Chương 10
“I understand.”
“Then what do you want?”
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“I want to stop feeling like the healthiest version of this relationship is one where I never ask what I can already see.”
Maya’s chest tightened.
“I’m not sleeping with him.”
“I know.”
“I’m not trying to get him back.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
Daniel looked genuinely sad.
“You become more yourself when he walks into a room.”
She did not answer.
“I don’t mean happier,” he added. “Sometimes you become furious. Sometimes annoying. Sometimes funny. But you become more.”
Maya stared at the table.
“That sounds like something from a bad movie.”
“I’m a pharmacist. We don’t get writing classes.”
She laughed despite herself.
Daniel smiled.
Then his smile faded.
“I like you too much to become the reasonable man you settle for.”
That sentence stayed with her.
They ended kindly.
Kind endings were not painless.
For weeks she missed his morning texts.
She missed the way he folded napkins into tiny squares without noticing.
She missed not having history with him.
Ethan did not ask why they broke up.
Maya appreciated that.
Then resented it.
Then, one evening, while they watched Caleb try to put a wooden puzzle piece into the wrong hole for the twentieth time, she said, “Daniel and I broke up.”
Ethan kept watching Caleb.
“I figured.”
“How?”
“You stopped complaining about his cat hair.”
She stared at him.
“That is disturbingly observant.”
“He wore black pants around a white cat. It was irresponsible.”
Maya smiled.
Then she looked down.
“He said I’m still in love with you.”
Ethan did not move.
Caleb slapped the puzzle piece against the floor.
Maya wished she could retrieve the sentence.
Ethan finally said, “Are you?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“That’s all?”
“What would you like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we’re consistent.”
She threw a couch cushion at him.
It hit his shoulder.
Caleb laughed.
Ethan picked up the cushion.
“I’m not doing this wrong again.”
Maya’s humor disappeared.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not going to hear that you might love me and turn it into permission.”
She stared at him.
He set the cushion down.
“I did that once.”
“You were married.”
“Yes.”
“You aren’t now.”
“That’s not the only difference.”
“What is?”
“You trust me with Caleb.”
Maya said nothing.
“I’m not risking that because we’re lonely.”
“I’m not lonely.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay. Because I’m lonely.”
The honesty disarmed her.
Ethan looked at Caleb.
“I love you.”
Maya’s breath stopped.
He continued before she could speak.
“I probably have for a long time. But loving you has not historically made me a good person.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Caleb found the correct puzzle hole.
He shoved the piece inside and clapped for himself.
Both adults applauded automatically.
The interruption saved them.
Maya stood.
“I need coffee.”
“It’s eight thirty.”
“I have a toddler.”
“Fair.”
She walked into the kitchen.
Ethan remained on the floor.
Neither mentioned the conversation again for three weeks.
Then Caleb got sick.
A fever.
Nothing extraordinary.
A viral infection that the pediatrician said needed fluids, rest, and monitoring.
Maya still panicked at two in the morning when the thermometer read 103.2.
She called Ethan.
He arrived in twenty-six minutes.
His hair was wet from a shower. His shirt was inside out.
Maya noticed halfway through explaining the medication schedule.
“Your shirt.”
“What?”
“It’s inside out.”
He looked down.
“Okay.”
“Did you dress in the dark?”
“I left fast.”
Something in her chest softened.
Caleb woke crying.
Ethan held him while Maya called the nurse line.
At four thirty, the fever eased.
Maya sat on the floor beside Caleb’s crib.
Ethan sat across from her.
Neither had energy for chairs.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“So should you.”
“I can stay awake.”
“Why?”
“I’m better at it.”
“That isn’t a skill.”
“It has professional applications.”
Maya leaned her head against the wall.
“You look ridiculous.”
He examined the inside-out seam of his shirt.
“I know.”
She smiled.
Ethan looked at her.
The room was dark except for a dinosaur night-light.
Maya’s smile faded.
He did not move toward her.
That was the reason she did.
She crossed the small space and kissed him.
The kiss lasted less than three seconds.
Then she pulled away.
Ethan stayed still.
Maya stared at him.
“You’re supposed to say something.”
“I’m trying not to ruin it.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
“Growth.”
She laughed quietly.
Then she covered her face with both hands.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Possibly.”
“Your divorce isn’t even two years old.”
“It’s been nineteen months.”
“That is exactly the sort of correction that makes it a terrible idea.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
She lowered her hands.
Ethan’s face was softer than she expected.
Maya whispered, “I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
“Of what?”
“Getting what I wanted and finding out I only know how to want it when it’s complicated.”
She stared at him.
“That’s a horrible answer.”
“It’s the true one.”
Her eyes filled.
She hated that.
Ethan waited.
Maya looked at the crib.
“Then we don’t make it easy.”
“What does that mean?”
“No moving in. No pretending we’re a family because it looks efficient. No dramatic declarations.”
“I can do that.”
“No hiding.”
His expression changed.
“Never again.”
She looked at him.
“You can’t promise never.”
“You’re right.”
He corrected himself.
“No deliberate hiding.”
“That sounds like contract language.”
“I own a construction company.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Probably.”
She kissed him again.
This time he kissed her back.
They dated badly at first.
Not disastrously.
Badly.
They had too much history.
A late reply could mean nothing and still reopen an old wound.
A change of plans could feel like abandonment.
Maya once accused Ethan of becoming distant after he canceled dinner because an employee had been injured at a job site.
He stared at her.
“A man fell twelve feet.”
Maya immediately felt ashamed.
May you like
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
