Twenty-one
Lily
“Wait, back up,” Sam says, a half-eaten chip still peeking from her mouth, her eyes wide. “Ethan is moving in with you?”
I roll my eyes, a small, involuntary smile tugging at my lips. “Yes, Sam. That’s what I said.”
“Oh. My. God,” Sam practically shrieks, dropping her chip back into the bowl. “That’s amazing!”
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to speak with your mouth full?” Ebony drawls from the plush patio chair beside me.
Her dry comment makes me snort with laughter.
“So, can I ask you something?” Sam asks, completely unfazed by Ebony’s jab, her gaze locking onto mine.
I nod, taking a sip of my tea.
“Do you forgive him?”
I pause. “I don’t know,” I finally admit, the words coming out small and uncertain.
“He made a mistake, Lily, and I think he’s atoned for it, don’t you?” Sam presses.
I shrug. How do you answer that when your heart is still a tangled mess of past wounds?
“I don’t think it’s about forgiveness anymore,” Ebony interjects.
I turn to face her.
“You’re afraid he’ll abandon you again, aren’t you?” she asks, voice softer, but still hitting the mark.
My breath catches in my throat. “I don’t want to go through that again, let alone put the kids through it. I won’t be able to survive it a second time.”
“That’s understandable, Lily,” Ebony says. “But it’s been four years. Did you know that he’s never had a girlfriend since your divorce?”
I stare at her, my jaw dropping slightly. The world seems to tilt on its axis for a moment. “What?”
“And why are we just finding out about that now?” Sam asks incredulously.
Ebony lets out a soft chuckle. “You never asked.”
I continue to stare at Ebony, my mind reeling. “Are you serious?”
Ebony side-eyes me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She dips a chip into some salsa, pops it into her mouth with an exaggerated crunch, and raises an eyebrow. “Do bears shit in the woods?”
“Can’t you ever just answer the question?” Sam mutters under her breath, though a small curve plays at the corner of her lips.
My mind is like a hamster frantically scurrying on its wheel, whirling through thoughts with relentless energy but going nowhere fast. I thought for sure Ethan would’ve had dates, or at least a few serious girlfriends.
Ethan was always a looker in high school, and girls in college fawned over him like he was a celebrity.
The thought that he hasn’t been with another woman since me sends a strange, unexpected warmth through my chest, and I smile involuntarily.
Ebony catches my expression, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. I shake my head at her, trying to dismiss the sudden rush of feeling.
“Don’t you think it’s time to stop punishing him?” she asks. “Four years, Lily. That’s a long time for a man to redeem himself. Don’t you think?”
Maybe I did forgive him. But forgiveness doesn’t mean I can open my heart to him again. It doesn’t erase the fear. It doesn’t make me brave enough to risk everything for a second chance.
Or can I?
Hours later, I pull up to my house and turn the ignition off. I lean back, my hands falling from the steering wheel to my lap, and close my eyes.
Just breathe, Lily, I keep telling myself.
Ethan sent me a text stating not to worry about the kids as he was taking care of dinner. Every time I see Ethan on the couch, in the kitchen, helping Ollie with his shoes, a dull ache settles in my chest. It makes me sad to know we lost so much time, so many years, to get to this point.
Will this feeling of loss ever go away? It feels so unfair to think this way, especially knowing he’s doing the best he can as a father, and as a… I don’t even know what Ethan is to me anymore. My childhood friend?
With a long, resigned sigh, I open my eyes and push open the car door. Stepping out, I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder. Each step toward the front door feels heavy.
I unlock the door and enter the house, the savory scent of chicken and a blend of spices smacking me in the face. My stomach lets out a small protest. I follow the off-key singing toward the kitchen. I stop just inside the archway, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
Ollie sits on a kitchen chair, mesmerized, watching the whole scene.
Maddy is stirring something in a large bowl, swaying as she belts out one of Adele’s power ballads from the radio.
It sounds less like singing and more like a cat fighting for its life, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a laugh.
Ethan is standing at the stone countertop, a smile playing on his lips, as he stirs a spoon in a sizzling frying pan.
Both are utterly oblivious to me, lost in their father-daughter bubble.
I clear my throat to get their attention. “Smells delicious.”
Maddy’s head snaps up, her eyes widening, and a brilliant smile spreads across her face. “Hey, Mom!” she practically shouts, dropping the spoon with a clatter and striding toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“Mama’s home!” Ollie yells from his chair.
