by Zoey Oliver
Two hours. Not sure I can endure two hours of grunts out of Bert.
I turn toward him, holding up my glass.
“Bert, I’m really glad you came,” I begin. He glances at me coldly, as though he is surprised I’m talking to him.
“I have wanted to talk to you for a while,” I continue. “I know everything that went down between my parents and you guys was… fucked up. To say the least. There’s not a lot of other ways to explain it. It was fucked up.”
Bert just grunts, again.
“But I’m not like that,” I say. He looks down. “I’m not like that at all. I’ve been very lucky, but everything I do is above board. In fact I would show you my books if you wanted to see them. I would do that. I want you to feel comfortable.”
He doesn’t say anything, just glares at the bottom of his drink.
I stand up and walk over to the desk, picking up a folder. On my way back to my seat, I hand it to him, holding it out for a couple of extra seconds. He takes it from me begrudgingly.
“What’s this?” he says, his voice barely audible.
“That’s the trust that Aden help me set up for the kids,” I explain. “No strings, just a solid future. Already taken care of. They will have a really comfortable life.”
Bert just grunts.
“I just wanted you to know.”
We sit in silence for little while. I hear Aden rubbing his heel nervously against the floorboards.
“You know, Ethan saved my restaurant,” Aden blurts out.
Bert glances up, his bristly eyebrows knitted together.
Aden swallows audibly. “It’s true. Last couple of months were pretty dire. I didn’t think I was going to make it, but he bought the building. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without him. The restaurant has totally turned around. Four-star rating on Yelp now! Turned around, Dad. Couldn’t have done it without Ethan.”
Bert slowly turns his head toward me. “That true?”
I shrug. “Everybody deserves a second chance,” I explain. “It’s a really nice restaurant. It didn’t deserve to fail.”
Little by little, Bert sets his drink on the table next to him and opens the folder. His eyes scan the paperwork, absorbing the details of the trust that I set up. I think it’s good, being transparent like this. Normally I would not let people see this deeply into my finances, but it means a lot to me.
I feel like I deserve a second chance too.
When I was a kid, my dad never talked to me about money. In fact, when they first gave me my starter money to try day-trading, all he said was, “Here it is.”
That was it. No instruction, no warnings. No sign of affection, even.
That’s one of the things that always struck me about the Harrisons. They’re really warm to each other. My earliest memories of them are gathered around the swimming pool, Evelyn in one of her flowered coverups, Bert with a beer in his hand. They were always within inches of each other, smiling and laughing. They clearly enjoyed each other’s company.
I was never sure why they were even friends with my parents, other than the convenience of being next-door neighbors. The Mercers are not really known for their warmth. Ruthless and calculating, they made their money the old-fashioned way: mostly fraudulently. Not exactly illegal, but definitely shady.
When the Harrisons turned to them for help with their sprawling but low-traffic diner when we were teenagers, my parents seized upon the opportunity. It was another way for them to funnel assets through a legitimate business. Most people call it money laundering.
The Harrisons didn’t know what they were getting into. Certainly they didn’t know it would be the end of their friendship.
Bert was apparently the one to realize what was up. Being a stiff-backed sort of guy, he was outraged. He couldn’t believe that my parents would tarnish the business he and Evelyn had built over the years. He was astounded that they would imperil what he felt was the family legacy.
My parents were equally surprised, but not for the same reasons. They just couldn’t understand why the Harrisons were so ungrateful. Sure, the extra money that flowed through the diner was technically illegal, but if they got to keep three percent, what right did they have to complain? The diner had been improved with new signage and updated kitchen equipment. Customers loved it. They were making more money than ever before.
But they couldn’t see eye to eye. It wasn’t possible. This single business deal destroyed everything.
I understand why they didn’t give a thought to Aden and me, our friendship. A couple of teenage boys weren’t really even on the radar. When it all came crashing down, Aden had to stick with his family. Blood is definitely thicker than water.
But now that he’s here it’s all coming back to me. Since we’ve reconnected over the last couple of months, I’m constantly amazed how much I missed him. And it’s amazing to me that I didn’t do more to reach out to him.
I never had a brother, so Aden was always the closest thing. In some ways, I guess I was always looking for his equal in the Marines, and afterward. That’s why I wanted my team around me all the time. They were not quite like him, but they’re pretty good.
And now we’re all back together. Or, almost. Everything is almost perfect.
Guests start filtering in while Bert, Aden, and I sit in silence. Every once in a while someone will wander into this room, sense the chilly atmosphere, and then wander right back out again.
I can hear them in the dining room and kitchen, wandering around the living room, creeping up the stairs to explore. This house has twenty-two rooms, of which at least seventeen are done now. I still have some work to do, but I’m only human.
I know when she arrives, because I hear the voices change. People are excited. I rise from my seat, positioning myself by the fireplace so that I face the door and will be able to see her when she walks in. I want to see what she thinks. I don’t want to miss a moment of it.
