Waiting For Ethan (8 page)

T
he sound of sleet pelting the roof wakes me early Monday. I check my phone for messages from Ethan, but there are none. He drove to New Hampshire yesterday morning to look for Brady, but when we spoke at bedtime, the dog was still missing. Ethan promised to text if anything changed. All night, I tossed and turned, wondering where he was sleeping. Now I type him a quick message:
Any luck?
Thirty minutes later, I'm showered and dressed for work, but Ethan still hasn't responded.

Outside, my car is encapsulated in layers of ice. I struggle to get the key in the sleet-covered lock. I finally manage, but the door won't open because it, too, is frozen. I brace my boot on the side of the car and pull with all my might. The door doesn't budge. I try again. I hear a loud
snap
and see the ice cracking apart. The door springs open, throwing me backward. The side of my face smacks against the frozen ground. I cry out and remain lying on the hard, cold ground. After a few seconds, I struggle to my feet. In the car, I look in the visor mirror. A big red welt appears just below my left eye. Excellent start to the week.

Twenty minutes later, after chipping the sleet off my front and back windshields, I back out of my driveway. Still no word from Ethan. As I turn off my street, a sander going the other directions blasts my car. The salt and pebbles ping against my door. The side of the road I am driving on hasn't been treated yet, and my car slips and slides at every corner. Finally, I make it to the highway, where I merge into an endless line of brake lights. I glance at my silent phone on the passenger seat every few minutes as the car inches forward. From behind, sirens approach. A few seconds later, a police car, fire truck, and ambulance pass in the breakdown lane. The traffic comes to a dead stop. I settle back into my seat. The DJ reads a list of school cancellations, and I change the station, pressing buttons until I land on a Kelly Clarkson song. I sing along. The driver in front of me flicks cigarette ashes out his window. The song ends, and now the DJ on this station starts to announce school closings.

 

Several songs later, the traffic still isn't moving but my phone finally rings. “He was at a neighbor's a few streets over,” Ethan announces. “He didn't have his tags. She didn't know who he belonged to.”

“Why wasn't he wearing his tags?”

“Leah, man. Took his collar off.” He sighs. “Who knows why?” The driver behind me blasts his horn. “What's that?” Ethan asks.

I tell him about my morning and the welt on my face. “Oh babe, I'm sorry.” I wince at his words, remembering how he called Leah the same thing, and again wonder where he spent last night. Would it make me sound overly jealous if I ask him? “How about I take you to dinner tonight to make up for your rough morning?” he asks.

 

By lunchtime, the sleet has turned to a hard downpour. Because it's so nasty, the cafeteria is more crowded than usual. Luci and I stand in line for the salad bar. A few feet in front of us, a skinny guy from accounting sneezes, spraying the cover protecting the lettuce and other ingredients. Luci and I exchange a look, return our plastic containers to the stack where we got them, and head for the deli.

Cooper and Gail Germain are the last two in line. We step in behind them. Gail is bending Cooper's ear, and neither notices us. “It took them over a week,” she says. “And almost every word was rewritten. Unnecessary edits.”

Luci elbows me.

“I'm sure they had their reasons,” Cooper says.

Gail folds her arms across her chest. “It wasn't any better. Just a week late.”

I fight the urge to kick her. “I'm sure they enhanced it,” Cooper says. “Gina and Luci do a good job.”

Luci clears her throat. Gail and Cooper both turn. I wave. Luci places her hands on her hips. “We didn't just enhance it. We made it readable.” She looks directly at Gail. “You should take a remedial grammar class.”

Gail starts to respond, but Cooper interrupts. “Gina, what happened to your face?” He steps toward me. Then, most unexpectedly, he raises his hand and touches my bruise. All the sound from the café disappears. He gently rubs the injury with the tips of his fingers. My legs feel wobbly. Why is Cooper Allen touching me? I rest my hand on Luci's shoulder to keep my balance while stepping backward out of his reach.

His ears redden. “Looks like it hurts,” he says.

“It does,” I answer, but I can't look at him.

“Did you ice it?”

I nod, still looking at the ground. I hear the guy behind the deli counter yell, “Next!” Gail says Cooper's name, and a second later he's ordering a roast beef sandwich.

I finally look up. Luci's studying me with her head cocked. “What?” I ask.

“I think you know,” she says.

