44. CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 44
ARI
I burst through the door to Ethan’s house and head right over to where I left the guys to find them still sitting on the floor, side-by-side, backs against the wall. Fonz looks at me as I approach but Ethan is unmoving.
“Hey,” I croak out, sinking to the floor on the other side of Ethan. I place the box beside me and remove the lid, running my hand over the tops of the envelopes that are tightly wedged inside. “I have some things for you to read.”
Ethan lifts his head and looks at me, his face swollen from crying so hard. He wipes the back of his hand under his nose and sniffs.
Fonz shuffles around on his other side and gets up. “I’m going to leave you two alone.”
I pass up the first dozen envelopes and pull one out, also halfway pulling out the one behind it to mark its place. I scan the letter, but it doesn’t have what I’m looking for, so I file that one away again and skip a few more envelopes, pulling out another.
“Aha! Here.” I hold open the letter in front of Ethan as it tries to fold back in on itself at the creases. “Read this.”
Ethan wipes his eyes and takes the paper but quickly shakes his head. “Ari, I can’t. My eyes are jacked right now.”
I take the paper from him, kick my legs out in front of me, smooth it on my lap, and start to read:
Dear Momma,
Today started out really bad. Papa got mad at me for spilling pop on the couch and started hitting me again. He wouldn’t stop. He had a lot of beers. When he stumbled I ran away. I ran outside and hid under his old car, where I was just going to wait until he gave up looking for me and went inside to fall asleep.
But he almost found me. He heard me, and I was so scared he was going to drag me out from under the car and start hitting me again.
Then I heard a voice I had never heard before. It was a boy’s voice, and I thought he was going to tell Papa where I was. But he didn’t. He helped me get away from Papa.
He’s really nice, Momma. He has eyes the color of chocolate syrup, and a little scar on his lip. He called me Ari. I’ve never had a nickname before. He also called me Red, because of my hair. But he wasn’t saying it to be mean.
No, he’s not mean. He’s really kind. He sat with me until it was safe to go back home and told me to go to his window next time Papa comes looking for me. I’ve never had that before—a place to go when I’m scared.
I’ve also never had a friend. I think that’s who this boy is, Momma. He’s my first real friend.
Gingerly folding the letter back up, I move to slide it back into the envelope, but Ethan reaches out and takes it from me. He holds it against his chest and takes a deep breath, as if in pain. His head is resting back against the wall now as he locks eyes with me. “More,” he whispers.
I curl my lips between my teeth and turn back to the box. Skipping a few envelopes, I pluck one and a grin forms when I start reading.
Dear Momma,
My friend Ethan brought me brownies today and shared them with me. They were so good. They were from Fonz’s mom. Fonz is our other friend. Hear that, Momma, I have two friends!
Ethan is sitting next to me right now. We’re in Papa’s old car. He’s snoring and it’s funny. Since he’s asleep, I keep peeking over at the scar on his lip. He called it a cliff lip, whatever that means.
Ethan chuckles next to me.
I fold up that letter and hold it out to the side, and Ethan takes it. “More?” He nods.
I skip over a few envelopes and pull one out, but that letter is just about school, so I return it and skip some more before getting to a good one.
Dear Momma,
Ethan has his license now and sometimes he drives me around in his dad’s car. If I’m being honest, he’s not that great of a driver, but I don’t care because I know he would never get in a crash with me in the car. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me when he’s around.
In fact, the other day, the rope swing the boys put up over the creek broke and I went flying into the water. It was so embarrassing! I was too busy trying not to look pathetic in front of the boys that I didn’t even realize I scraped my elbow on a rock. But Ethan did. He took me back to his house and put a Band-Aid on it.
“I remember that day,” Ethan says hoarsely. “You bit it hard.”
“I was so embarrassed.” I put a hand over my face as Ethan takes the letter from me and adds it to the pile he’s holding. He nods toward the box, indicating I should read another.
And I do. I read another and another and another, and we laugh and smile and sometimes even grow silent as we remember the times we went swimming in the creek, or rode bikes for miles, or sang along to country music as Ethan drove us around aimlessly.
Eventually he lays down with his head in my lap, and I stroke his naked back, shoulder, and arm as I keep reading letters.
I pull one out and skim over it, then quickly fold it back up and start to slide it back in the envelope, but Ethan stops me.
“Nuh, uh. I felt you tense up just now. What is that letter about?”
“Nothing. It’s boring.”
“Yeah, right.” He pulls the letter from my hands. “I’ll read this one, if you won’t.”
Embarrassed, I tip my head back against the wall and continue to rub his arm as he starts to read.
Dear Momma,
I can’t stop touching my lips. I keep pressing my fingertips to them, afraid this tingling feeling will go away.
