Waiting For Ethan

by Diane Barnes

  “It’s a little funny, right?” Luci asks. She’s standing in the doorway watching me. I look at her, and tears run down my face. “I hate crying,” she says, rushing to me. She pulls me into a hug. “I hate hugging, too. Get yourself together.”

  Luci’s hug lasts for all of five seconds before she pulls away, reaching for my purse. She unzips it and removes my cell phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  I watch her press a few buttons. “Deleting Ethan’s contact information. There will be no drunk dialing or texting.” She presses a few more buttons and hands me back my phone. I scroll through the contact information. Ethan’s name is gone. I look through my log of calls and texts. All the ones from Ethan have been deleted. I try to recall his number, but I never memorized it. I programmed it after he called the first time and then just scrolled to his name and pushed ENTER.

  “I really don’t know his number.”

  “That’s the point,” Luci says. She’s back at her desk looking at her monitor. “Trust me, you’ll thank me for this later.” My cell phone rings in my hand. “Oh Christ,” Luci mutters. I look at the screen, hoping it’s not Ethan and praying that it is. It’s Neesha’s name and picture that I see.

  “Our closing is on July twenty-eighth.”

  “That’s great.”

  Neesha hears the flatness in my voice. “What’s the matter?”

  I tell her about Ethan and Amber. She clicks her tongue. It is the same exact noise Ajee used to make. “Looks like Ajee got this one wrong,” she says.

  “I guess it had to happen sometime.”

  Chapter 37

  Thursday is a crazy day at TechVisions. In the morning we learn the 9:07 has accepted our proposal to speed up the editing process and released the analysts’ ratings. The irate e-mails and phone calls from analysts demanding better grades begin at nine thirty. After Gail Germain visits our office and screams at us for seventeen minutes straight about her F rating, Luci and I lock our door and stop reading e-mails and answering the phone. At noon, we slip out the loading dock door and head to lunch. As we sneak around the building to the parking lot, I see Cooper standing on the curb talking to a dark-haired woman. The minivan is parked in front of them, and from where Luci and I are standing, I can see three small heads. I elbow Luci and point. “Cooper’s girlfriend and her kids.”

  She brings her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. One of the kids in the van screams out the window, “Please come with us, Uncle Cooper.”

  “Uncle Cooper,” Luci repeats. “I wonder if she has her kids call all her boyfriends that.”

  “Probably just the serious ones,” I say as Luci and I trample across the flower bed leading down to the parking lot.

  “Well, Cooper’s a good catch. If you don’t mind short men. If she’s smart, she’ll hang on to him.”

  I take a last look over my shoulder to study Monique. She looks smart. Well, she has a short, sensible haircut and flat shoes anyway. Damn.

  Luci drives to Last Chance. We sit in the same booth we were in last Friday when I thought Cooper was going to kiss me. “You know,” I begin, “I almost cheated on Ethan with Cooper.” Kissing is cheating. Not as bad as what I think Ethan did, but still.

  Luci puts down her menu. “But you didn’t.”

  “Maybe he’s telling the truth about Amber. Maybe it just looked bad.”

  Luci picks up her menu again. We sit in silence until the waitress comes to take our order.

  “He wants to meet. To talk,” I say after the waitress leaves. He has sent a few texts asking if we can get together.

  “I don’t think you should do it,” Luci warns.

  “We’re meeting on Saturday.”

  Ethan is positioned in the booth so that he is facing the door. He stands when he sees me. My chest squeezes when I notice he’s wearing the blue shirt I love. I slowly walk to the table, noting it is the same one we sat at the morning I learned his name, and I wonder if he intentionally chose it.

  “Hi, Gina.” He smiles. I focus on his uneven yellow teeth and not his beautiful blue eyes or the cleft in his chin. He steps toward me. I recoil, thinking he’s going to hug me, but instead he reaches for the bag I’m carrying, places it on the seat, and pushes it toward the wall. “Didn’t realize I had so much stuff at your place.”

