by Sam Mariano
“Oh, nope,” she said, turning so his open mouth connected with cheek. “Nope, sorry, I actually wanted to talk.”
“Oh.” He tugged her into his bedroom and took a seat on his bed, leaning back and supporting his weight on his elbows. “Am I in trouble?”
“Should you be?”
“I don’t think so. I told you I’m gonna get you a graduation gift this weekend.”
Willow glanced back at the hallway before closing his door. “Can I ask you something?” He watched her expectantly, so she continued, “Are you sleeping with Candace?”
First his eyes went wide, then he laughed. “What? No. Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
“I’m not mad, just don’t lie about it. She said she was staying with you tonight, and you never mentioned to me that you guys… share beds? I was just wondering.”
He frowned and sat up. “Well, that’s a weird thing to say. Of course I’m not sleeping with Candace and of course you should be mad if I was. Is this because I told you about her sleeping with Danny when he had a girlfriend? I knew I shouldn’t have told you that. You don’t know the whole story, they had a complicated entanglement and his girlfriend was out there. Major clinger. He tried to dump her a couple times.”
“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What does that have to do with anything? I’m asking because, not two minutes ago, she told me she was going to ‘crash with you’ if I wasn’t, and I was just… unsure exactly what that meant.”
“It meant she’s too drunk to drive home, so like many other nights, she’s going to crash with whoever has an empty bed or futon.”
“Okay,” she said easily. But after a couple seconds passed, she asked, “And you’re cool with that?”
“Yeah? I guess I should have asked if you were cool with that. I’ve been single for so long I didn’t really think about it…”
“Okay.” She nodded, picking up enthusiasm. “No, that’s… that’s fine. Can I ask you another question?”
“Go ahead.” He looked a little more sober at that point, poor guy.
“Is it ever… sexual at all? Not judging, again, just… you know, sometimes when you’re drinking…?”
Releasing a drawn-out sigh, he said, “Willow… I’m not sure what you’re getting at here. Are you trying to pick a fight? I thought you liked Candace.”
“I have zero problems with Candace, I’m just asking a simple, straightforward question.”
“I mean, we’ve drunk-cuddled a few times when we were both single, but it didn’t mean anything. She only even remembered it happening once. You’ve seen how she gets. She would cuddle with you when she’s drunk and she’s straight as an arrow.”
“So, hypothetically, if I was drinking with a male friend and I slept in his bed with him, you would be fine with that?”
“Well, sure, as long as the guy doesn’t get handsy. I don’t want you to die or anything. You know how I am about that.”
“Okay.” Willow nodded. “I was just curious. Plus, if you were sleeping with her, I didn’t want you to tell me in front of her, because that would piss me off a little.”
“I’ll make a note. If I ever cheat on you, tell you in private.”
Flashing him a cheeky smile, she said, “I’ll be just as considerate if I ever cheat on you.”
“We’re the best couple ever,” he stated, reaching out and catching her hand, tugging her over to the bed. “Do I at least get a hug as a reward for having this weird-ass conversation?”
“I guess you earned one,” she replied, leaning in to give him a hug.
He yanked her, toppling her over into the bed with him and propped himself up on his elbow, smiling down at her. “You’re kinda cool, you know that?”
“Why am I cool?”
“A lot of girls would’ve just flipped their shit on me.”
Shrugging a little and staring up at the ceiling, Willow said, “I’m not much of a shit-flipper.”
“I know,” he said, leaning down to give her a little kiss. “I like that about you.”
Somehow letting him kiss her felt wrong—even though she understood logically she had that flipped around—so she sat up and got to her feet. “We should probably head back downstairs before Cliff and Candace conspire to eat your Hot Pocket.”
“Dirty animals,” he said in agreement, standing and following her out of his room.
“Let’s read one more chapter.”
Offering an apologetic smile as he tucked the tree frog bookmark into the thin chapter book, Ethan said, “Sorry, kiddo, that’s what you said at the end of the last chapter.”
“Yeah, but now it’s getting really good and I want to know what happens,” Alison stated innocently.
Placing the book on her bedside table, he leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before dragging the thin blanket up to wrap around her. She would kick it off before he even made it to the front door, but he would continue the ritual as long as she’d allow it.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked, realizing her request would not be granted.
He tried to keep the regret off his face. “I don’t think so. Your mom said you guys have plans tomorrow. I’ll see you Sunday for Caleb’s birthday though, okay?”
She pouted, but nodded her acceptance.
He leaned in and gave her another kiss on the forehead before reluctantly straightening. He knew he needed to leave, let her go to sleep, not disrupt the routine.
“Goodnight, baby.”
“Goodnight, Daddy,” she murmured, watching as he backed out of the bedroom and shut the door.
Sinking against the wall, he closed his eyes for a moment, hating the nights he got to help put them to bed almost as much as he treasured them. He hadn’t appreciated simple things like that enough when they were commonplace—he just never realized it.
