I consider mentioning the Mark, but I don’t think I should say anything. What if she asks who my partner is? I don’t want to get into all of that.
“Ethan’s going to be in here soon,” I say instead. “He’s just talking to the doctor.”
“Thingsh getting worshe,” she says. “In my head.”
I choke on my words. “You’ll be okay. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?”
She gives me a half-smile.
Ethan finally slips in the room. He watches her eyes slip around the room uneasily, then dons his usual smile. I haven’t seen it in forty minutes. “Heya, Mom,” he says, sitting on the edge of her bed and kissing her forehead. “Getting into some crazy shenanigans?”
“Alwaysh,” she replies, chuckling a little.
He grins, far too brightly. “I see you’ve reconnected with Abby. She drove me here.”
“You get the door for her, at leasht?”
He rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t like - ow!”
His mother manages, with her strong arm, to slap him on the shoulder. I’m impressed. “Be a gentleman,” his mother says. “And why’re you here, anyhow? You shaid thish morning you had a full shift.”
“I took off - Momma, don’t hit me!”
I’d give him crap for saying “Momma” like he’s a kid, but now’s not the time to do that by any means, I know.
“Abby,” Ethan says. “Call the doctor. I’d like to report child abuse.”
“You’re lucky I don’t tan your hide like my daddy did me.” The more she speaks, the more fluid her words seem to become. “I told you not to bother coming till after work.”
“It’s fine, Mom. Anyway, are you feeling okay? Any aches or pains?”
“Just the usual. And my wounded pride, because my son feels he needs to take care of me when I should be taking care of him.”
“Mom, I’m nearly thirty.”
“I know! You shouldn’t be wasting your time handling me. Go have fun, for God’s shake. Go on a date or shomething.”
Ethan glances at me, then rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Abby, go get him to do something fun. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not going to just leave you,” Ethan says
“I want to finish my audiobook of A Dansh with Dragonsh and you are ruining my prime chansh to do that,” Mrs. Perry says firmly. “Abby, I’m putting you in charge of him. He doeshn’t know his own mind.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her. “Yes, ma’am.” I turn to her son. “You heard her. Let’s go.”
“I just got here, though,” Ethan protests.
His mother scoffs. “No shense in both of ush eating the hoshpital food. Go. Shkedaddle.”
Ethan rolls his eyes but sighs. Apparently, he knows he won’t win. “Fine,” he says. “But have someone call me the instant anything happens, all right?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
Ethan groans in annoyance. “Abby, talk some sense into her.”
I turn to her. “I can’t. She’s enjoying the books instead of the television series. I find no fault in her.”
She holds her knuckles out, like I’d taught her back when I was in high school. I bump my fist with hers.
“I’m going to come to your birthday party,” I tell her, “so get well soon.”
“Shoundsh good,” she drawls. “We’ll have a lovely time.”
I say goodbye, leaving Ethan for a few moments of time alone with his mom. Reaching into my purse, I pull out my phone and text him that I’ll be waiting outside by the car. I took the umbrella with me, so there should be no issues.
Hospitals intimidate me. I realize they’re meant for good, I get that. But I feel so contaminated when I stop in one. My grandma died in a hospital when I was six, and I remember feeling mortality hit me hard that day. Ever since, hospitals have seemed like a place to go to die, not get well.
Thankfully, I step into the elevator with little difficulty. Only some other visitors fill the space, except for one boy in a cast. His usable hand is busy playing some game on his smartphone.
The silence is too much. People ignore you in New York, but you forget how much more it hurts in Minnesota, even when you don’t particularly need someone to talk to you.
The elevator doors open, and I step through the lobby littered with quiet individuals and families, some of the younger children whimpering or giggling as they bounce on their moms’ laps. I walk quickly past them.
As soon as I exit the sliding glass doors, I am free. The soft scent of rain seems to clear my mind. I stretch, letting the wind take away some of my stresses. What was I so afraid of? It was a brief visit, nothing more. It’s not she’s dying. I’m so dramatic all the time.