  Not trusting my voice, I nod and sit on the side of the booth Ethan sat on when we first met. He sits across from me. All around us, diners are eating and conversing, but Ethan and I just stare at each other. I look away from him and notice a twenty-something couple a few tables away that may be as miserable as we are. The man’s reading something on the screen of his cell phone while the woman works the keypad on hers. “Put your electronic devices away and talk to each other,” I want to shout.

  Ethan clears his throat, and I turn my gaze back to him. Our eyes meet. I swear his are watery. “Look, Gina,” he begins, but before he can say anything else, the waiter who served us the first time we were here approaches our table. Today, he is sans nose ring and apparently in a better mood. “Good morning,” he says, filling our coffee cups and handing us our menus.

  “Good morning,” I reply, surprised there is no quiver in my voice. Ethan says nothing. He folds his arms across his chest and waits for Mr. No Nose Ring to leave before speaking again. “Thanks for meeting. I wasn’t sure you would show up.”

  “I said I would, and I usually mean what I say.”

  He either doesn’t realize I’m taking a dig at him or he chooses to ignore it. “Well, I thought you might bring reinforcements. Luci with a baseball bat or Neesha with some black magic.” He laughs. I keep my face rigid. I never liked that he laughed at his own jokes. “So, how are Neesha and Luci anyway?” he asks.

  Mad I’m here with you. “Fine.”

  The waiter returns for our order. I don’t feel like eating, but I get the french toast anyway. Ethan decides on blueberry pancakes and a side of bacon. “We’re known for our home fries. You have to try them,” the waiter says. I stare up at him, thinking that maybe he is the talkative twin of the waiter who was our server the first time we were here.

  “No thanks,” Ethan says.

  “You’re missing out,” the waiter says.

  I watch him walk away. “He’s a lot happier without the nose ring.”

  Ethan turns to look at the waiter. “That guy has a nose ring? Are you sure? He doesn’t seem like the nose ring type.”

  Obviously he didn’t choose the booth on purpose. “I’m sure.”

  He reaches into the bowl of sugar. I know he’s going to pull out four packets. He opens them one by one. I count as he empties them into his coffee: one, two, three, four. I wonder if he’s learned any of my preferences or if any part of our relationship was memorable to him. “Do you know you called me Leah that day?” I ask.

  Confusion passes over his face. He stops stirring his coffee. I swear he’s going to ask which day. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Gina.” He emphasizes my name. “I know you don’t believe me, but nothing happened that day between Amber and I.”

  Inside my head, I scream “Amber and me!” To Ethan, I say, “I don’t believe you.” And then I wonder why he qualified his statement with “that day.”

  He lets out a deep breath and looks down. “I don’t want to fight.”

  “Why did you want to meet?”

  “I just wanted to explain.”

  A group of boys dressed in baseball uniforms charges through the door, capturing my attention. Ethan turns to see what I am looking at. “I thought that ball was headed up the middle,” a boy with the number two on his uniform says. “But then you were there, stepping on second and throwing to first. Game over.” He high-fives with number seven.

  “You really don’t want kids?” I say to Ethan.

  “Nope.” He sips his coffee.

  “I so badly wanted you to be the man that Ajee told me about that I tried to turn you into him,” I admit.

  He sighs. “Maybe I w
as trying to turn you into Leah. That’s what Jack thinks, anyway.”

  I guess I knew that all along, but to hear him say it out loud makes it hurt even more.

  The waiter interrupts me from this thought by sliding a plate in front of me. “I brought you a complimentary dish of the home fries,” he says. “I guarantee you’ll order them next time.” I stab a potato with my fork and slide it into my mouth. It’s cooked just the way I like it, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Salt and spicy flavors explode in my mouth. “They’ve got a kick,” I say, pushing the plate toward Ethan for him to try, but he declines. I pull the plate back to my side of the table. “Thanks,” I say to the waiter. He smiles and disappears to help another customer.

  “I think that waiter likes you,” Ethan says.

