Chương 7
“That’s correct.”
Noah nodded as if confirming a measurement.
Mara sat.
Noah sat beside her.
Ethan sat across from them.
A server came over.
Noah ordered hot chocolate.
Mara ordered tea.
Ethan forgot what he wanted and said coffee because it was the first word available.
For several seconds no one spoke.
Then Noah said, “Do you have a dog?”
“No.”
“You like them though.”
“I do.”
“What kind?”
Ethan looked at Mara.
She raised one eyebrow.
“Golden retrievers.”
Noah considered.
“Those are okay.”
“Only okay?”
“They’re too friendly.”
“That’s usually considered good.”
“They would let a robber in.”
Ethan smiled.
“You prefer security-minded dogs.”
“I like German shepherds.”
“Good choice.”
Another silence.
Noah folded and unfolded the paper wrapper around his straw.
Then he looked directly at Ethan.
“Did you know about me?”
Mara’s hand moved slightly.
Ethan answered before she intervened.
“No.”
“Grandma Lorraine says she didn’t tell you.”
“That’s true.”
“Mom says Grandma Lorraine lied to everybody.”
“That’s also true.”
“Did Mom lie?”
Mara went still.
Ethan looked at her.
Then at Noah.
“Your mom told you some things when she didn’t know the whole truth.”
Noah frowned.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Ethan almost laughed.
Mara did, once, quietly.
Noah looked at her.
She straightened.
“Sorry.”
Ethan thought about the answer.
“Yes,” he said. “Your mom kept some things from you.”
Noah looked at Mara.
“I told you that.”
“I know.”
His voice contained the solemn irritation of a child whose adults continued offering redundant explanations.
The hot chocolate arrived.
Noah waited until the server left.
“Are you my dad now?”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
He could feel Mara watching him.
“I’m your biological father.”
“That sounds like science.”
“It is.”
“Are you my dad?”
There it was.
A question with no legal kit.
No percentage.
Ethan leaned forward slightly.
“I think that’s something I have to earn.”
Noah looked at him for a long moment.
Then he stirred his hot chocolate.
“That makes sense.”
Mara stared into her tea.
Ethan saw her blink quickly once.
They spent fifty-eight minutes together.
Noah liked astronomy, hated mushrooms, had broken his wrist at six falling from a climbing wall, and believed adults were lying when they said dark chocolate tasted better.
He asked Ethan thirteen questions.
Ethan counted only because he was nervous.
Do you live in a house?
What do you do?
Did you know Mom when she had short hair?
Can you swim?
Did you ever get suspended?
Do you play video games?
Why don’t you have a dog?
Are your parents divorced?
Is your dad dead?
Do you miss him?
Do I look like him too?
Do you have allergies?
Why didn’t Grandma tell you?
The last one ended the easy part.
Ethan looked at Mara.
She gave a small nod.
“My father died around the time your mom found out she was pregnant,” Ethan said. “I was having a hard time.”
Noah waited.
“My mother thought telling me about you would make things worse.”
“Would it have?”
Ethan thought carefully.
“Maybe.”
Mara looked at him.
He continued.
“But that doesn’t mean she had the right to decide.”
Noah stirred the melted whipped cream in his cup.
“Mom says adults can do wrong things because they’re scared.”
“Your mom says a lot of true things.”
Mara looked suspicious.
“Careful.”
Noah almost smiled.
Then he asked, “Are you mad at Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to stop talking to her?”
“I don’t know.”
Noah’s mouth tightened.
“I am.”
Mara touched his sleeve.
“You don’t have to decide forever today.”
“She lied.”
“Yes.”
“She said I could trust her.”
“I know.”
“She knew he was my dad.”
“I know.”
Noah pushed the hot chocolate away.
Ethan watched his breathing change.
Quick. Shallow.
The same way Ethan’s had in the café.
He wanted to reach across the table.
He did not.
Instead he said, “You can be mad at her and still miss her.”
Noah looked at him.
“How do you know?”
Ethan almost said because I do.
He stopped.
Then decided the truth was simple enough.
“Because that’s how I feel.”
Something passed through the boy’s face.
Recognition, maybe.
Not of Ethan as father.
Of Ethan as another person standing in the same confusing place.
When the hour ended, Ethan did not ask for more time.
That decision cost him.
He walked them to the museum entrance.
Noah shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets.
“Can we do something not in a café next time?”
Ethan looked at Mara.
She sighed.
“Probably.”
Noah nodded.
“Good.”
Then he walked toward the exit.
Mara stayed back half a step.
“You did okay.”
Ethan felt absurdly grateful.
“High praise.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Mara.”
She stopped.
“I want to see him again.”
“I know.”
“Not because of the test.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I know that too.”
He smiled faintly.
“Anything you don’t know?”
“A lot.”
She looked toward Noah.
“He’ll test you.”
“How?”
“Not intentionally. He’ll ask for things. He’ll watch whether you show up. He’ll act like he doesn’t care when he does.”
“I can show up.”
Mara looked back at him.
“Everyone thinks that at the beginning.”
Then she left.
For six weeks, Ethan showed up.
Not perfectly.
But consistently.
Saturday mornings became his time with Noah, first with Mara present, then with her nearby, then occasionally without her.
They went to the planetarium.
A batting cage, where Ethan discovered Noah was terrible at baseball and deeply offended by encouragement.
A bookstore, where Noah spent forty minutes reading the first chapters of five books instead of choosing one.
A dog adoption event they had no business attending.
Ethan nearly came home with a mutt named Pickles before Mara vetoed the decision by text.
You have known this child six weeks. Do not acquire a mammal because he looked at you sadly.
Ethan replied:
He has very effective eyes.
Mara sent:
Genetic.
May you like
Ethan stared at the message longer than necessary.
Their relationship remained harder than his relationship with Noah.