I press the button on the umbrella handle, and it shoots up and out, spreading its protection over me. The rain has slowed down to a lethargic patter, though I end up slogging through water that’s deep enough in certain places to soak through my nice work shoes. Great. I paid, like, $60 for these things.
Ethan’s car unlocks with a pleasant honk, and I set the soaked umbrella on the floor in the backseat. I feel bad, potentially ruining his car, but I don’t know where else I’d put it. Putting my seat back, I recline and close my eyes. The gentle rain splashing against the roof and windshield provides a lullaby.
Eventually, I open my eyes. Turning my head, I look toward the hospital.
I’m shocked.
Ethan Perry, the golden boy, kicks at one of the pillars at the edge of the hospital entrance. I can hear the dimmest of screams beneath the rainfall when he moves onto a concrete-encased trash can.
I jump out of the car, my feet splashing through puddles. I don’t get it. I don’t understand why he’s this upset. I mean, I get being upset, obviously, but I’ve never seen this side of Ethan before. I don’t understand. Isn’t Mrs. Perry getting better?
My calves are soaked by the time I get to Ethan and grab his arm. “Ethan!”
He yanks his hand away, then turns and glares at me. I can’t tell if it’s the rain or tears that seem to dot around his eyelashes. “Go home, Abby. Just…go for now. Please.”
I pause. I won’t be any help here. I suck at comforting people. I never know what to say. But still, I can’t just leave him here. He has no one. His dad died when he was still a baby; it’s always been just him and his mom. I don’t think he even has any grandparents or aunts or uncles or anything. I can’t just leave him alone.
I hesitate, then give him a hug. “It’ll be okay,” I say helplessly, the words sitting like sour lies on my tongue. I’m so short compared to him; his torso’s so broad I can barely wrap my arms tight around him. Am I even doing this right? What if he really does want me gone? I should move. Maybe I’m just imposing myself on some sort of family crisis, and he genuinely would do better alone.
Except…
Ethan pulls me tight against his chest. It’s as if we’re one person. His breath tickles my ear. For some reason, I can’t focus. I’ve never felt this close to someone before. Is it the effect of the Marks, or is there more to it than that?
Then he starts to shake with sobs. Only the quietest gasps reach my ears.
Whatever spell his presence cast on me falls away. I stroke his back, closing my eyes, allowing the rain to wash us.
I don’t know what to do, but I will be here for him, just like he’s always been there for me.
* * *
The ride home - to his home, rather - is quiet and exhausting. It’s just past two in the afternoon, but the lingering storm clouds make it seem like it should be late evening.
For once, I am keeping my mouth shut. As much as I ache to ask him what happened, what he heard from the doctor - because it must be whatever the doctor told him, right? - I think he just needs to process things alone right now. I’ll drive him home, and then I’ll go. Maybe I’ll text him later just to make sure he’s okay, but I don’t want to be a burden.
Eventual
ly, we pull into his driveway. If my parents’ house is picturesque on the outside, his is simply a disappointment. Hedges grow untrimmed against the bottom of the small porch of the ranch home. A single wheelchair-accessible path leads up to the porch, the concrete damaged and cracked. The yard hasn’t been taken care of in years, I know. It’s sad, looking at what once was a lovely home falling into ruin. I pull up the gravel driveway, placing the car in park. As the engine rumbles softly, I expect him to hightail it out of the truck, but he doesn’t. He just sits there. God, he looks exhausted. Has he always looked this way, and I just noticed his smile instead?
I kill the engine. Silence lapses between us. Maybe I should go now. It’s just a few blocks to my place. And it’s not the first time I’ve walked home in the rain.
He’s still not moving. Crap.
I fidget with the hem of my shirt. I’m not good at comforting others. I don’t have many close friends. I should call Beth. She’d know -
“I’m sorry.”