  I wish he sounded jealous, but he sounds matter-of-fact. “Maybe I’ll leave him my number.”

  Ethan reaches for the syrup without responding. I open a packet of butter and spread it through the confectioners’ sugar topping my french toast. I wait for Ethan to finish with the syrup. When he does, he puts it down. I reach across the table and then flood my plate with it.

  “So, you were going to explain,” I say.

  He finishes chewing. “I’m just not strong right now, and I have to focus on getting stronger.” He stuffs a large bite of his pancakes into his mouth.

  I look at his tan arms and his bulging biceps. “What are you talking about?”

  He drops his fork so that it clanks against his plate. “I was with Leah for most of my life. I only know myself as part of the couple Ethan and Leah. Leah and Ethan. There was never one without the other. I have to get used to being on my own and get to know myself as me. Do you know what I mean?”

  He watches me, waiting for a response. I shift uncomfortably in the booth. The crazy thing is that I do know what he means, because in the few months Ethan and I spent together, I started to think of myself as part of a couple and I lost a piece of myself. I want it back. I nod. He picks up his fork again and resumes eating his pancakes. I break off a bite of french toast with my fork and drag it through the ocean of syrup on my plate.

  “I just need some time on my own right now,” Ethan says. “Time to do what I want, when I want. The last thing I want is a commitment, and you had this entire life planned out for us.” He takes another huge bite of his pancakes.

  I push my plate away. “So that’s why you slept with Amber.”

  I watch his Adam’s apple move up and down. He leans back in the booth, casually spreads one arm across the back of the bench seat. “I already told you. I didn’t sleep with her.” His eyes are trained on a spot an inch above my head.

  I think back to our first visit here, how I was sure my future was finally starting. I even stopped to buy an issue of Brides magazine on the way home. All because his name was Ethan. Idiot.

  “I’m sorry I got you into my mess. I’m in no way ready to date.”

  I laugh. “It’s a little late to figure that out, don’t you think?”

  A large, uncomfortable silence screams at us. It is the type of silence that was comfortable when things were going well. “You know, Gina, you’re a great girl. Lots of fun. I like you. A lot. I really do.” He pauses. “If I’d met you at any other time . . .”

  I thought the silence was uncomfortable, but this is worse. I push the plate of home fries away from me. He pulls it toward him and takes a forkful. “These are good.”

  My phone rings. I have never been so happy to hear its ringtone. I scramble through my purse and pull it out. My mother’s face lights up the screen. I click on ANSWER.

  “We made it. We got back late last night.”

  “You made great time.”

  “Your father was determined to play at the tournament at Westham Country Club today.” She laughs. “When am I going to see you? I’m making meatballs and gravy.”

  “I’ll come now.”

  I end the call and stand. “I have to go,” I say to Ethan. “I guess this is it.”

  He stands and reaches for me. I fall into his arms. “Just give me some time, Gina. Time to get myself together. We can try again. It will be . . .”

  I pull away. “The thing is, Ethan, I’m done waiting. For you or anyone.” He blinks fast. I walk past him, leaving a wide berth, and make it out of the restaurant without looking back.

  Chapter 38

  There is a woman standing in my parents’ door waving at me as I pull into the driveway, and it takes me a moment to realize that the woman is my mother. Each year when my parents return from Florida, I’m a little shocked to discover the toll the five months have taken on their appearance. The change in my mother this year is more drastic than in past years because her hair, which was jet-black when she left, is now mostly gray.

  “Mom, your hair!”

  She pushes open the door, descends the stairway, and meets me on the walkway. “I missed you,” I say.

  “Why didn’t you come down to see us this year?” She pulls me into a tight hug, and I start to cry. First silently, but then loud sobs escape.

  She pulls away to look at me. “Gina, what is it?”

  “I missed you.”

  She hugs me again while rubbing my back. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  My mother has always been able to tell when I’m lying, so I decide to try to distract her instead. “Why did you stop coloring your hair?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just ... different.”

  “I’ve decided to grow old gracefully.” She shrugs.