 

I get home at six o'clock to find Ethan's Jeep in my driveway. It's angled so his headlights illuminate the area under the broken motion light. A ladder leans against the house, and he stands near the top removing the old bulb and screwing in a new one. I smile, thinking this is exactly something my imaginary Ethan would have done. As I make my way across the driveway and up the stairs to the landing, I notice the ground I'm walking on is covered with a blue pebble-like substance. An almost empty bottle of Ice Melt rests on the hood of Ethan's car.

He climbs down the ladder and embraces me on the walkway. “Hey, you.” He rubs my bruise with his thumb. “Poor baby,” he says as he kisses it. I hold him tightly, not wanting to let go, ever. “What do you say we head out to eat?” he asks as he pulls away from me to collapse his ladder. “I'm starving.”

As we drive to the restaurant, he tells me about the search for Brady and the joy he felt when he saw him. “I took him on a really long walk this morning. It was hard to say good-bye.” The light in front of us turns yellow, and Ethan steps on the gas. I clutch the handle on the door. “I miss 'em so much,” he mumbles.

“Wait, what?” I ask, not sure if he said
him
or
them
. He glances at me, but says nothing. “Who do you miss?” I ask, trying to make my voice as neutral as possible.

“Brady,” he says quickly. “I miss Brady.” Now he's right on the bumper of the small car in front of us.

“Where did you stay last night?” The words are out before I even know I'm going to ask the question.

He jerks the steering wheel, moving into the left lane, and zooms past the car in front of us. “In the guest room, Gina,” he answers with a tone that makes me feel as if I've been reprimanded. We drive in silence for the rest of the way to the restaurant. Ethan pulls in to the parking lot and kills the ignition. As I unfasten my seat belt, he places his hand just above my knee and squeezes. “Hey,” he says. “I told Leah about you.”

“What did you say?”

He leans toward me and pulls me into his arms. “Told her I met a great girl.” He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear and kisses me. It's the kind of kiss that makes me want to skip dinner and head back to my apartment. I swear he knows it, too, because when he pulls away, he gives me that cocky smile. “I have to eat,” he says. “I haven't had anything all day.” I climb out of the Jeep wondering if he can read my thoughts or if I actually spoke them out loud.

Mariachi music plays in the lobby as we enter and another party waits to be seated. Ethan and I pull off our gloves and unzip our coats. I realize I'm still wearing my work access badge around my neck and lift it over my head. Ethan takes it from me and studies it silently. “Wow,” he finally says. “You look . . .” He abruptly stops speaking and hands me back the badge.

“I look what?”

“Never mind,” he says.

I study the photo. I can tell by how frizzy my hair is that it was raining the day the picture was taken. The photographer zoomed in so close on my face that you can almost count the pores on my nose. “What an ugly picture.”

Ethan shakes his head. “No, Gina. You're beautiful.” He kisses me on the cheek. “You could never look ugly.” His words sound sincere, but something about his expression looks haunted.

The hostess is ready to seat us and leads us to a booth against the back wall, next to a family with three small children. A toddler in a booster seat points at my face. “Boo-boo,” he says.

“Yes, boo-boo.” I smile.

“Don't point, Aidan,” his mother says and lowers the boy's small hand back to the table.

I slide into the booth opposite Ethan and study his face as he reads the menu. Our kids will probably have brown eyes like me. I hope they get his straight, shiny hair and the cleft in his chin. Ethan looks up at me and smiles. Please let them have my teeth.

“I can't even remember the last time I had Mexican,” he says. “Leah hates it.” Just like that, the image of Ethan and my children vanishes. I must frown because Ethan closes his menu. “Shit.” He says it so loudly that the mother at the next table gives us a dirty look. “Jack warned me not to talk about Leah. Sorry.”

“That's okay,” I lie as the busboy arrives with chips and salsa.

Ethan reaches for a chip and soaks it in the dip, which leaves a trail across the table as he lifts the chip to his mouth. “So, tell me about other advice from Jack,” I say as Ethan chews.

He swallows. “I can't give those secrets away.” He winks.

The waitress arrives to take our order. She's a blond, fair-skinned girl of about nineteen or twenty. Her name tag says Rosalita, but I'd bet anything her name's Britney or Taylor or something like that. She reads the specials from a notepad. “Chicken in a chocolate mole sauce,” she says, pronouncing it like a bump on the skin or the animal.