My eyes search for his, but he’s just looking at his lap. “Sorry for what?” I ask, then wince. My voice is too loud, too abrasive.
“You shouldn’t have had to put up with that. I’m not very good company right now. Thanks. For driving me home, I mean. And putting up with…that.” He gestures vaguely with his hand.
My eyebrows pinch together as I stare at him in concern. “What are you talking about? I’m fine. Ethan, you’re going through a tough time. I don’t expect you to be Mr. Sunshine right now. Or ever, really.”
He snorts. “Everyone does. It’s my own fault, though. I’m the one who started doing it to make Mom feel better and…” He swipes a hand through his damp hair. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind.”
He glances at me then, his warm blue eyes an odd dull shade. “Thank you,” he says, with such sincerity that I want to cry. How many people have actually talked to him about real stuff? Has my sister?
I want to fix it. I know I can’t, I know it’s useless, but I want to make him smile again. Not because he has to, but because he’s honestly happy. Or at least content.
“Do you have Netflix?” I blurt out.
“No,” he says. “Too much money.” Then he winces and looks away like he’s said too much.
“You don’t have Roku or a BluRay player that has apps on it, I assume?”
Ethan raises a brow at me as if saying, What do you think?
“You want company?” I ask.
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Those blue eyes are a little clearer, scanning me. “Sure,” he says at last.
Chapter 11
I go home and unbox everything I own after I change clothes. It’s messy and depressing, but it feels almost a little cathartic, like I’ve accepted everything. I mean, I haven’t, but it almost feels that way.
It’s not like I intend to dump all my stuff on the floor, but finding my Roku is difficult in all this stuff, and Greg, of course, didn’t label my stuff. Not that I blame him; that’s not his responsibility. Still, it’s naturally in one of the boxes at the very bottom of the towering wall that had covered the majority of my room. I place the Roku in my backpack, then pause. After hesitating, I grab my toiletry bag and dump my bathroom supplies in as well. I probably won’t need them, but might as well be prepared. Eh, I might as well put my pajamas in as well. Just my t-shirt and sleep shorts.
“Constance! I’m going to be making ravioli!”
I place my toiletry bag in my backpack as well, zipping it shut. “I won’t be here!”
“Where are you going?”
I swing my backpack over my shoulder, grabbing my purse before bouncing down the steps. “To a friend’s house.”
“I thought Nivaeh moved away.”
“Another friend. I might stay the night.”
I see a flash of my mother’s face before I close the door and grab my bike. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden it, but I pump the tires and grab my helmet. Beth used to tease me when I was a kid for using it, but Ethan always supported my decision. I might’ve done stupid things like try and score some weed and drinks when I was underage, but I at least liked the idea of keeping my cranium intact.
After a few minutes, my bike is ready. One thing that sucks about Ethan’s house is that it’s uphill, but it’s good to have the exercise, especially since I haven’t been to the gym lately. I feel the burn in my legs as I push against the pedals. It’s like I’m fighting against my nerves and the depression of the day all at once.
Five minutes later, I’m at Ethan’s home. I hop off near the end of the driveway and walk it up the bumpy gravel, laying it carefully against the side of the house. Then I go up to the front door and knock. They’ve probably repaired their doorbell since I was a teen, but who knows.
Ethan opens. He’s showered, hair dripping with water. Aaaand he has no shirt on. Oh dear.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I parrot, averting my eyes to just over his shoulder. “I brought the goods.”
“You really didn’t have to - ”
“I want to, so unless I’m being an inconvenience, I’ll stay.” Now, I force myself to avoid his muscles and meet his eyes instead. “Am I being an inconvenience?”
He keeps his gaze steady as well. “No.”
I nod. “All right, then.”
We stand there for a moment, all too serious. Then, he cracks a smile. One blooms on my face as well. We chuckle, for reasons maybe neither of us understand.