Bea runs to the front door, dragging her in by the elbow. It’s like watching a movie, framed in the wide, walnut molding. Bea is smiling. Ava’s laughing, her caramel-colored hair flowing in ribbons behind her. She’s wearing a clingy gray knit dress, perfect for the chilly November weather. Her cheeks are flushed and the tip of her nose is pink. When she reaches the foyer, she stops, her mouth open, her eyes wide with surprise. She looks all around, taking in the details, appreciating where she is.
“Whose house is this?” she asks.
But nobody has time to answer her. Evelyn appears and points toward the dining room. There are about thirty people in there, all talking at once.
The shower begins in earnest when they start serving the food. Aden winks at me as we overhear people talking about how great it is, how delicious. Bea proudly announces to the group that the food is from Aden’s restaurant, and he practically blushes in response.
The last thing I want to do is play baby shower games, but I am really interested to see what happens. I excuse myself from the parlor and stand just out of the way of the dining room, observing the guests. Everyone looks happy, but nobody looks quite as happy as Ava. Her eyes glitter with excitement as people pass her small bits of paper, along with golf pencils. I suppose that’s one of those baby shower games I’ve heard about.
In a little while they break out lengths of ribbon and make her stand in the middle of the room, with her arms up. One by one, the women wrap the ribbons around her middle, measuring it off. She’s pretty darn pregnant at this point. Twenty-three weeks, by my count. And she looks absolutely stunning. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
After a while, she excuses herself, trotting toward the door. She startles when she sees me and breaks into a shy smile.
“Do you know where the bathroom is?” she asks me. “Is it close? Please tell me it’s close.”
“Right through here,” I say, leading her past the stairs to the convenient first-floor bathroom by the kitchen. She groans in relief and locks herself inside. I wait outside the doo
r, not wanting to hover, but happy to steal her away for just a moment.
When she emerges, she cranes her head around toward the kitchen curiously, then to the glass-enclosed conservatory on the other side.
“This is some house!” she says. “Have you seen this place?”
“I certainly have,” I admit.
“Whose is it?”
Her eyes search mine, and I wonder how to explain it. Those big blue eyes… I’m not sure I could ever get tired of looking into them.
“This is your house.”
She takes a step back, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
“I’m sorry, what?”
I hold my hands out as though it should be obvious. “This is your house. Do whatever you want with it. Sell it, I wouldn’t mind.”
She puts her hands on her hips, cocking her head, looking adorably pissed.
“What the heck are you even talking about?”
“It’s a great neighborhood,” I explain. “I finished everything in here with my own two hands. Well… I had a little help. But the neighborhood is solid, and it’s just a couple blocks from Aden’s restaurant. And it’s a great investment. You should have it. You and the kids.”
Realization dawns on her slowly. Her face goes slack with wonder.
“Are you serious? Are you even kidding me right now?”
I hold my fingers up, Boy Scout style.
“I am one hundred percent serious, Ava. This is your house.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she chokes. “Wait a second… this is your project? The one you talked about when we were at the restaurant?”
I just smile, nodding. Definitely a project. Over the last few months, it’s organized my thoughts. It’s given me a reason to keep going. More than anything, it showed me that the only thing that I really want to be thinking about is Ava and the babies.
“I can live here?”
“You can live here. The kids can live here. You could even… live here with me.”
Her brow furrows.
“Live here with you?” she repeats.
I step toward her, taking her hands in mine. I’m grateful to feel that she doesn’t pull away.
“It’s totally up to you,” I promise. “But if you wanted… you could live here with me and the babies and we can all be here together because I love you.”
She just stares at me. I have to tell her again.
“I love you, Ava. I don’t want to spend a day without you. I want us to be here together, if you want that. Only if you want that. Even if you don’t want that, I’ll still keep loving you. I can’t help it.”
She takes a deep breath, and I hear the shudder in her chest. Her hands tremble in mine.
“I have… it’s a party. It’s for me. I have to go back to the party,” she says, her voice weak.
“Of course you do,” I shrug. I should probably be disappointed, but I can’t be. Now she knows. I had to tell her. It felt amazing. I’ve done everything I can do.
The rest of the afternoon, everything is perfect. The food is great, Bert utters at least six actual words, and he must have said something to Evelyn because she even gives me a small wave and a smile at one point.
By the time the sun goes down, people begin leaving, bundling up in heavy coats to go back out into the San Francisco cold. I thank Aden and the Harrisons, dropping paper cups into a trash bag as I walk around, imagining what it is going to be like when Ava and the children are living here. Assuming that’s what she wants to happen.
“Really was a wonderful party,” she says to me from across the room. I turn around and smile.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I really think everybody had a good time.”
I pick up trash for a while, finally setting the bag down in the hallway by the kitchen. Perry will be by in the morning anyway. It’s not that I have to do this, it’s just that I like taking care of it.
“So… did you decide about your present?”
She rolls her eyes. Her hands float out from her body as she turns in a slow circle in the dining room.
“My present? That’s kind of an understatement, isn’t it?” she says, a charming laugh peppering her voice. “This is a house, Ethan. This a frickin’ house.”
“So you’ll take it then?”
She pauses for a moment, knuckling her chin thoughtfully. Her blue eyes sparkle in the light from the chandelier.
“Well… it depends.”
