making Charles feel good. “So she stroked your ego? And the rest of you, too, no doubt.” I add the last under my breath, but he still hears me. “Why didn’t you tell me then? Why didn’t you simply end it if you’d decided you’d rather be with Sandra?”
Charles huffs. “I didn’t think I needed to end it right away.”
I see Sandra bristle.
“And then she got pregnant and I couldn’t end it.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair.
My jaw drops at what he’s just admitted. Sandra visibly deflates. All the fight goes out of her. “You know what?” she says. “This was a terrible idea. I’m very sorry that I bothered you, Abigail.”
She needs to know all of it. Even if it hurts. “He kept sleeping with me, Sandra, even after he told you he wasn’t. He’s a liar, and he cheated on both of us, if you want to look at it that way.”
“I can see that.” Her voice is small.
I motion up and down his body. “I am very sorry that this is what you’re going to end up with.”
“I’m not at all certain he’s what I’ll end up with,” she replies, finding a bit of backbone apparently. She lays a hand on her belly. “But I also can’t undo any of it.” She adds, so low that I can barely hear it, “I truly thought he was mine.”
I lay my hand on my chest and press it tight. “He couldn’t be yours until he stopped being mine.”