“Mo-lay,” I correct.

She writes something in her notebook and turns to Ethan. “And for you?”

“No,” I say. “I don't want the mole. I was just—Never mind. I'll have chicken fajitas.”

She scribbles something and turns back to Ethan. He orders shrimp fajitas and jumbo strawberry margaritas for each of us.

“Tell me about Jack,” I say when she leaves.

Ethan smiles. “Jack's the man. Always has my back. He was the best man at my . . .” He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

The waitress returns with our drinks. The glasses are filled so high that the contents overflow and drip onto the table. I take a large sip to make room in the cup. All I can taste is tequila. For a few minutes, we sip in silence.

“Has Jack ever been married?” I ask, not sure why I'm so curious about this guy.

“No way,” Ethan says. “He's had, like, two girlfriends his whole life. Leah set him up with both of them.” He removes the straw from his drink and takes a huge gulp. “Do you have any friends you can introduce him to?”

The only single friend I have is Luci, and I don't want her breaking this guy's heart. “None that would be a match.”

“How can you say that when you haven't even met him?” Ethan asks. From across the restaurant I hear the sizzling of vegetables on a hot plate approaching. “My friends aren't good enough for yours?”

I think he's kidding, but I'm not really sure. “I only have one single friend,” I say. “She's still recovering from her divorce.”

He slumps in his seat but doesn't say anything.

The waitress arrives and places the sizzling fajita vegetables in front of Ethan. Behind her, the busboy deposits a plate with chicken mole and brown rice in front of me. “I ordered the chicken fajitas,” I say.

Rosalita consults with her notepad. “Says here chicken mole.”

“Mo-lay,” the busboy and I correct.

“Right, that's what I gave you,” our waitress says.

I exhale. “Never mind. I'll eat this.”

“So,” Ethan says after they leave. “Come over Saturday. You can meet Jack. I'll cook you dinner, and if it goes well, breakfast, too.”

I laugh. “Did you really just use that cheesy line on me?” I really am horrified.

“Pretty bad, huh?” Ethan hangs his head.

“Terrible.”

“Cut me some slack,” he says, assembling his fajita. “I'm brand spanking new to this dating thing.”

E
ight fifteen in the morning has become my favorite part of the day. That's what time Ethan calls. Usually I'm merging off the highway and onto the long, curvy single lane road that winds around the reservoir to my office park. Typically Ethan is in line at the drive-through at Dunkin' Donuts. He gets a box of munchkins and four medium coffees for him and the three other guys on his construction crew. This week they are renovating a kitchen on the south shore.

“The lady says she's going to cook us all a gourmet dinner when it's done,” he says. “She's pretty cool.” He mumbles something that sounds like
“keep the change.”
“She gave me a recipe for chicken potpie. I'm going to make it for you tomorrow night.”

“Looking forward to it,” I say.

“I got her recipe for Belgian waffles, too,” he says. “Maybe I'll make them for breakfast. Think you'll still be around?” He has trouble finishing the sentence because he's laughing so hard.

“You are the king of bad lines,” I say.

“And you're my queen.”

 

“What's on for the weekend?” Luci asks when I get to the office. She is sitting at her desk eating a blueberry muffin. I notice there's one waiting for me on my desk, as well.

I hang up my coat and position myself behind my desk before answering. “Ethan's cooking me dinner at his place.” I break off a piece of muffin.

“Cooking you dinner,” she says with a wink.

Even though it's my best friend I'm talking to, I feel myself blushing and suddenly realize how nervous I am about tomorrow.

“Do you want to go to the mall at lunch?” Luci asks. “We could go to Victoria's Secret. I'll help you pick out something for tomorrow night.”

“Thanks. I'm all set.”

“You can't wear your granny underpants,” Luci says, her expression deadly serious. Once while we were shopping, I picked up a three-pack of Jockey briefs, and Luci has never let me hear the end of it. Apparently she only wears thongs or lacy underwear. “I'm serious. Do you have any sexy lingerie?”

I actually do. A red lacy teddy. I've worn it once. The day I tried it on. I blush as I remember thinking that if I bought it, I might get lucky. It was after I took a visualization lunchtime lecture at work. HR insists we attend crap like that once a quarter.

Luci continues to stare at me. In a very quiet voice she asks, “This isn't going to be your first time, is it?”

