46. Forty-six
We meet Ethan at Mainely Local, and as usual, I’m taken aback by how damn handsome he is in scuffed-up boots, jeans, and a t-shirt. I see him before he sees us—watching him guide the staff and talk to customers in his casually wide, authoritative stance.
A woman strolls over to him, beautiful, of course, and he says something that makes her laugh while his hands stay glued across his chest. When his eyes meet mine across the room, I raise my eyebrows at him, and he does the same, the slightest of smirks lifting his lips.
Marin nudges me. “Mom, you’re staring at him.”
“Am not,” I lie.
When he makes his way over to our table, he gives Marin a big hug with goofy noises and Finn a fist bump.
“Penelope.” He nods his head toward me and reaches out to give me a hug as I stick my hand out to shake his, slamming it right into his chest. I grimace, and he bites back a smile.
“Really, Mom? You spend two weeks together, and you shake hands at dinner? If that’s real, Poppy’s going to be so disappointed in you.”
Embarrassment swallows me whole as I fumble to get into my seat.
“So, how was camp? You both survived, I see.”
Ethan doesn’t miss a beat at settling into a chair and changing the subject.
“Awesome. Only one night of rain, which was very soggy, but at least it was only once,” Finn says, thumbing through his menu.
I choke on my water, a fresh wave of heat crawling up my neck as I recall the day it rained and exactly what I was doing when it fell.
“Mom? What’s going on with you? You’re acting so weird.”
Marin’s eyes narrow over her menu, and Ethan doesn’t even try to hide his smile. I hate them both.
“No, I’m just thinking how hard it would be in the rain.”
I squeeze my eyes shut with a cringe at the accidental innuendo, and Ethan snorts.
“I’m starving. Would you believe I’ve been here all day and have only had a salad?” he says, flipping his menu and then tapping my foot under the table.
His hand finds my knee and gives it a squeeze.
I look at him.
Relax,he mouths silently.
Like it’s just that easy.
Finn grabs a roll from a basket on the table and starts slathering butter on it. “I’m so glad to have real food. We had these dehydrated meals that were god-awful and then foraged for berries. I thought I was going to die.”
I can’t get comfortable in my seat, and no matter how much I rub my hands against my jeans, their moisture is endless. Two leaky faucets connected to my arms.
When the waitress takes our drink order, I ask for the largest glass of the best tequila they have, straight, earning a look from everyone at the table.
Even Ethan.
Especially Marin.
“So, how did you two run into each other once we left?” I think Marin says it, but I can’t be sure.
“Your mom came in here and yelled at me in front of the dining room,” Ethan says it so matter-of-factly both kids laugh.
“She has a tendency to do that,” Finn says.
In the next few minutes, I mentally check out as they talk about camp, and Ethan tells stories from when his boys went to the same one a couple of years ago. I can’t retell a single thing they say if my life depended on it.
When my drink finally arrives, I throw it back in a single gulp, and a loud gag from the hostile burn as it scorches down my throat.
Marin’s eyebrows pinch together. “Mom, why are you so crazy right now?”
“Ethan and I had sex.” I blurt the words, then slap my hand over my mouth.
“I knew it!” Marin yells at the same time Finn drops his napkin and yells, “Gross!”
Ethan covers his mouth with his hand but says nothing.
“I’m sorry, I just felt guilty and like you should know. And he didn’t force me or anything. It was my idea completely, like I really wanted it. If anything, I forced him. And then it just kept happening. Every day, sometimes several times. Sitting here with both of you makes me feel like I was hiding this thing like I should be ashamed of it. But let me tell you, it was really very good. Great.” I pause, cutting my eyes to Ethan. “Or at least I thought so.”
The kids are still groaning when I stop. Ethan’s eyebrows are sky high, hand still over his mouth.
Then I add, “I don’t want to keep this weird secret or anything so… now you know, and I can probably relax a little and lay off the tequila.” I smile and take a sip of my water.
The tension immediately melts from my shoulders as soon as my confession is out.
Finn’s face is so pale I almost laugh. “Mom, we aren’t kids,” he says, running a palm across his forehead. “We know what happens when adults date. You never ever have to share that with us ever again. Ever. Again.”
Ethan clears his throat. “So, your mom is a hard act to follow, but the special tonight is local mussels in a white wine sauce if that sounds good to anyone.” Ethan barely keeps a straight face as I squeeze his knee under the table.
“You two are so obvious.” Marin rolls her eyes and drops her menu. “And I ate clams I had to dig up for two weeks. I want a steak.”
***
After my most inappropriate confession, dinner is perfect. To anyone watching who doesn’t know us, they’d mistake us for a family by the way we laugh and talk all at once.
On the walk home, Ethan grabs my hand, and the fact I don’t pull away confuses me from every angle. We’re leaving. This is ending. But I hold his hand in front of my kids like neither of those things are real. Like we aren’t in a losing race with the ticks of the clock. Like I have feelings that are going to last much longer than the time we have left together.
“So, you guys have a few days here—what are you going to do with them?” Ethan asks, tilting his head toward the kids. His question slinks around my heart and tightens.
“Sleep,” Finn says.
“And take baths,” Marin adds.
