Ethan, Who Loved Carter (4 page)

“I’m not supposed to tell people when I do that. It’s okay in private, but I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Ethan. You can talk about it to me.”

Ethan looked at Carter through a side glance, not ready to face him full-on. “You don’t mind that I made semen because of you?”

Ethan never saw anybody turn red like that. It took over Carter’s skin color from his neck up to his ears. “I… I… I….” Carter squeezed his eyes shut, but the music in him flung his hands into the air.

“You’re really cute,” Ethan said. “And I like you a lot. I knew I would as soon as I saw you.”

Carter opened his eyes. “I like… like you too, but this is a lot to tuh-t-take in right now. Can I….” He stomped his feet, one two, but the carpet muffled the sound. “Can I walk you home? It’s almost seven anyway.”

“We’re still friends?” If they weren’t, Ethan didn’t know what he’d do.

“Yes.” Carter smiled and his arms swung loose from where he’d crossed them over his chest.

“Okay.” Ethan shouldn’t have worried. Carter had brought him flowers. Of course they were still friends. Friends forever.

A
T
E
THAN
’
S
home, Carter declined Liz’s offer of a glass of lemonade and, with more regret, fresh-from-the-oven cookies. Ethan forgot Carter existed and hurtled toward the kitchen the moment he smelled them, so leaving was no problem. Carter slipped out as soon as he could. He almost wanted to tell Liz he’d kissed Ethan, but what was he going to say? “I kissed your brain-damaged son, is that all right with you?” He fled before he could betray his nerves.

Keeping the secret to himself, he went back home. Later, he called Alice as he unpacked his music books and unearthed his box of DVDs. “I never met anyone with brain damage,” she said. “I mean, not anyone I spent more than a few minutes with. I don’t know what to tell you. Is he, like, I mean, did you feel like you took advantage of him?”

“He kissed me back,” Carter said, which was the best answer he could give. He’d been going back and forth on that question since the kiss happened. Ethan had seemed to like it, but even in the short time Carter had known him he could tell that Ethan lacked impulse control, and “liking” something and “understanding” it were two different things.
Stop it
, he scolded himself. He’d known Ethan for a single afternoon. It wasn’t any of his business to decide Ethan’s capacity for understanding Carter’s reasoning when he threw himself at him, especially not if it meant judging Ethan. Hell,
Carter
hardly understood what he’d done.

“Oh.” Alice sounded equally dissatisfied. “Did you kiss him because of your TS?”

“I lost control. I don’t know if I can blame it on the Tourette’s. I wanted to kiss him.”

“What about that tic phase when you were grabbing people?”

“Never got a hard-on from that. Almost got a black eye, though.”

Alice laughed. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You’re a load of help.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll figure it out. I guess I’ll talk to his mother.”

“You’re going to tell her what happened?” It was hard to tell if Alice sounded scandalized or enthusiastic.

“No way. I’m just going to ask her about him. You know, as Ethan’s new friend.” He lay down on the floor. “Say something to make me feel better.”

“Ethan might have told her already.”

Carter dug his fingers into the carpet. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, soothing the shock away. “Not helping. So not helping.”

A
N
IMPATIENT
flurry of doorbell rings dragged Carter from the kitchen, where he was contemplating his coffeemaker, to the front door. Opening it, he found a sullen-faced teenage boy standing on his doorstep. He wore a sleeveless shirt, and his shoulders were a furious red under the midmorning sun. He didn’t wait for Carter to speak. “We’re going to the beach today. You wanna come? My mom said I had to ask you.”

Carter, half-asleep, leaned out the door to see if the boy’s mother was waiting in a car, but the street was clear. Maybe this was a neighborhood gathering and the boy was going door to door. He showed no inclination to introduce himself. “I guess?” Carter said.

“We leave at three. Bring your own towel.” The boy turned to go. Halfway down the sidewalk he turned back and yelled, “If you want me to mow your lawn, it’s thirty-five dollars. I did it for the last people.”