I hug Maddy back. “Hi, sweet pea.”
“Daddy and I are making dinner,” she says excitedly. I can see the sheer joy in her eyes, knowing how much she loves spending time with her father.
“I can see that,” I say with a light chuckle. Then I turn to Ollie, who’s scrambling off his chair, and scoop him up for a hug.
“Hi, baby boy,” I whisper, kissing his soft cheek, reveling in the familiar weight of him in my arms.
I look up to see Ethan turning the radio off, the Adele wail cutting out mid-note, and he wipes his hands a little self-consciously on a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder.
“Hey.” A warm, almost shy smile touching his lips.
I return his smile. “Hi.”
We stare at each other for a long beat, the air charged, as if we are the only two people in the room, the kids momentarily forgotten. It’s a familiar, now uncomfortable intimacy. He breaks it first, looking down at the pan.
“We’re, uh, making chicken stir-fry and…” He glances at the bowl Maddy was stirring.
“Cucumber salad,” Maddy pipes up, having returned to her post. “Your favorite.” She grins proudly.
“Thank you. That’s really thoughtful.”
I look up at Ethan, who is still staring at me, a soft, almost adoring expression on his face. “Thank you,” I repeat, meaning for more than just the meal.
“You’re welcome.” His smile deepens, that genuine, kind smile that used to melt me.
“Maddy, can you please take Ollie upstairs and get him to wash his hands, please? And tell Jake to come down for dinner?” Ethan asks, already reaching for the serving dishes.
I set Ollie down.
“Sure, Dad,” she chirps, taking Ollie’s little hand in hers and exiting the kitchen.
“Would you like something to drink?” Ethan asks, going to the refrigerator. His light gray polo strains slightly across the breadth of his back with the movement.
“Water, please,” I say, watching him.
He opens the door, the internal light illuminating his profile and the curve of his bicep as he pulls out a pitcher of water. “So, did you have a good day?” he asks, shutting the door and carrying the pitcher to me.
I don’t answer right away because my eyes are trapped on a landscape I once owned and now have no right to trespass upon.
The polo is tucked into his charcoal slacks, and the top two buttons are undone, revealing a deep, tanned V of bare chest, smooth and inviting.
But my gaze drops lower, an involuntary, magnetic pull to the heavy, unmistakable bulge straining against his trousers. Good God. Has it always been that big?
He catches me staring, and I want to argue that his dick looked at me first.
His mouth twitches into a slow, knowing smirk that is both arrogant and devastatingly sexy.
My cheeks flush. “Yes,” I manage, the word slightly breathy. “I hung out with Sam and Ebony for the day.”
He sets the pitcher down, his eyes dark with amusement. “That’s good,” he drawls, pouring the water into my glass. “Did you enjoy the view?”
I swallow a mouthful of suddenly dry air, and a tingling feeling in places that haven't hosted a party in months returns with a vengeance. “Y-Yes,” I stammer, shifting in my seat.
He pushes the glass toward me and winks. “Good.”
“I didn’t know you could cook anything but spaghetti,” I say, grabbing my glass and taking a long sip of the cold water, letting it soothe my throat and other places.
He smirks, a familiar glint in his eye. “YouTube is great.”
I laugh, a genuine, bubbling sound that surprises me.
“It’s nice to hear you laugh, Lily,” he says, and something tightens in my chest. It’s too much, too soon.
“So, how was your day?” I ask, trying to steer us back to neutral ground.
Getting the hint, he opens the fridge and puts the pitcher back. “Really good.” He shuts the door and walks over to the stove, picking up the frying pan. “I fixed the dishwasher, mowed the lawn, trimmed the bushes in the backyard, and fixed the lock on the fence.”
“Wow. Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say, the words carrying more gratitude than he knows.
I used to mow the grass and trim the bushes myself when the kids and I moved into this house after the divorce.
It was my way of reminding myself that I didn’t need a man to help do things around the yard; I was more than capable.
But now that I’m sick, the thought of those tasks feels overwhelming.
It’s nice to have someone else take care of them.
“Have you thought about doing something with that open space behind your garden?” he asks, taking the stir-fry from the pan and scooping it into a serving dish.
“Yes,” I respond. So many things, so many plans, but they were put aside after the cancer diagnosis.
“Care to share?” He smirks, setting the covered dish in the middle of the table.
I blink several times, pulling myself back to the present. “Sorry. I spaced out.” I take another drink of my water, gathering my thoughts.