Ethan kissed me tonight. Just now. We danced in his backyard and he took my face in his hands and kissed me. It was just like in the movies. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think I would ever like the feeling of a boy’s tongue in my mouth. But Ethan’s was soft and silky and he was so gentle.
And the butterflies! I’ve heard songs about them and read books about them and seen movies where they talk about the butterflies, and today I felt them! I still feel them. They are swarming around my belly and my chest, and I hope they never stop.
I don’t know how any other kisses will ever be as good as that kiss. I’m afraid Ethan may have ruined me. What do I do if the next boy I kiss doesn’t make me feel like this?
What if I never want to kiss another boy? Because right now, I feel like I could never think of kissing a boy who isn’t Ethan James.
We are both quiet for a moment, and I can feel myself flushing with embarrassment. “I should have just let Harris Winkler grope me in the back of his brother’s car.”
“Oh, cut it!” Ethan lifts his hand in the air and makes a slicing motion. “He was never going to get his metal mouth on you. Over my dead body.” I burst out laughing. “Yeah, laugh it up. The little twerp. God, I cringe just thinking about him.” He does a fake shiver.
As I hand him the envelope to put that letter back in, Ethan shudders out a breath. “Seriously, though. That kiss …”
“Right?”
“It was hot.”
I want to giggle but I can’t because I know we’re getting close to the times we don’t want to talk about, and I’m not sure I want to pop this bubble we’re in. However, I find my fingers dancing their way across the envelopes.
I pull one out and without prompt, start reading:
Dear Momma,
I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. A lot has changed. I’m living with a foster family now because Axel finally got arrested. The Millers are nice, and there is another girl here, Sophie, who I really like. But I miss Ethan. I miss him so badly. Sometimes when I think about him, I get a feeling in my stomach like I’m not sure if I’m hungry or I’m going to puke.
I haven’t seen him in several weeks and it feels like I’m dying. I feel like I won’t make it another day unless I talk to him, text him, or even just see him from a distance. But I can’t. His mom told me he would throw away his chance at college if I don’t stay away, and I can’t let that happen. As it is, he got hurt because of me. Axel hurt him badly and I hate myself because it was my fault. If I had the guts to leave that house sooner, it would have never happened.
Momma, I don’t know what to do. I know that I love Ethan. There’s no other way to describe how I feel. And I just know I’ll die if I can’t be near him. But I also won’t hold him back. Is this what they mean when they say, ‘If you love someone, let them go?’ Because that’s what I’ll do. Even if it kills me.
Maybe just the memory of what it felt like to be loved by Ethan James will be enough. Maybe I can hold onto it forever. Because he did love me. I know he did. I think, wherever he is, he still does.
“Red.” Ethan’s voice is soft as he starts to turn in my lap.
“No, wait.” My words are shaky. “I want to read you another one. It’s from much later.”
Ethan turns until his head is face up in my lap as I pull out a letter that is close to the end of the stash, but it’s not the one I’m looking for, so I replace it and grab the next one. This is it.
I bring one hand down to stroke his cheek, and Ethan places his on top of mine, turning his head and kissing my palm before bringing my hand to his chest where he holds it tightly against his skin.
Dear Mom,
If you’ve never been interrupted by your foster dad while getting it on as an adult, then you haven’t lived.
But I can’t even care about that because I have bigger news to tell you: the butterflies are still there!
Ethan kissed me again today—well, actually I kissed him—and even after all these years, the butterflies are still there. And they have multiplied and drank a case of Mountain Dew and they must be in heat because, man, are they fierce.
Ethan’s chest shakes as a laugh comes out.
I was wrong when I told you all those years ago that Ethan ruined me with his kiss. No, he healed me, Mom. He soothed my heart and soul by showing me an example of the type of love that does exist in the world, and because I had a taste of it so long ago, I held out for it again. I wish I hadn’t strayed and wasted time with anyone else. But I truly believe that knowing in my heart of hearts that one day I would find Ethan again, gave me the strength to face every day.
Ethan releases my hand and brings his up to gently cup my face, avoiding my blackened eye. “Oh, Red,” he lets out a breath. “What a shitshow we are.”
“They should write a country song about us.” I run my hand along his jaw and scrape my fingernails through his scruff.
“Nah. They’d never get it right.”
The moon shines through a break in the curtains by the window above the sink, casting a light on Ethan’s chest. “What are you thinking?” he asks me softly.
I continue to massage his head. “Honestly?”
“Honesty would be nice.”
I tilt my head. “I’m thinking I’m done wasting time.”
Ethan swallows, then smiles.
“Then let’s not waste anymore.”