Pushing away from the wall, he turned to head down the hall but stopped short when he saw Amanda standing there. Her arms were crossed, but there was a soft, almost regretful look on her face that indicated she’d been standing there and he just hadn’t noticed her.
He opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him with a finger against her lips, then jerked her head toward the stairs, heading down them herself.
Once they were downstairs and child-free, it was weird. Time alone with his wife never used to be weird, but it hadn’t been comfortable for a long time.
“She got an extra chapter out of you?” Amanda guessed.
Smiling slightly, he nodded his head. “They’re short chapters.”
“That’s the last book she has in that series, she’s going to run out.”
“I’ll get her a few more,” he offered.
Amanda nodded her head, and the moment filled up with a heavy silence. It had been six months, but it was no easier to be standing there with the woman he’d intended to spend the rest of his life with, and feel so uncomfortable and so unwelcome that he itched to run out the door.
That would be cowardly though, and he’d earned every second of the discomfort. So he stayed, enduring the awkwardness as long as she would.
“So, do you have everything set for the party?” he finally asked, just to break the silence.
“For the most part. Tucker and Angela are going to be in town, so they’ll be there.”
“Oh, that’s nice. We haven’t—at least, I haven’t—seen them in a while.”
He realized he didn’t know who she saw anymore, and she didn’t seem inclined to tell him.
Amanda merely nodded, her gaze drifting around the room as if searching for something to distract them from the awkwardness. She wasn’t shoving him out the door though—that was something.
She perked up, having thought of something to glom onto. “I found the lost photo album—the one with the pictures from the beach when Ali was little.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the memory of her little face when he smeared sand on her fingers. “She hated the wet sand.”
Amanda nodded, but her face crumb
led a little and her eyes started to shine. His smile disappeared and he took a couple steps toward her without thought, his arms opening to wrap around her.
Amanda took a step back, averting her gaze and shaking her head. “Don’t,” she said quietly.
He stopped, struggling with helplessness as she recovered her own composure. Her eyes were still damp with unshed tears, but her expression was aggressively blank—like it usually was when he was around.
He hated that his presence caused her such discomfort. Such pain.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“You should probably go,” she stated, her voice faltering.
“Amanda… maybe we should try to talk—”
“I don’t want to talk,” she said forcefully. “Talk about what? Do you have new information for me, Ethan? Do I not have all the facts at this point?”
It was too easy to get defensive, so he paused and drew in a calming breath. “We obviously still have a lot of baggage to unpack here, Amanda. I know it isn’t comfortable, I know—maybe you hate me. But it’s been half a year, and it doesn’t seem like we’re going anywhere. Is that… I mean, is that okay with you?”
“Okay with me? Of course it’s not okay, Ethan. But I’m not sure what you expect from me. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m still hurt. I’m still pissed. I’m still angry as hell at you, Ethan. I’m angry at you every day.”
“And you have every right to be,” he acknowledged.
“Damn right,” she said, nodding her head. “You gave me your permission to be pissed at you when you betrayed me; I don’t need your permission to be angry.”
Since he wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t dig the hole deeper, he kept his mouth shut and merely nodded.
She was just getting started, too. “I honestly don’t know what our future holds at this point. Regardless of how things started… You threw everything away for that girl, Ethan. You cared more about her or righting your wrong, or… whatever you’re telling yourself your reason was these days, you cared more about that than me—than us. You kept me in the dark—that is why I can’t trust you anymore. Don’t you get that? You betrayed me, and you hid it from me and I had to find out in the most horrible way imaginable. I was blind-sided, Ethan. You were the one person I was always supposed to be able to count on, and you blind-sided me.”
As if he didn’t live with regret over that every damned day. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what to do, Amanda,” he answered lowly.
Shrugging a bit helplessly, she said, “What do I do with that? How is that supposed to fix anything? How do I trust you when I know that if you decide something is above my pay-grade in the future, you just won’t tell me about it?”
“I don’t… That was a mistake. I would never, ever keep anything from you again, but I don’t know how to make you believe that. I don’t know if I can. I’m sorry.”
Amanda shook her head, grabbing an empty bowl the kids had pretzels in before bed. “Yeah, well, regardless of what they say about how it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, sorry doesn’t put our family back together.”
Nodding solemnly, he said, “I know that.”
“Why are you asking me this?” she asked sharply. “Why, out of the blue, do you want a progress report?”
“I don’t—I was… It seemed like—I don’t know, I’m sorry. Forget it, we can just… put it on the shelf, I guess.”
“Are you seeing someone?” she asked, looking down at the empty bowl instead of at him.
Sighing, he said, “No. It isn’t about that, I just… I’m not sure what to tell our daughter when she asks when she’s going to see me again, Amanda. They don’t know what’s going on, and you don’t even let them see me regularly. I’m not asking for an overnight visit, just… like, one day every week or two where I can take them out and spend the day with them.”
