Chapter 17 #3
She’d heard him speak even through the clattering of the plates as Maggie collected the dishes and glasses and Katy continued to insist on helping, dragging Noah along with her.
Whether it was intentional or not, Ethan and Julia suddenly found themselves alone.
As the voices of Maggie and her guests faded, Julia turned her attention fully toward Ethan.
“Hmm?” She avoided acknowledging his statement, instead tipping the wineglass to her lips, getting the last drops of whatever the second bottle was—another deep, luscious red; that much she knew.
It wasn’t the first time he’d expressed this sentiment; she didn’t know if he was more offended by the fact that she said she couldn’t cook or the fact that she was putting herself down.
Either way, the thought would have sobered her, if she let it.
“You can cook.” He didn’t seem as inebriated as the rest of them, though his whole demeanor had shifted in a way that indicated to Julia he hadn’t been totally immune to the effects of the alcohol.
The only difference was, with the others, the alcohol had made them more extroverted—louder, bolder, less inhibited versions of themselves.
Ethan, on the other hand, had become quieter, more introspective.
Sometimes Julia contemplated whether or not it was Ethan as his truest self, those times when he’d had a bit to drink.
She knew alcohol was a sore spot for him—the image of his mother at the table flashed in her mind’s eye again—so she never brought it up.
But she had always wondered.
“Thanks?” She tried to laugh it off, a bit uncomfortable at his intensity and the direction of the conversation. “But homemade pizza in the microwave doesn’t count.”
“Why do you do that?” he asked, voice still quiet even though they were totally alone now, with even the voices of the others gone completely.
“Do what?” Her voice sounded a little snippy, she knew, but she couldn’t help it.
She always felt this way when he got all psychoanalytic like that, and she knew whatever he was going to say was probably going to hit way too close to home.
It was moments like this one that always preceded some of their biggest fights.
He would say something a bit too on the nose, in his quietly prosaic way, about an issue that Julia was not interested in addressing, and Julia would lash out, disagree, make an excuse—anything to not deal with the fact that what he’d said was actually extremely, uncomfortably true.
“Diminish yourself and your accomplishments.”
Bingo.
Julia groaned. Loudly.
Enough was enough.
“I don’t need your armchair psychologist bullshit, Ethan.
” She knew she was falling right back into old habits, right into that trap she also knew would catch her, no matter how self-aware she was.
But the alcohol was flowing through her bloodstream, too, and she just didn’t have the wherewithal to keep all the emotions bubbling to the surface at bay.
“It’s not bullshit, dummy.” It seemed like Ethan was falling back into old familiar behaviors as well, back to a time when semi-affectionate name-calling had been the norm between them.
“It’s the truth. You bring yourself down for nothing, when you should actually be really fucking proud of all the things you do. ”
“I am proud,” she insisted, annoyed that she even had to defend herself. “I just know what my strengths are, and cooking full, multicourse dinners is not it.”
Ethan shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “You used to make a mean moussaka back in the day. I’m sure you could figure it out if you really wanted to.”
Julia sighed and stood, gathering the last few place settings just to give herself something to do.
“Well, if Spiros and crew from Kouzina ever come back to eat here, I’ll whip up the old recipe.”
Snatching up the leftover cloth napkins and throwing them onto a plate, she began to turn before placing everything in her hands back down with a loud clatter.
“You know what? You actually know nothing about me, and maybe you never did. I know what I’m doing with this place.
I hired Maggie for a reason, and I have my own strengths and things I do well to help support us.
I don’t need you popping in here like a fucking Monday-morning quarterback and telling me to believe in myself.
The ship that gave you the right to do that has fucking sailed, buddy.
I suggest you find a life jacket and set off a few flares. Or drown.”
With that, she grabbed the miscellaneous dinnerware left on the table and stalked out of the room.
On her way out, she brushed past Noah, who had returned from his forced foray into the kitchen.
She didn’t even bother to greet him like a good innkeeper and host would have, too incensed and drunk to do what was right, her heart beating hard and fast, and continued past him at a quick pace.
She was not, however, moving quickly enough to miss hearing him say to Ethan: “Big ex-friends-with-benefits vibes. Huge!”