I glare at her. “Very funny.”

“Then why are you acting so weird?”

“Because it's been a while, and Ethan sounds so confident. What if I disappoint him?”

Luci stretches out her legs so that her feet are resting on the wall behind my desk. “In this area, men are rarely disappointed. They also tend to overpromise and underdeliver.” She reaches for my arm and squeezes it. “You'll be fine. Relax.” Then she gives me her Luci devilish grin. “Are there any questions I can help you with?”

My mother never talked to me about sex. Neesha was the only friend I ever discussed it with, but we were young and inexperienced. Our conversations were mostly about when our first time would be. Neesha planned to wait until college, while I planned to wait until Ethan. When I told Neesha this, she said, “I don't think you should wait until then.”

“Why not?” I wasn't allowed to have my own phone, but the one in the kitchen had an extra-long cord. I stretched it down the hall and into my room.

“You should do it lots of times before you meet him so you're good at it,” Neesha answered.

Before I could respond, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Without waiting for a response, my mother burst into my room. I was lying on the floor next to the door, and it banged against my head. “Ouch!” I screamed. “I'm on the phone.”

“You're going to rip the receiver right out of the wall stretching the cord like that,” my mother yelled.

My father was steps behind her. “Who are you talking to? That better not be long-distance to Texas again or you'll be paying the bill.”

On the other end of the line, Neesha giggled. “I miss Dominick and Angie.” Since moving to Texas, she'd taken to calling my parents by their first names.

“I have to go.”

Now her words bounce around inside my head: “
You should do it lots of times before you meet him so you're good at it.”
While I didn't wait for Ethan, I didn't exactly follow Neesha's advice, either. I am thirty-six years old and have slept with a grand total of two men: Nick Brisas, who was my boyfriend sophomore and junior years at BC, and Ray Palermo, who I dated in my early thirties.

“How many men have you slept with?” I ask Luci.

“I don't know,” she says. “But at least four this month.”

I study her face to see if she is teasing. I don't think she is. “The month isn't even half over.”

Luci stands and shrugs. “Making up for lost time I guess.” Her voice has that tinge of hurt it always has when she's talking about anything that vaguely relates to Kip.

 

For the next few hours, Luci and I work on the stack of documents in our in-box. She is editing one of Gail's reports and occasionally reads a nonsensical sentence out loud. “What do you think she means?” she asks, exasperated.

I look at her and shrug, glad to be working on one of Cooper's reports. He is actually a decent writer, and I am flying through it. I finish it just before lunch and e-mail it back to him. “Great report,” I write.

Within minutes of me hitting the Send button, my office phone rings. “Hey, I have some bad news.” It's Ethan.

“What's wrong?”

“Leah called,” he sneers. “She told me she packed all my stuff into boxes. She's going out of town this weekend, and she said if they're still there when she gets back, she's going to take them to the dump.” He is talking three times faster than usual and finally pauses for a breath. “I have to drive to New Hampshire tomorrow to get them. Sorry, but there's no way I'll be able to get there and back in time to cook for you.”

“Why do you still have stuff at Leah's?” I ask.

“Jesus, you sound like her.”

I flinch. He has never spoken to me in such a harsh tone before. I feel Luci staring at me across our desks and spin my chair so that I'm facing the wall behind me.

“I'm sorry, Gina. I shouldn't have said that. It's just that it's still my house, too, and Leah refuses to acknowledge that.” He pauses. “We fought about Brady. That's why she's doing this.”

“Well, do what you need to do. We'll have dinner another time.”

“I'm sorry,” he says again. “Thanks for understanding.”

By the time I hang up and spin around, Luci is back on the corner of my desk. “What's going on?”

“Leah's threatening to throw away all of Ethan's stuff so he has to go to New Hampshire tomorrow and get it. He won't be back in time to cook me dinner.” I work hard to make my voice sound like it's no big deal.

“He still has stuff there? How long have they been separated?”

I shrug. “A month or so.”

Luci sighs. “Gina, walk away. Really, he has no business starting a new relationship right now.”

“It's fine.”

Luci stands. “No, it's not.” She reaches into her purse for her wallet. “Let's go to lunch.”

As I get up, my phone rings again. “Hey,” Ethan says. “You don't think I still have my stuff at Leah's because I want to move back there?”

“Do you?”

“Of course not. I just haven't had time to drive up there and get it. That's all.”