Not looking at him, she shook her head. “I don’t know, Ethan.”
“That’s bullshit, Amanda,” he stated, more strongly than he tended to anymore. “You have them every single day. You could give me one day. It would give you a little time to yourself, too.”
“I have plenty of time to myself every single night,” she stated, meeting his gaze with an unforgiving glint in her eye.
“You know I am not a danger to those kids,” he stated.
“Do I?” she challenged.
“Willow’s dad is not in the picture anymore. He is not coming back.”
She nodded jerkily, paying special attention to his expression, she asked, “How do you know that? Have you talked to that girl?”
He drew in a breath, shaking his head as he looked away from her. “I don’t know… how to answer that.”
“With that truth,” she answered instantly. “Remember the truth? I’ll take that as a yes, but I want to hear you say it.”
“She—Yes, I spoke to her once. She graduated, asked how things were… She assured me that her father was no longer an issue.”
“Well, as long as she says so; I guess that’s good enough to stake our children’s lives on, right?”
Ethan ran a hand over his face and through his thick, dark hair. “I can never adequately apologize for what happened, Amanda, I know that, but we have to figure out a way to move past it, one way or another.”
Shaking her head, her lip curling up in disgust, she said, “Just get the hell out of here, Ethan. I can’t deal with this shit right now.”
“I wasn’t asking because of her,” he insisted. “I still want—”
“Get out.”
Clenching his jaw, he nodded his head, then turned and made his way out of his own house, out to his driveway to get into his car. Once inside, he stared up at his house with his family inside… and finally started the car, so he could drive away in the only thing that was still really his.
---
Willow’s phone chimed, alerting her that she had forgotten to put it on vibrate, but also that she’d finally gotten a response to the text she sent an hour earlier.
“North in.”
Frowning, she read her question, “What are you up to tomorrow?” and then his response. She waited for him to type more, fixing what she assumed must be his typo, but there was no sign he was typing. Bringing up the keypad, she looked at the letters to see what he may have meant to type back, and she came up with, “Nothing.”
“Ha! Eat my shit, Wagner.”
Willow glanced up at her boyfriend, eloquently dissing his beer pong opponent. “Hey, on a scale from one to ten, how crushed will you be if a friend of mine does that art thing with me tomorrow instead of you?”
Visibly brightening, he said, “Really?” Then, dramatically lowering his gaze and giving his wounded puppy dog pout, he said, “I mean, I was really looking forward to that… but anything you for you, babe.”
She smiled and shook her head as he winked and went back to his game, then she tapped out, “How would you like to go with me to this clay sculpting class I signed up for tomorrow? I’m signed up for two and we’ll be creating some kind of animals out of clay. Spot’s yours if you want it!”
“Is you want. What time,” he replied.
“Are you at home?” she sent back, frowning at his second typo in a row. He was typically really good about no typos.
It took a minute before he responded, “Yes.”
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she debated how to word her question. “Are you spending your evening with your whiskey bottle again?”
She imagined him smiling as he typed back, “How did you know?”
“Your typos gave you away,” she stated.
“Where are you?” he typed back, apparently more carefully that time.
Glancing up at the beer pong table again, she hesitated. “At Brian’s.”
“Ah. The boyfriend. Does he know you’re testing me?”
She assumed he meant “texting” but thought the slip might be Freudian—except she only though
t of it as testing herself, not so much him. “No. I told you, he doesn’t really know about you.” Since that seemed sneaky, she quickly added, “He knows I’m texting a friend though, so he has an idea.”
“I think we were a little more than friends,” he sent back. She began to smile and type back, but he was already typing again. “Unless you sleep with all your friends now.”
Not immediately sure how to take that one, she sent back a joke. “I do actually. Even the girls.”
“Figures.”
That one made her frown. “I was joking.” For good measure she added, “I feel like this one got lost in translation, were you also joking?”
She kept checking her phone for a response—his phone never told her when or if he read her text messages—but he didn’t reply and she couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was sniping at her.
After a few minutes, she dropped the phone in her lap and tried to refocus her attention on her friends. Her mind refused though, continuously wandering back to her phone. She continued to check it every couple of minutes to the point that she was irritating herself, but he never responded—and she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Willow stood in front of the café, wedged in the small space between the large window and the door. An older couple walking down the sidewalk approached and she stepped aside as they made their way inside.
She checked her phone again, whether to check the time or to see if Ethan had texted her, she wasn’t sure.
That morning she had texted him asking if he wanted to meet her for food before they went to the sculpture class, and he had agreed. He hadn’t been real talkative, but she wasn’t sure how much he’d been drinking either—he might have a hangover.
She almost hoped he had a hangover. If he was irritated with her, she didn’t know why. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, except maybe have a boyfriend. He had never loved when she even joked about her male friends being her boyfriends; maybe the real deal made him cranky.
Before she could get too far ahead of herself, Ethan finally rounded the corner. A smile she couldn’t hold back lit up her whole face.