“Thank goodness I didn’t hold out hope on you two seeing whales and puffins with me,” I tease.
We stop in front of the mint green house, and Marin leans into Ethan with a hug.
“Thanks for dinner, Ethan. It was very entertaining,” she says, pegging me with an amused look.
“Anything for a girl who survived two weeks in the wilderness.”
His smile is as genuine as hers. They like each other, which makes what’s coming next that much worse.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Finn bumps his fist against Ethan’s before him, and Marin walk up the steps to the house.
“I’ll be right in,” I say.
Finn nods, then they both disappear into the house.
Alone on the sidewalk, dread is a heavy ball in my stomach as I turn to face Ethan.
“Nel, I have to say I’ve never witnessed anything quite like that confession.” The streetlight flickers in his eyes as his lips lift.
“I like to stay on brand,” I say, shaking my head with a small laugh.
Then we’re quiet, and the urgency I feel to memorize him becomes visceral.
I trace my fingers across his scruffy jaw, taking note of how every coarse piece of hair feels against my skin. My hand skims down the line of his throat, then the edge of his collarbone, before feeling the slope of every muscle down his arm.
His jaw tics at the movement, but he stays silent and still as I do the same thing up his other arm, collarbone, and jawline before settling my fingers at the longest of his hair at the top of his head. His eyes close, and he leans his cheek against my palm.
“What are you doing?” he says, voice deeper than usual.
“Memorizing you,” I say. “So, I can see you when I can’t. So, when you’re gone, I can pretend you aren’t.”
It’s hard to breathe. Hard to stand. Hard to stay glued together. Everything I feel standing next to Ethan on this sidewalk is driven by desperation—want, sadness, dread, hope, guilt, joy—it’s all desperate. Devastatingly desperate.
No emotion exists alone.
“Nel—”
I cut my name off with my mouth, hoping the way I kiss him says everything I can’t.
He grips his hands firmly in my hair, as if trying to hold me in place.
When I finally pull away, I’m wrecked.
His face fills with concern as he brushes a thumb across my face.
“You’re crying,” he says, dropping his forehead to mine.
I swipe my hand across my cheek and feel it covered in moisture.
Then he hugs me, tightly, and I sob into his chest. I don’t try to hide it or minimize it. My cries come with shakes and gasps for air. My whole body is a sinking ship of sorrow.
“It’s okay,” he hums into my ear as he rubs circles on my back. “It’s going to be okay. We have a few more days, and we can figure it out then.”
He makes it sound so easy, like a mathematical equation we can solve with a calculator. Like he has no fucking clue how not okay this all is.
I don’t try to convince him otherwise. I wipe my eyes and force a pained smile.
“I should go. The kids are probably worried I’m out here forcing you into sex again.” I laugh despite my distress.
He chuckles and kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning to make everyone breakfast. Nine?”
I nod, take a step away from him, and give him one last look.
“Goodnight, Ethan. Thank you… for everything.”
Then, before I fall apart again, I hurry inside and close the door without looking back at him.
Back pressed to the inside of the door, Marin sees me over the top of her phone from the couch.
“Mom? What’s wrong? Are you crying?” She stands and walks toward me.
I shake my head, wiping my eyes, waiting for my breathing to steady or my heart to give out.
“I’m fine, it’s fine,” I say, forcing yet another smile I don’t feel. “I have a surprise for you guys. I knew when you got back, you wouldn’t be up for much more of all of this, so we are actually flying home tomorrow. It’s early. We have to be at the airport at 6:30, but we’ll be in our own beds by tomorrow night. Grandpa and Poppy are picking us up in Miami.”
“Hallelujah!” Finn drops his head back on the couch in relief. “No offense, Mom, this has been great, but I can’t wait to be home.”
His honesty makes me laugh.
Marin lowers her voice. “Is that why you’re upset? You said goodbye to Ethan?”
“Something like that.” I say, smiling for real this time, running my fingers through her hair. “Now, you two go pack your backpacks with as much as you can. I didn’t buy luggage so let’s just pray that the airline will accept our trash bags.” I sniff through the last of my tears. “Uber will be here early.”
When they scramble up the stairs, I grab a piece of paper and a pen.
Ethan,
This note is me taking the coward’s way out. By the time you read this, we will be on a plane bound for Miami, and I will have probably cried myself to dehydration. I couldn’t face a goodbye with you, not after the last two weeks. Not after the way you changed the way the sun rises and sets on my horizon by simply just existing on the same planet as me.
I need to finish what I’ve started with my kids—showing up in their lives actively and on purpose every day, not just when we are trapped in a camper—and I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet without needing someone to constantly prop me up.
I wanted to ask you to wait for me to find my way a hundred times, but I knew it wouldn’t be fair to you. You have an amazing life and a line of women who do very dirty things to straws that I’d never want you to pass up on my account. Please know I will hate all those women fiercely until the day I die.
Of every beautiful mile we drove this summer, my favorite are the ones that led to you. You brought me back to life and made me remember who I am. A river that ran through me, changing me forever.
If I didn’t have to leave, I would have loved you with every broken piece of me.
Nel
The next morning, our car pulls up, and we lug our bags and my oversized painting into the trunk. Then I tape the paper to the front door, Ethan’s name scribbled across it.