Chapter 140
Ethan
Tilda pulls the bathroom door shut with a click, about to start her shower, and I top off my coffee.
Pushing open the screen door, I step out onto the back deck and cradle my mug while I stand and admire the view.
Most mornings I wake up here.
In the past… two and a half months, since we got married, I’ve spent more nights here than at my house.
I’ve spent hardly any time at my house.
It’s a good house.
Nothing wrong with it.
But I don’t want to be there.
I’ve lived there for almost twenty years, yet Tilda’s house feels more like home to me.
I fill my lungs with the crisp morning air.
Tilda feels like home.
And I want to… move in.
My house is bigger. More rooms, more bathrooms. More space for a future. Children. But even when I imagine it, I imagine that future here.
I want to fill half her closet, empty my fridge, and figure out what to do with my house later.
I want that so much, but Tilda hasn’t even been to my house.
Not once.
We’ve talked about it. But I haven’t put any effort into it. For no reason other than I like it here better.
Maybe I can bring Tilda over there this weekend. And while we’re there, I can casually make a comment about clothes. And we can casually pack a suitcase of my stuff. And I can casually move the rest of my existence into her house.
My phone rings.
I’m off today, so I almost don’t take it out of my pocket.
But I do. And I see something else I’ve been avoiding.
“Hey, Sandra.”
“Finally.” My sister sighs. “I feel like we’ve been playing phone tag forever.”
I grunt. Because we have. But also because I’ve been calling at times I knew she’d be busy. Because I haven’t told her I’m married.
An idea forms. Two birds, one stone. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Umm.” Sandra’s tone is suspicious. “I don’t think I have anything planned. Why?”
“Why are you lying to me?”
“I don’t have anything planned. I’m not lying.”
“You’re lying about something.” I sip my coffee. Loudly.
I do it again.
On the third time, Sandra caves. “Oh my god, fine. Just knock it off.”
I smile.
She sighs. “We don’t have any plans for tomorrow.”
My smile drops. “Who is we?”
“Me and my, um, boyfriend.”
I exhale. Loudly.
Fine. I’ll invite everybody.
Three birds, one fucking stone.
“Bring him with.”
“Uh.” Sandra hesitates. “Bring him where?”
“The house.”
“And what are we going to do at the house?”
I roll my eyes up to the sky. “We’re going to murder and dismember your boyfriend.”
“Hilarious.”
“I’m gonna grill veggie burgers. You can bring the dessert.” I think about it, then specify. “Cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes… Inviting the boyfriend over without asking a single question… What’s going on?”
I take another loud sip of my coffee, then audibly exhale. “I have someone for you to meet too.”
“Oh?”
“Yep.” I’m being evasive on purpose. But she deserves it with this boyfriend bullshit.
“And who am I meeting?”
“Tilda.” I can’t even say her name without smiling anymore.
“And who is Tilda?”
I turn and look through the windows into the house, and I spot Tilda walking out of the bedroom in nothing but a towel.
“She’s my wife.”
The line is quiet. Then my sister shouts incoherent nonsense into the phone.
“Show up at four.”
She shouts something else, but I end the call.
Because my wife is dropping her towel.