Chapter 6 Ethan
Ethan
After work, I signed the paperwork and got the keys to my new house. Calling it mine feels weird since I’ll never actually live in it, but technically, I now own a three-bedroom, two-bath craftsman in Littleton.
All that’s left is drafting up a rental agreement so Rachel and Sophia can move in as soon as possible. Rachel insists on paying rent, and I suppose she has a point. I have a history of going above and beyond to help people, especially her. A formal lease keeps things cleaner for both of us.
My friend-slash-lawyer Paul answers the phone on the first ring, even though drafting a lease agreement is probably the last thing he’d like to be doing on a Friday night.
“How much do you want to charge for rent?” he asks.
“What’s the going rate?”
“In a neighborhood like that, rates start around $3000 a month.”
That’s absurd. I doubt Rachel can afford that.
“Let’s call it an even thousand,” I say, the chair in my home office creaking as I lean back.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the phone. “Okay, that’s… rather low. Don’t you think?”
“Utilities included,” I respond.
The silence that follows is broken by a heavy sigh. It crackles through the phone like static before Paul speaks. “Listen man, as your friend, I just have to say it. If you’re doing this to try to get Rachel back…”
My sharp, humorless laugh cuts him off.
There’s nothing I would enjoy less than getting back together with my ex-wife. As far as I know, that feeling is completely mutual. We’ve been down that road, and we both agree it was a massive wrong turn.
“I’m doing this to make sure Sophia is taken care of,” I say firmly. “The whole point is making sure that they can afford to live here without having to choose between a decent neighborhood and a decent price.”
“Understood,” he says after a long pause. “I’ll draw up the paperwork.”
“Thanks, Paul.”
I hang up the phone and keep scrolling through the search results for local furniture stores. Rachel’s aunt will be taking all her furniture with her when she moves, which doesn’t leave Rachel and Sophia with much, so I offered to furnish the house for them.
Eventually, I hear quiet footsteps in the hallway then Margot appears in the doorway of my office. This week has been rough on her, but she shows a little improvement every day. She’s not quite her usual self yet, and I can’t blame her after everything she’s been through.
“Hey,” Margot says softly, lingering in the doorway.
“Hey, how are you?”
“Fine,” she answers with zero conviction. It’s become her go-to answer every time I ask.
I gesture for her to sit. Slowly, she enters the room and lowers herself into the gray chair across from me.
“I’m going to IKEA tomorrow to buy a bed,” she says. “I should be able to go back to my apartment and get out of your hair after that.”
I’ve already corrected her a thousand times: having her here is no inconvenience at all. My house is objectively huge, and Margot is a good houseguest. She’s clean and quiet, but more importantly, we get along great. If anything, having her here has been a nice break from the monotony.
Over the past two years, I’ve settled into a strict, predictable routine.
At first, it was just a way to reset after the divorce—early morning workouts, late nights at the office, a quick date or two on the weekends.
I don’t mind the structure; in fact, I like it.
But having Margot around has been a welcome change of pace.
There’s only one problem: those damn cat pajamas, which she’s currently wearing.
It makes zero sense. They’re shapeless and stiff.
The thick flannel fabric reveals nothing about her figure, nor does the neckline.
I can’t even see her ankles, for god’s sake.
And this is completely ignoring the fact that they’re ridiculous.
They are literally covered in small, colorful cats of differing… breeds? Do cats have breeds?
My eyes drop to a little pink cat with a ball of yarn that sits high on the collar of her top and my dick twitches.
It’s fucking ridiculous.
Obviously, this is a byproduct of two things: the fact that I equate the pajamas with all the lacy panties Margot tossed in the trash bag at the same time, and the fact that I haven’t gotten laid in two weeks.
As much as I’ve enjoyed the break from my regular routine, I suppose it’s time to get back to it. Margot needs to get on with her life as well. This arrangement was never meant to be permanent.
I clear my throat and force my gaze back to her face. “You’re going furniture shopping?”
She nods.
“Can I come?”
Margot’s brows rise, a glimmer of amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You want to go furniture shopping with me?”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “Looks like I have a whole house that needs furnishing.”