Licking my lips, a dreamy smile forming, I respond, “A garden of roses and lilies with a little bench. And maybe a water fountain.”
“You’ve always wanted that,” he says with a soft smile. Still, it tips into a solemn expression, as if he’s remembering our old conversations.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
Feet bound down the stairs, snapping us back to reality. Ethan clears his throat and resumes putting the rest of the dishes, including the cucumber salad, onto the table.
Maddy pulls up the chair beside me, while Jake helps Ollie into his seat.
Jake leans over and places a kiss on my cheek. “Hi, Mom,” he says, reaching for a roll.
Ethan takes a seat at the end of the table, his gaze sweeping over all of us. He swallows hard and grabs the stir-fry, scooping a small amount onto Ollie’s plate, then proceeds until we are all served.
“This is so good,” I mumble against my spoon, my eyes closing briefly with appreciation. The chicken is juicy and tender, bursting with flavor. Not to mention the vegetables are cooked perfectly. Even the warm roll, slathered with melting butter, tastes divine on my tongue.
“Glad you like it.”
“Mom, no offense to your cooking,” Maddy says, her mouth full, “but I think Dad should cook every night.”
Jake drops his fork, the metal clattering loudly against his plate, and wipes his mouth roughly with a napkin. “Why are we pretending like we’re one perfect family?” he snaps.
“Jake,” I admonish quietly, reaching for his arm.
He turns to me, his eyes filled with a raw, almost painful sadness, then his gaze hardens as he turns to Ethan. “Admit it. You’re only doing this because you feel guilty.”
“Jake, don’t,” Ethan warns.
“Don’t what? Tell the truth?” Jake challenges.
I sigh in frustration. “Jake, please. Not here.”
I glance at Maddy, who is staring blankly at her plate. Ollie looks between everyone with wide, confused eyes.
“Mom, I love you,” Jake starts, his voice softening slightly, “but it’s not right.”
Before I can open my mouth to respond, Ethan speaks up, his voice strained. “Jake, please sit down or go to your room.”
Jake scoffs. “Just because Mom’s sick, you think you can waltz back into our lives and start acting like a caring husband.”
“Jake, that is enough,” Ethan warns again, his voice laced with anger. “Let’s try to enjoy this family dinner, okay?”
“Family dinner?” Jake laughs humorlessly. “You haven’t been to a family dinner in years, Dad.” He says the last word with mocking disdain. “She’s dying, that’s why you’re here!” Jake yells, pointing a trembling finger at me.
“I said that’s enough!” Ethan rises from the table so abruptly that his chair scrapes loudly, causing Ollie to cry out and Maddy to jump in her seat, her eyes wide with fear.
I close my eyes for a brief, agonizing second, then rise to my feet and pull Ollie to my chest, holding him against me.
“Jake, go to your room,” I demand, leaving no room for argument.
Without another word, he shoves his chair back and stalks out of the kitchen, his heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs.
I rub Ollie’s back, trying to soothe his cries. Maddy speaks up, her voice small and shaky. “I like that you’re home, Dad.” She pushes her chair back and walks to Ethan, wrapping her arms around him.
He pulls her into a tight hug. “Thank you, sweet pea,” he murmurs, leaning down and kissing her head.
She looks up at me, a fragile smile on her face. “I love you, Mom.” She scurries away and up the stairs. Ethan slumps back onto his chair, resting his elbows on the table, his head in his hands.
“I can’t do anything right by him. No matter how many times I say I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I thought we shared a connection before.”
“You have to give him time, Ethan. He’s a teenager, and right now he’s feeling confused, vulnerable, and on guard,” I say softly, still holding Ollie.
He looks up at me, looking defeated. “From what?”
“From the possibility that you might leave again,” I state simply.
He squeezes his eyes tightly, as if the thought itself is physically painful. “I’m not going to leave. I promise. I’m in this all the way.”
“I know that,” I say. “But you hurt him, too, Ethan. You can’t expect to undo years of emotional neglect with making a homemade dinner. It is going to take time for him to trust you again. And you have to allow him the space to do that.”
He nods slowly, understanding dawning in his tear-filled eyes. “I’m sorry about dinner.” He starts collecting the dishes from the table, his movements heavy.
“Don’t apologize,” I say, a small smile touching my lips. “It was delicious. Thank you, Ethan.”
“You’re welcome,” he says with a faint smile.
I turn and walk out of the kitchen with Ollie still cradled against my chest.