Page 47 of Summer Romance
“I don’t have that kind of restraint,” he says, and squeezes my hands. He gets up, turns out the light, and shuts the door. I hear him take the dogs out. I place my fingers on my mouth and replay the day, his face in the rain, and then replay my entire life from when I was sixteen and drinking a milkshake, totally unaware that I’d just set Future Me up for the way I’m feeling right now. I hear him come back inside and go to the living room. He has not changed his mind. I roll onto my side and imagine tomorrow, the possibility of the two of us picking this back up in Beechwood.
Oh my God, my kids. I sit straight up. This is another nightmare I have, of course, where I’m far away and can’tget to them. The car won’t start, I can’t make the phone work. But this is real. I am four hours from home in another state, and Pete’s bringing them home at ten tomorrow morning. I text Ethan: You still awake?
Ethan: Yes
Me: I just remembered I’m a person. What’s our plan for getting back to Beechwood?
Ethan: I set my alarm for 4:30, we’ll leave by 5, get you there by 9
I can’t believe anyone ever tried to tell me this man is unreliable. Me: Oh okay, thanks
Ethan: Are you freaking out yet?
I smile at my phone. Me: just about my kids
Ethan: I’ll get you there on time. Good night
Against all odds, I fall asleep.
25
I’ve also set my alarm for four thirty because I’m the mother and the person with the responsibility to get home. When it goes off, it’s still dark out, and I briefly don’t know where I am. I get up and find my way to the bathroom. I splash water on my face and finger-comb my hair.
When I come out of the bathroom, my dry clothes are waiting, folded on the made bed. He’s left me a toothbrush and I am oddly moved by this, another adult thinking of my needs and comfort. I hold the toothbrush in my hand like it’s an engagement ring.
I get dressed and find Ethan in the kitchen. He’s sitting at the counter, drinking coffee and opening his mail, and I don’t know how to approach him. Can I walk right over to him and put my arms around him, riding the momentum of last night? He looks up from his mail and smiles. “Hey,” he says, and I get a melty feeling all over.
“Hey,” I say, and don’t move.
“There’s coffee, but no milk,” he says.
“That’s fine.” Coffee gives me a reason to move my feet.I pour myself half a cup and stand on the other side of the kitchen island. There are three feet between us, but it feels like more.
“Thank you for drying my clothes,” I say, finally. “I left yours on the bed.”
He smiles at me, so comfortable here in his body, his home, his town. “Come here.” I don’t know why I need the invitation, but I do. He pulls me into a hug and it feels dangerously good. He kisses my hair and then takes a big breath. “I need to get you home, and for some reason I’m super worried about your kids seeing me drop you off, walk-of-shame style. So let’s get moving.”
“You can fallasleep,” he says once we’re on the highway.
“I would never. That’s such bad passenger etiquette.”
“Okay, good, then tell me some things.”
“I feel like you know all my things. You’re my fake lawyer and I cry in front of you all the time.”
“True.” He’s quiet and I watch him watch the road. He catches me looking and smiles. “I promise I’m going to get you home on time.”
I like that he’s worried about it. There’s no traffic and we should get home with enough time to spare that I can shower and change and get myself back to normal. But I have a feeling there’s no getting back to normal.
As we drive in the dark, dogs snoring in the back, the sun rises slowly over the long ribbon of highway. I feel like we are sealed in our own world, and things are easy between us again. In the same way that I talk to my mom, I just saythings to Ethan. I tell him about my mom’s illness and how badly I handled everything. I tell him that I knew my marriage was over before I was pregnant with Cliffy, but I wasn’t ready to know it. We talk about Frannie. He says he’s grateful that she wants to run the diner because he never would. He confesses that he’s never liked her signature sandwich, ham on a biscuit.
What we don’t talk about is last night. Something monumental inside of me has cracked open, and he’s the only other person who knows. I want to say,Wow. So, last night was kind of intense, right?and have him agree with me that taking this to the next level is a great idea. I want him to hold my hand while he drives.
Instead, I say, “You’re really going to sell the house?”
“I am,” he says.
“You never feel like you want to be a Hogan and live in the center of town and pick up where your parents left off?” Last night I fell asleep imagining waking up in that house with Ethan. And going to bed in that house with Ethan.