***
“That’s not a dresser,” I chide as Margot loads a small plastic drawer unit into the cart.
“I didn’t say I needed a dresser; I said I needed something to hold clothes.”
“Most people call that a dresser.”
“So, you agree that this is a dresser then?” she smirks.
I stare daggers at the plastic drawer unit in the cart. “Margot, that thing’s only going to hold about four socks.”
Margot drops her head to one side, giving me a playfully annoyed glare. “I just need something to get my things off the floor. This will be fine for now. I’m buying a dresser next month.”
“Next month?” I repeat, perplexed.
“Yes, next month. I made a spreadsheet ranking the large furniture purchases in order of importance. I’m going to buy one item with each paycheck.”
“But why?” I ask. “We’re already here. I rented a U-Haul. Why not just buy everything you need right now?”
She hesitates for a second, eyes locked on the path ahead when she speaks. “With Jeremy gone, rent is a bit of a stretch. I had to tighten up my budget.”
Something clenches deep in my chest. I grew up poor. We lived in cheap motels when my parents could afford it, homeless shelters when they couldn’t. Money problems always pull at my heartstrings.
My brother built True North Outfitters into what it is today to make sure that our family never had to struggle again.
Now that I have far more money than I actually need, I have a hard time standing by when the people I care about need help.
But I also know that accepting help isn’t always easy for people.
“Pick out a real dresser,” I say. “I’ll pay for it.”
Margot shakes her head. “Ethan, that’s very generous of you, but you’ve done enough. This is all I need for now.” She pats the plastic drawer unit and starts walking again.
I follow, pushing the cart that contains nothing but one set of plastic drawers.
My grip on the cart tightens when I think of Jeremy taking all of the furniture.
As we walk past vignettes of fully stocked kitchens and living rooms, I wonder what else he took.
Does she need cookware? Plates? What else is she just making do with until her next paycheck?
We walk in silence until the bed section comes into view.
Margot veers off the main concourse, drifting through rows of bedframes and bare mattresses.
She places her palm on a few, giving them a little push before moving onto the next until she finds one she likes.
Margot keeps her knees glued together to keep from flashing everyone as she lowers herself onto the mattress.
When she lies back, her black sweater rides up, revealing a small slice of pale skin.
She runs her palms down the front, quickly smoothing it back into place.
This is the first time I’ve seen Margot in her weekend wear.
It’s not much different than her work attire.
Lots of dark colors. Cozy sweaters paired with plaid skirts, dark tights, and these weird, short little boots.
She always looks like she’d be right at home reshelving books at the Oxford library.
Actually, she would probably love that job.
Margot peels herself off the mattress and moves to the one beside it.
I make my way over and find her lying there like a board with her eyes closed.
She’s nothing if not thorough, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s trying to power nap to get a better feel for sleeping on the mattress.
Her dark hair is fanned out around her head, and her chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths.
It’s obvious by the way her body relaxes against the mattress that this one is better than the last.
“Is this the one?” I ask.
Margot’s eyes pop open, flaring a little when she sees me standing there.
“It’s nice,” she says noncommittally.
Sitting up, her head swings from the price tag on this mattress to the one next to it. Her shoulders deflate a little. There’s a three-hundred-dollar difference in price. “But, um, I think I’ll go with that one.”
The dresser is one thing, but a bed needs to be comfortable. I open my mouth to argue, to offer to buy it for her or at least pay the difference, but I know she won’t accept.
“So, what do you need?” she asks, looking up at me.
“Kid’s room stuff.”
“For your niece?”
Without looking over at her, I nod tightly.
“The kids’ stuff is this way,” she offers, pointing to a shortcut.
If I expected shopping for Sophia’s room to be emotionally trying, I wouldn’t have asked to tag along with Margot today. When I look around the enormous kids’ section, it hits me that I don’t have any idea what to get.
How big is Sophia now?
What does she like?
Which colors would she want in her room?
Emotions whirl around in my chest. There’s so much I don’t know about Sophia. So much I’ve missed. But after all this time, I’m finally going to see her again. I suck in a deep, choppy breath. It’s not just the abundance of options overwhelming me, but the whole situation.