Ethan stands to the side, gesturing for me to enter. I do so. I remember the hardwood floors well, how I washed them with a dedication I’d never ended up bestowing upon my own apartment. I remember the dark wallpaper, a relic from decades ago. I remember the sparsely decorated family room and the kitchen.
He gestures to the television seated on a dark entertainment stand. It’s small, maybe barely 30”, but that’s what I’m used to in New York anyway. “Voila,” he says. “Our home in all its glory.”
“It’s perfect,” I assure him. “Your TV should be new enough to have an HDMI outlet, right?”
“Yeah, your sister gave it to me when she upgraded. Only had to give her $20.” His words are upbeat, but there’s a slight bitterness to his tone that makes me pause.
But I don’t say anything except, “Cool. I’ll hook up the Roku, then.” I dump my purse and backpack on the floor, then sit crossed-leg as I unzip my bag.
“Can I help with anything?”
“It’s kind of a one-person job.” I think for a second. “Do you have any snacks?”
“Any preference?”
“The unhealthier, the better.”
He chuckles. “Got it.” I listen to his footsteps patter away, and I feel myself relax. I get to work, plugging it in. I grab the remote, going to the main menu. Then I stare at the apps. Maybe I should change the passwords; Greg always used my accounts.
Meh, let him. It’s not like he’ll charge anything to my account.
I hear the microwave beep. “What are you making?” I call.
“Popcorn. Sound good to you?”
“Uh, yes, please! I haven’t had popcorn in a million years.”
“Wow. You’re older than you look.”
I roll my eyes. “That was a bad one.”
“You want anything to drink?” he calls.
“Just water, thanks.”
“With ice?”
“If you have it.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have it.”
“Then, yeah, okay,” I say a little impatiently. He laughs at me.
A few minutes later, he joins me on the couch, handing water to me. I take a sip immediately, listening to the ice crackle in the cup. “Thanks,” I say.
“No problem. Thank you.”
I bite my lip, turning to the screen. “Want to watch The Office?”
That turns out to be a dangerous question. We argue for a while over which episode to watch in which seaso
n, and then, as soon as we turn it on, we debate over who is the best character in the show. I love Creed and Jim; it’s a tie. Ethan, though, prefers Toby.
“Nobody loves Toby,” I deadpan.
“That’s why he’s my favorite,” he says. “I feel bad for the poor guy.”
“That’s just pity. You don’t really like him.”
“Honestly, I feel bad he never had a shot with Pam.”
I shake my head. “The biggest difference between Jim and Toby is that Jim actually took that leap and asked her out. Toby never put himself out there enough.”
Ethan frowns as Michael talks in front of the camera. (We made a compromise and turned on the fire drill episode. Angela’s cat falling from the ceiling is too good to pass up.) “I think he knew it would never work between him and Pam.”
“I guess. Still, he should have tried.” I pause. “I guess I don’t dislike Toby. He deserves something nice. Except I’m Team Jam all the way.”
“Do you think dating’s this confusing for all the Unmarked people out there?” he asks, gesturing to the screen. The Office, like many shows, is set in a universe where Marks don’t exist.
“Based on what I’ve experienced, yes. But there are perks,” I reply, thinking of Greg. “I think as long as you find someone who makes you happy, and you make happy back, it’s okay if you’re not 100% certain they’re ‘the One’ or something.”
“I guess you’d found your someone, didn’t you?” Ethan says, frowning at me as a piece of popcorn pauses halfway to his mouth.
My chest constricts, but it’s not as painful as usual. I snag his popcorn and toss it into my own mouth.
“Hey!” he protests.
“He made me happy,” I say. “But I don’t think I returned the favor.”
“I’m sure he was happy with you.”
“He was, but not enough. I don’t think he would have let me go so easily if I had.”
Ethan opens his mouth, but after a split second, he stuffs a mouthful of popcorn in. I hug a pillow as we watch the rest of the episode. By the time we start the next one, the tension has dissipated enough that we’re able to snort at the jokes. It’s nice. It’s freeing.
Homebound Page 8