“Well, get it all this weekend and be done with it.”

“I have an idea,” Ethan says. His voice has the same playful tone from this morning's call. “Why don't you come with me? It's a long ride. I'd love the company. And, I could, umm, take you for dinner and breakfast up there.”

“You want me to go to New Hampshire with you?”

“We'll get a hotel room and spend the weekend. I'll show you the White Mountains. It'll be fun.”

Luci taps me on the shoulder. I didn't even notice her walk over here. She violently shakes her head. I spin my chair away from her, but she turns it back. Ethan is saying something about waterfalls and how beautiful the White Mountains are. I watch Luci pick up a pen and write the words
“Don't go!”
on my desk blotter.

She's probably right. I shouldn't go. On the other hand, I am thirty-six years old and single. I've spent the past twenty-two years waiting for a man named Ethan, and now here he is, asking me to go away for the weekend. “I'd love to go with you.”

Luci stands straight up with her hands on her hips and stomps out of the room. When Ethan and I finish our conversation, I catch up with her at the elevator. Peter from the mailroom is also there. He's dressed in a large red T-shirt with gold letters that say I'
LL
N
EVER
T
ELL
.

“What does that mean?” I ask as Luci pushes the button for the second floor.

“I'll never tell,” Peter answers. Luci turns to look at him. They both laugh.

“I guess I walked into that.”

“Yeah, seems like you don't know what you're walking into today,” Luci says.

Peter raises his eyebrows at me, but I ignore him. “Hey, ladies, it's Friday. A bunch of us are heading to Last Chance after work. Want to join us?”

The doors slide open. “I'll think about it,” Luci says.

I step out of the elevator and almost collide with Cooper. He's carrying a plate with four chocolate chip cookies and a small carton of chocolate milk. “Is that your lunch?” I ask.

“The lines for real food are too long. I don't have time to wait, which reminds me, I have to push our three o'clock this afternoon to four thirty, okay?” he says as he boards the lift.

“Jesus, Cooper,” Luci answers. “Four thirty on a Friday. Are you asking her to a meeting or on a date?”

Cooper's cheeks flush, but the elevator doors close before anyone says anything else.

Back in our office, Luci and I sit across from each other at our desks eating our salads. “It's a really bad idea for you to go to the house Ethan shared with his wife.” She points her fork at me. “Really bad idea.”

“It's not a big deal. We're stopping by for a few minutes to pick up some boxes. Leah won't even be there.”

“You don't get it, Gina.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “My divorce was the worst time of my life.” She balls the napkin up and tosses it into the garbage can. “I know you don't want to hear this, but a guy going through a divorce has no business dating. He needs to process why his marriage failed and then get over it. Stay away from him. Give him time.”

“He's the one who pursued me.”

“He's reeling, Gina, and he's just looking for a warm body to hold on to.”

“So he doesn't really like me, is that what you're saying?”

She leans back in her chair. “I'm saying he has no idea what he's doing right now. I had such a hard time getting over my divorce. I'm not even sure I'm over it now.” She pauses and studies her nails. “I did so many stupid things that I wish I could take back.”

“Like what?”

She stands and walks to the corner of my desk. “Promise not to tell anyone?”

“Yes.”

She looks down. “I slept with Peter.” She looks up and into my eyes. I laugh and wait for her to smile. She doesn't. “I'm serious.”

There's not even a hint of amusement on her face. “Peter, from the mailroom?” She nods. “Shut up. You didn't.”

She nods. “I did.”

“Where did you do it, the mailroom?”

“Actually . . .” She smiles and taps my desk.

“Gross!” I pull open my bottom drawer, take out my Clorox Wipes, and scrub the spot she just pointed at.

Back in her chair, Luci laughs. “I'm kidding. About your desk, not about Peter.” I study her face and see no hints that she's joking or lying. “Do you remember that night we played darts with him at Last Chance?”

I feel my stomach turning as I remember Peter, all two hundred fifty pounds of him, in his black and gold Bruins shirt, and his sweaty, ruddy face, making a bull's-eye and then grabbing Luci and kissing her on the lips. “Yes.”

“Well, I had too much to drink so he gave me a ride home. It just happened.”

I remember wanting to leave but Luci insisting she wasn't ready. “Don't worry. I'll be sure she gets home safely,” Peter had said while stroking his goatee.