Chương 13
“Do you hate me?” Mara asked.
The question surprised him.
“No.”
“Ever?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Fair.”
“Do you hate me?”
“Sometimes.”
“Still?”
“Occasionally.”
“For what?”
She looked at him.
“Existing.”
He laughed.
“That seems unreasonable.”
“It is.”
She smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“I hate that when I look at you with him, I see what he lost.”
Ethan stared at his bottle.
“And I hate that when I look at you with him, I see what I missed.”
“Exactly.”
They sat with it.
Neither apologized.
There was nothing to apologize for.
Inside the house, a floorboard creaked.
A moment later Noah appeared in the doorway wearing pajama pants and no shirt.
“I can’t sleep.”
Mara checked the time.
“You’ve been in bed twelve minutes.”
“I still can’t.”
“Did you try?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Twelve minutes.”
Ethan covered a smile.
Noah looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Can I have water?”
“You know where water is,” Mara said.
“I know.”
He stayed in the doorway.
Ethan understood before Mara did.
“Nightmare?”
Noah shrugged.
That meant yes.
Mara’s voice softened.
“What happened?”
“I don’t remember.”
Also probably untrue.
Ethan set down the beer.
“Want me to sit with you?”
Noah looked at Mara.
She nodded.
“Fine.”
Ethan stood.
As he passed Mara, she touched his wrist.
He looked down.
“Thank you,” she said.
He knew she did not mean for sitting with Noah.
Not only that.
He went inside.
Noah climbed into bed and turned toward the wall.
Ethan sat in the desk chair.
For a while they said nothing.
The room contained evidence of a ten-year-old life Ethan had entered late.
Model planets.
Soccer cleats.
Books.
A photograph from the climbing-gym birthday.
The wooden box Lorraine had given him sat on a shelf.
Open.
Still open.
“You can go,” Noah said.
“I know.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t have to sit there.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“That chair sucks.”
“It really does.”
A pause.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What happens if you and Mom get married?”
Ethan nearly fell out of the chair.
“What?”
Noah rolled over.
“You heard me.”
“We’re not dating.”
“I know.”
“Then why would we get married?”
“I don’t know.”
“Excellent.”
Noah frowned.
“People at school think you are.”
“People at school are wrong.”
“Tyler says divorced parents sometimes get back together.”
“We were never married.”
“He says that still counts.”
“Tyler is not a reliable legal source.”
Noah smiled.
“Do you like Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Like like?”
Ethan rubbed his face.
“Go to sleep.”
“That means yes.”
“That means I am not discussing your mother with you at eleven thirty.”
“It’s ten forty-two.”
“Even worse.”
Noah turned back toward the wall.
A minute passed.
Then:
“I think she likes you.”
Ethan looked toward the open doorway.
“Good night, Noah.”
Noah laughed into his pillow.
Nothing romantic happened between Ethan and Mara that night.
Or the next month.
Or the next six.
Their relationship had become something stranger and more durable than the thing they had once tried to build.
They were parents together.
They irritated each other.
Relied on each other.
Sometimes ate dinner together because transferring Noah between homes at six thirty made less sense than feeding everyone.
Sometimes Mara fell asleep on Ethan’s couch during a movie and woke embarrassed.
Sometimes Ethan fixed things in her house she had not asked him to fix and got yelled at for it.
There was affection.
There was history.
There was caution.
They did not name it.
The first kiss happened almost three years after the café.
It was not cinematic.
Mara had the flu.
Ethan brought groceries.
She opened the door wearing sweatpants and an old college sweatshirt.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“Go away.”
“I brought soup.”
“Leave it.”
“I also brought medicine.”
“I have medicine.”
“You texted that you were out.”
“I regret telling you.”
Noah was with Lorraine for the afternoon, one of several visits that had slowly become normal again.
Ethan put groceries away.
Mara sat at the kitchen table wrapped in a blanket.
“You know this is annoying.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t live here.”
“I know.”
“You organized my refrigerator.”
“It needed help.”
“You moved the mustard.”
“There were three mustards.”
“They have different purposes.”
“Of course they do.”
She glared at him.
He smiled.
Mara coughed.
Then, unexpectedly, started laughing.
It turned into more coughing.
Ethan handed her water.
“This is humiliating,” she said.
“Deeply.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because you’re sick.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He leaned against the counter.
“It is now.”
Mara looked at him.
The laughter disappeared.
Something quieter took its place.
“You always do that.”
“What?”
“Answer the simple question when I mean the hard one.”
“Ask the hard one.”
She looked down at the blanket.
“Why are you still here?”
Ethan knew she did not mean the kitchen.
He took a breath.
“Because this is my family.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Noah is.”
“So are you.”
The words arrived before he could make them safer.
Mara stared at him.
Ethan felt immediate panic.
“I don’t mean—”
“Stop.”
“Okay.”
She stood.
The blanket fell from her shoulders.
She looked awful.
Pale. Hair unwashed. Nose red.
Then she kissed him.
Once.
Briefly.
Ethan stood frozen.
Mara stepped back.
“That was a bad decision.”
“Probably.”
“I have the flu.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re going to get sick.”
“Likely.”
“This doesn’t mean anything.”
“That seems statistically unlikely.”
She laughed once.
Then kissed him again.
They did not tell Noah for two months.
When they finally did, he stared at them across Mara’s dining table.
“I knew.”
Mara frowned.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“How?”
“You look at each other weird.”
Ethan asked, “What does weird mean?”
“Like you’re arguing when you’re not talking.”
Mara pointed at him.
“That is disturbingly accurate.”
Noah ate another bite of pasta.
“Are you getting married?”
“No,” they said together.
He rolled his eyes.
Adults, his expression said.
Still impossible.
They dated carefully.
Almost comically carefully.
No moving in.
May you like
No making Noah responsible for their feelings.
No pretending their history was romantic because it now had a better chapter.