“Anything. Just tell me what you need, Ava.”
“You should stay. Here. With us.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Are you sure?”
She nods tightly, her eyes bright and sparkling. She holds her hands out to me and I take her fingers in mine, relishing the feeling of relief that floods me. I don’t think she’ll ever know how much her touch means to me.
“Ava, I know we’ve been through so much…”
“There’s a lot more to come,” she quips.
I lean closer, letting her belly brush against my hip. I love it that she occupies just a little bit more real estate now. Probably wouldn’t be a good idea to bring it up, but I do love it.
“I just want you to consider one more thing…”
And somehow, I find the courage to drop to one knee, yet again. My heart is beating so hard I feel like it’s outside my chest. And it almost is. She could destroy me with a word. I think she knows.
“Ava, I’m nothing without you. I know that now. And I never even have been. It’s always been you, Ava. So I need to ask you… just one more time.…”
I pull the ring out of my pocket, where I have felt it all day, pressed against the flesh of my thigh. I hold it up to her, watching the reflections dance like little fires along the bottom of her cheeks.
“Ava Harrison, please, will you marry me?”
She grins. Her smile is as bright as the sun. She bounces up and down on her toes, clapping her fingers together happily.
“Get up here, Ethan! You know I can’t get down there by you anymore!”
I stand up immediately, happy to hold her in my arms, happy to kiss her beautiful face. She’s laughing and crying all at the same time, leaning against me, kissing me with all her heart and soul.
“That’s it!” she sighs. “That was what I wanted. That’s what I wanted to know… that you really love me. That it’s real. It’s all I ever wanted, Ethan.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. Men are stupid,” I mutter.
“I think you’re a genius,” she protests.
She lets me slip the ring on her finger and we both stare at it for a little while, marveling at the tiny fires inside of it. It is of course a pretty substantial diamond. But then, she’s a substantial beauty. She deserves nothing less.
“Wait!” she says suddenly. She pulls away, darting from the room. In a few moments she returns, with an envelope in her fingers and a mischievous smile on her lips.
“What’s that?”
She waves the envelope. “I got this from the doctor. Would you like to know if we’re having boys or girls?”
“Hell, yeah! Do you know? Who else knows?”
She shrugs. “I wouldn’t let the doctor tell me,” she explains. “It didn’t seem right… Not even Bea knows. Only you and I… we’re going to be the only ones. You ready?”
I nod happily, unable to think of the right words to say. Are there any right words? No. Just whatever is on that piece of paper, are the only right words.
With trembling fingers, she opens the envelope, pulling out the folded card, opening it slowly. We read the words together, confused for a second, then realizing how perfect it is.
A boy and a girl. One of each.
Chapter Twenty-Four
AVA
As an incredibly handsome person once told me, you would be amazed what a stupid amount of money can accomplish.
Somehow, we made this all happen.
Bea found us a Justice of the Peace who would come to the ho
use on short notice. My mother called every relative I’ve ever had and invited them, and Ethan made sure they could all fly here on his jet. Aden arranged the catering, of course, as well as finishing up the last few rooms so we could host out-of-town guests.
The house is beautiful, sparkling in blue and silver and warmed with rich wood, filled to the brim with love and excitement.
Bea rushes into the room, dragging the bustle of her silver bridesmaid dress behind her. She shakes her bouquet at me.
“Hurry your ass up!” she demands. “You are going to be in labor before the ceremony is over. Come on!”
“Oh, I can take another minute,” I smile.
I stare into the mirror, trying to commit everything to memory. My mother gave me her veil, and it flows over my hair, pale as an angel’s wing. Ethan’s mother loaned me a diamond choker that’s literally too blinding to stare at directly. And for something blue, Bea made me a garter by hand, stitching it with pearls and crystals and a satin, sky-blue ribbon.
The dress is amazing. Ethan brought Vera Wang to the house, the real Vera Wang. The actual human being. He gave her two rooms and three assistants, and they worked day and night for four days to make this dress.
This gorgeous, gorgeous dress.
I don’t want to say I look amazing, but I look amazing. Ivory silk swaddles me, somehow making me look slender and stately while not hiding the fact that I am ever so pregnant. Pregnant with twins is hugely pregnant. And yet, I don’t look like a parade float. Vera Wang is a frickin’ magician.
“Your minute is up!” Bea insists. “You are gorgeous! Let’s get married!”
There is a string quartet in the dining room, and as soon as I hit the top stair, they begin playing Pachelbel’s Canon. I have to hold my breath to keep from giggling or crying or expressing whatever emotion threatens to erupt from me next.
Thoughtfully, Bea walks ahead of me, presumably to make sure that if I fall down the stairs she’ll break my fall. I will crush her first, instead of rolling into the guests. She’s a good friend. I’m lucky to have her.
Slowly we walk down the stairs, my stairs. In the house that we share. My hand slides along the smooth, waxed banister, the way it will slide year after year, maybe for the rest of our lives. As I round the corner and head toward the back of the house, I think about how many times I’m going to walk down this hallway. Thousands of times. Making breakfast, doing laundry, chasing our children.
