Chapter 17
Maybe someday
Colin
I load the dishes from dinner into the dishwasher and head back to the living room, unsure what to do with myself next. Alicia is sleeping over at Oliver and Felicity’s tonight.
In just a few weeks of living with me, we’ve fallen into a new routine, always doing something together, filling the penthouse with noise and life. It feels strange to be alone again in this cold, enormous place.
I can’t help but think this is exactly how it will feel once Ceci returns from her trip.
Something I hadn’t been prepared for was how much work someone Alicia’s age could be. The first week was the hardest. We had a blow-up fight after she accused me of forgetting about a school project I didn’t even know existed.
And then she said it. “Mom would’ve reminded me. She never lets me forget anything.”
If I earned a dollar for every time I’ve heard ‘Mom would’ve’ these past few weeks, I could probably fund a new startup. But I also notice she uses it as leverage, trying to get permission to do things her mother never would have allowed.
Like going out on a school night. Which, of course, only turned into more arguments.
It makes me wonder how Ceci ever carried it all on her own, especially when the kids were younger. Which, in turn, only makes me feel like an even bigger failure for not being there when they needed me most.
My phone rings on the coffee table. I glance at the screen, frowning as I recognize the name. Larry.
It’s a name I haven’t seen in a long time, an old neighbor from a whole other life. His family lived just two houses down from us back when Ethan used to play with his younger son.
“Larry... it’s been a while.”
Noise comes through the line. Raised voices, and the harsh clang of something metallic hitting the floor.
“Colin... hey. I wish I were calling under better circumstances. You need to get here. It’s your son.”
My chest tightens so fast it hurts. Ethan.
“My son? Ethan? Are you in Ithaca? What happened?” I ask, already grabbing my wallet and keys.
The noise gets louder, and I feel the panic starting to kick in.
“Not Ithaca. Williamsburg. I’m sending you the address now.”
He doesn’t even get the words out before I’m calling the elevator.
The street is packed when I pull up to the address Larry sent me. I’m out of the car and moving the second I spot Larry and Nancy. When I see Ethan slumped over by a brick wall with his eyes shut, I pick up the pace.
When Larry sees me coming, he starts talking right away. “He’s alright. Just had a bit too much. You know how it is at that age.” He shakes his head. “I already gave the bartender an earful for serving him, and the other kids who were clearly underage.”
I shake his hand, then Nancy’s, thanking them for calling me.
“Nonsense,” Larry says. “We’ve all been that age. My own three kids? They’ve gotten into their fair share of trouble. We know how it goes.”
As they walk away, a lump forms in my throat.
Not Ethan. Not my son… who, as far as I knew, had never touched a drop of alcohol. But then... What do I really know about him these days?
I walk up to him and say, “Ethan... son.”
He cracks one eye open and exhales.
“Ugh... why are you here? I thought I was hearing things.” He makes a lazy flicking motion with his hand. “You can go. I don’t want you here. I don’t need you.”
I swallow hard. “I know you don’t,” I whisper. “But I’m here anyway. Come on. Let me take you home.”
The second I touch his arm, the fog of alcohol clears just enough for something uglier to show through. Ethan yanks away from me and stumbles back.
“Don’t touch me. Just... leave me alone. You don’t even care.”
“Of course I care,” I say. “You’re my son.”
He laughs loud, enough to turn heads. “You know the first thing I remembered last month? On my birthday?” He sneers. “That a year ago you ditched us to spend the weekend with your whore.”
The words land, tearing something open inside me. And I feel it, that sick feeling coiling under my skin every time my past with Maya resurfaces.
I feel small. Exposed.
“That’s not—” I start.
“Yes, it is,” he cuts me off. “You don’t get to rewrite it. You don’t get a better version of yourself just because it hurts now.”
I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Swallowing hard, I take a step closer.
“Come on, son,” I say quietly. “Let me take you home. Or anywhere else, if you don’t want to come with me.”
Ethan looks at me, hurt and fury written all over his face. Then he shoves my chest. “Why did you do it?”
He shoves me again, harder, and I stumble back, hitting the side of a parked car.
“Why did you do that to Mom? To Alicia?”
With every question, his expression fractures further with anger and pain.
“Why did you do this to me?” he finishes, his voice breaking.
When I see the tears in his eyes, it’s like a thousand pounds hit my stomach. I don’t think. I just pull him into my arms.