  She breaks away, then leads me up the walkway and into the house. Inside it already smells like tomatoes, basil, and garlic. I enter the kitchen and see a pot simmering on the stove.

  “It never comes out right in Florida,” my mother says, taking the lid off and stirring the gravy. “I think it’s something to do with the stove there.” She pulls the full spoon from the pan and extends it toward me with her hand cupped underneath. “What do you think?” I taste the sauce. It’s as good as ever. “Too much garlic?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Sit down.” She points to the kitchen table, and I take my usual spot.

  She grabs two rolls and fills them with meatballs that she extracts from the gravy. Next she goes to the refrigerator for provolone cheese and places it over the meatballs. Finally she drowns the contents of the sandwich in tomato sauce.

  She carries both plates to the table and sits down next to me. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

  Even though I just ate, there is no way I can resist my mother’s meatballs. I pick up the sandwich and bite into it. My mother watches me chew. “It didn’t work out with Ethan,” I say after I swallow. I can feel the tomato sauce smearing above my lip.

  My mother hands me a napkin. “Ajee’s third prediction is coming true for Neesha, but not for me.” I get up, go to the refrigerator, and return to my seat with two glasses and a bottle of sparkling water. My mother watches me pour.

  “I think it’s worse that it almost came true. You know? Like it was supposed to work out, but I did something to ruin it.” I look up at the ceiling. Then I look at her again and swallow back my tears. “I really thought it was going to work out.”

  “Oh Gina. I’m sorry.”

  We eat in silence for a few minutes. “I think maybe you were right,” I finally say. “Ajee was wrong about me marrying someone named Ethan.”

  My mother bites into her sandwich and doesn’t say anything for a minute. “I know you think Ajee was psychic, Gina, but she was just very observant.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what you mean. She certainly didn’t see that woman kidnap Matthew. She was in Maine.”

  “A few weeks before she left, she told me that she suspected Mr. Colby was having an affair. You know I never like to gossip, so I didn’t ask for any of the details.”

  “What about Neesha moving and us going to Italy and me breaking my arm? How did sh
e know those things?”

  My mother sighs. We are done eating, so I clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. She waits until I’m sitting again to continue speaking. “I’ve told you this so many times. She knew Dr. Patel had been interviewing for the position in Texas, just like she knew your dad and I were discussing a trip to Italy.” She pauses. “And, Gina, the way you rode your bike down the hill with your hands in the air above your head. I told you a million times you were going to hurt yourself. You didn’t think I was psychic when you finally did.”

  Three hours later, I pull out of my parents’ driveway and make my way down Towering Heights Lane. In the distance, I see a man and a woman jogging up the hill with three small kids on bikes in front of them. Even from a distance, I know it’s Cooper. As I get closer, I see he’s wearing a TechVisions’s T-shirt. I’m almost upon them, and I slow down and move to the right. Cooper stares into the windshield. I raise my hand to wave, but I pass before he has a chance to respond. I glance in the rearview mirror and see the woman looking back at my car.

  She must be living with him. The french toast and meatball sub shift in my stomach. I’m afraid I’m going to be sick. I think about turning around and racing back to my parents’ bathroom, but I don’t want to pass Cooper and his happy, healthy instant family again. I open the window and stick my head out, breathing in the fresh air. My stomach settles down, and I drive home much faster than usual.

  Chapter 39

  My mother and I are in the kitchen making pasta when we hear the moving truck rumbling up Towering Heights Lane. My mother uses her apron to wipe the flour off her hands and heads to the living room window. I follow a few feet behind. We watch the truck groan to a stop across the street. Shortly after, a black SUV with Texas plates climbs the hill and turns into the driveway. The passenger door swings open, and Neesha Patel Davidian steps out onto the driveway of the home she left twenty-two years earlier, almost to the day. She turns toward our house and brings her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun. A moment later, she lifts that same hand high above her head and waves like she’s in the midst of a huge crowd trying to catch the attention of a rock star on stage.