“I’ll think about it,” Carter said.

“Whatever.” He stepped off the sidewalk and trudged across the grass toward Ethan’s house and up the steps to the porch. He must be the younger brother. Elliot. Of course. He didn’t look much like Ethan, but Carter saw the resemblance between him and Liz. Which meant he’d just agreed to go to the beach with the Hart family.

Well. He wondered where ogling Ethan in a swimsuit fell in the space between being attracted to him and questioning if he’d taken advantage of him. As he closed the door, he hoped to God that Ethan hadn’t told anyone what had happened. Feeling guilty, he pushed the thought away. If Ethan wanted to tell someone, he should. Carter was embarrassed, that was all.

He spent the rest of the morning unpacking to find his swimsuit. He looked forward to the afternoon in equal parts of dread and anticipation.

E
THAN
dropped his sweatpants into the laundry basket in his closet. After pulling his swim trunks from the labeled box on the shelf in front of him, he sat on his bed to pull them on. He checked that the knot at his waist was tied and stood up. On his desk, he had his beach supplies laid out according to a list that he kept in a pocket of his beach bag. He placed them one by one inside it. Towel, shirt and shorts, sunglasses, sunscreen, iPod with earbuds, and a well-read paperback copy of
The Complete Sherlock Holmes
. The sand toys stayed downstairs in the mudroom to be grabbed on the way to the car. Ethan checked each item again. All present. Bag zipped, Ethan stepped away from the desk. He turned sideways in front of the mirror and sucked his stomach in. He didn’t think he was fat, but Elliot teased him about it sometimes. Ethan figured Elliot was jealous because even “fat” Ethan had more sex than Elliot. Two weeks ago, a cute guy had told Ethan he had a nice package, and then they’d had sex.
That
guy hadn’t said anything about Ethan being pudgy, except for praising Ethan’s
fat cock
.

Someone behind Ethan cleared his throat. Ethan turned away from the mirror and saw Carter standing in his doorway. Carter looked great! He wore Bermuda shorts and a pair of flip-flops. His T-shirt said “Chris Isaak” and had a guitar on it. It was tight across his chest, so Ethan could tell Carter had broad, strong muscles, even though he was a small guy. He hoped Carter would take his shirt off at the beach.

“Hi!” Hurrying over, Ethan gave Carter a hug. Carter felt warm, probably because he’d been outside. The back of his neck was red, like a sunburn, but it faded when Ethan let go.

“Your mom said you were up here. Can I come in?” Carter asked. He tapped the doorjamb twice, treating it with his music. Ethan liked that Carter brought his music into his room.

“Yeah. Do you like my room?” Ethan picked his shirt up off his bed and pulled it on. It was green like his swim trunks.

“It’s great.” Carter came in and sat down on the bed. Ethan thought about what he wanted to show Carter first, but Carter looked serious and it made Ethan feel shy. He looked for his favorite CD in his desk because Carter would like that.

“Do you have everything you need for the beach?” Carter asked.

“Yes.” Ethan only paid half-attention to the question. He was always in charge of his things, but people still asked.

“I was just making conversation. I wasn’t asking to check up on you or anything.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Carter started humming. It sounded nice. Ethan hummed too. He liked having a friend he could sing with. He turned around with his CD and kissed Carter on the lips.

Carter pushed Ethan away with his hands on Ethan’s shoulders. He didn’t push hard, but Ethan got the point. Carter didn’t want to be kissed, even though Carter had kissed him yesterday, and they’d been singing together then. He backed away and stood with his arms crossed. He wanted Carter to go, but then Carter twitched his neck. Ethan counted five twitches in total. Ethan tapped out the rhythm on his leg. Then he looked at Carter’s face and it was scrunched up and miserable.

“Are you okay?” Ethan glanced at the door. Maybe Mom would know what to do.

“I’m fuh… f-fine. Just guh-g-give me a second.” Carter squeezed his eyes shut until the twitches stopped. Sweat that hadn’t been there before glistened on Carter’s forehead. He wiped it away with his arm. “Ethan, yesterday, I shouldn’t have kissed you. I got carried away and I’m sorry.”