At first, he doesn’t respond. Then he breaks. He sobs into my chest, his whole body shaking. “I h-hate you,” he chokes, over and over. “I hate you.”
I tighten my grip and whisper into his hair, “Not more than I hate myself.”
I hold my son the way I haven’t in over a year. Turning away from curious eyes. Shielding him from the world, holding together what I shattered.
When his sobs finally begin to quiet, I speak softly. “Come on, son.”
He shakes his head and tries to pull away. I let him, but keep one hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
“I don’t want to go with you,” he mutters.
I give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know you hate me. And you can keep hating me tomorrow if you need to. But I’m not leaving you here like this.”
He looks at me, bleary and unfocused.
“Just for tonight,” I murmur. “Let me be here for you. Let me take care of you, son.”
His lower lip trembles. Barely above a whisper, he asks, “You... you want to take care of me?”
I swallow hard.
“More than anything.”
He finally lets me guide him to the car. I fasten his seatbelt and close the door quickly. When I walk around to the driver’s side, I wipe the tears from my face and get in.
“Sit here,” I tell Ethan, helping him down onto the bench.
I step into the shower and turn it on, testing the water.
He didn’t say a word the entire drive, half-asleep in the passenger seat. Part of me wonders if I should just let him collapse into bed and sleep it off. But my college years taught me otherwise—if he doesn’t get some of this out of his system now, tomorrow will punish him for it.
I go back to him and help him to his feet.
As I’m pulling off his jacket, his words come out slurred. “What are you doing?” he mumbles.
I ease his shirt over his head and answer, “Helping you out. You need to get in the shower.”
I crouch to slip off his sneakers and help him out of his clothes.
Then it hits me that I don’t even know why Ethan’s not in Ithaca. Before I can ask, he speaks again.
“Where’s Ali—” he trips over the name. “Where’s Buttercup?”
The nickname makes me smile. He’s used it for Alicia since she was two and never let go of it.
“She’s at Oliver and Felicity’s. They’re having a sleepover.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs.
Once he’s down to his boxers, he slumps on the bench again. I slip off my shoes and help him to his feet. The second I guide him under the spray, he flinches, gasping as the water hits him.
“It’s too cold.”
“It’s lukewarm,” I tell him gently. “Perfect if you don’t want tomorrow to be worse than it already will be.”
“I’m not hungover,” he mutters.
“Of course you’re not,” I say, failing to keep the smile out of my voice.
I press the bottle of shampoo into his hand.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks.
Because I love you, I think. But all I say is, “You’ll feel better after the shower.”
He lets out a long breath.
“Can you manage on your own?”
He nods once. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
A short, helpless laugh slips out of me.
“You say that like you ever liked bath time when you were a kid.”
Bath time had almost always been a battle. Ethan was a gentle child, mostly, but like any kid, he had his stubborn streaks. And bath time was at the top of that list.
“I used to throw those fits,” he murmurs, distant and unfocused. “Just to stay awake... so it would be you getting me ready for bed.”
My throat tightens. I step back to give him some room, but I stay by the doorway just to make sure he doesn’t lose his balance.
When he was little, I used to be home more often—or at least, it felt that way. But there were nights when work kept me later than I promised. Some evenings, when I bathed him and he was already half-asleep, he’d rest his head on my shoulder while I washed his arms and back.
Moments I thought were small at the time but I now understand were everything.
When he turns off the water, I hand him a towel as he steps out of the shower. He isn’t swaying as much now.
I go to the closet and pull out a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie—the brand I know he prefers—and set them on the counter beside him.
“There are other things in the closet if you’d rather wear something else,” I say. “I’m going to make you some coffee. I can bring it to you, or you can meet me in the kitchen.”
He just gives me a small nod.
I grab my shoes before leaving the bathroom, pulling them back on as I head toward the kitchen.
I’m pouring coffee into two mugs when I feel him in the doorway. When I turn, Ethan is standing on the other side of the island. I slide a mug toward him and he takes a sip before sitting down. I mirror him, grabbing a stool on the opposite side with my cup in hand.
“If you want more sugar... or anything else,” I offer.
He shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”
I smile at him, and he almost immediately looks away, turning his gaze toward the floor-to-ceiling window to his left.
“Why...” he starts, and my stomach knots, bracing for what’s coming. “Why is that closet full of clothes in my size? The exact type of clothes I wear.”