“I liked that you kissed me,” Ethan said.

Carter wiped his face. “You did?”

Sitting beside him, Ethan touched Carter’s leg. “Yeah.”

Carter slapped the bed sheet. Ethan jumped, but it was Carter’s music coming out when Carter didn’t want it to. He shoved his hand under his leg. Ethan chewed his lip. Maybe if Carter understood him, they could kiss again. “When I was eighteen, I was rollerblading and a car hit me.” Ethan didn’t like to talk about it because it gave people expectations that he would get back to how he used to be if he tried hard enough. “I had therapy,” he said, in order to cut Carter’s thoughts off from going in that direction, “for a long time, but I don’t anymore. This is how I am now.”

“Well, I like you the way you are,” Carter said.

“You would have liked me Before too.” He was protective of his old self—what little he could remember—even if it was like thinking of a different person.

“I’m sure I would have,” Carter said. He pulled his hand from beneath his leg. It sat quiet on his knee. “Ethan, do you think we’re boyfriends?”

“You kissed me.” Let Carter try to deny that.

“Being someone’s boyfriend is more complicated than that.”

“I like you.” People always made things more difficult than they were.

“I like you too,” Carter said.

Ethan uncrossed his arms, but only because it was easier to make fists if they were at his side. “It’s not complicated.”

“Ethan—”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend or not?”

“We just met. I like you, I do. I want to be your friend. Okay?”

Ethan stared at the wallpaper border that ran along the wall beneath the ceiling. It was deep blue and it had stars that glowed at night. Carter made little noises like
click click
with his tongue. “You’ll still play guitar for me? And I can sing?”

“Yes. But no kissing.”

“Okay I guess.” He’d rather have that than nothing at all, but he wasn’t going to be happy about it.

“Do you want to know a secret? Since you told me about your accident?”

“Okay.” Ethan couldn’t imagine what secret Carter might have.

“Yesterday, when I played for you, that was the first time I’ve played for anyone I just met in a long time.”

“Really?” Ethan couldn’t believe that. Carter had been so good.

“It’s true. I don’t like to do it, but I liked playing for you. My parents are really into music; that’s why I’m named Carter. It’s after—”

“The Carter Family,” Ethan said.

“Uh, yeah.” Carter’s slow smile spread across his face. “How’d you know?”

“My parents are into music too. And I have a lot of friends who play. You’ll meet them today.”

Carter nodded. He seemed to be thinking it over. “Okay. Cool.” Ethan slapped him on the back. Today was going to be fun.

“You boys come on, it’s almost time to go!” Mom called from downstairs.

“Coming!” Picking up his beach bag, Ethan walked out the door, leaving Carter to follow.

W
HILE
Ethan went into the bathroom, Carter wandered downstairs. He found Ethan’s parents in the kitchen. His father stood in front of the counter with a spread of sandwich fixings on it.

“Looks good,” Carter said.

Liz finished pouring lemonade into a cooler. “Hi, Carter. We like to take a picnic.”

“Do you need any help?”

“You could get the chips out of the cupboard.” She pointed.

“So you’re Carter. Nice to meet you.” Ethan’s father wiped his hand on his Bermuda shorts and held it out for a shake. Whereas dark-haired and small-boned Elliot favored Liz, Ethan was the spitting image of his father: tall, broad-shouldered, and high cheekbones behind otherwise soft features and that same vibrant red hair; however, Mr. Hart’s was a lighter shade.

“Hello, Mr. Hart,” Carter said. Despite the precaution, Mr. Hart’s hand retained a faint whiff of deli meats that transferred to Carter.

“Call me Nolan. We grew up in the sixties and have the pictures to prove it.”

“And some of the same clothes,” Liz said. “Although Ethan wears them now.”

“Sorry,” Carter said. “Where I’m from, we always go with ‘mister’ and ‘miss’, no matter how old we are.”