Waiting For Ethan (14 page)

B
rady's barking wakes us early on Sunday. He's standing on Ethan's side of the bed with his two front paws on the mattress. Ethan rolls toward him and pats his head. “Someone's excited to see Mommy today.” He jumps out of bed with more energy than he usually has and takes Brady outside while I lie there wondering if he was talking about himself or the dog.

Ever since he told me that he and Leah decided to make the divorce less contentious and share custody of Brady, I've noticed an extra bounce in his step. Is he hoping less contentious will lead to amicable and then to a reconciliation?

No point in lying here worrying about it. I get up and go to the window. My downstairs neighbor, dressed in a blue terry-cloth bathrobe, is pointing at Brady and saying something to Ethan, who is listening with his arms folded across his chest. When my neighbor is done speaking, he stomps across the lawn back to the walkway. A few seconds later, I hear the door downstairs slam. Crap. I'm not allowed to have pets in my apartment, and I'm pretty sure that's what the discussion was all about.

When Ethan comes back inside, he confirms my suspicion. “The barking woke him up. Says he's going to call the landlord if he sees Brady here again.” I expect Ethan to be pissed, but he laughs and shrugs. Does he not care because he's planning to reconcile with Leah today? Should I be encouraging him to work things out with her? She is his wife, after all. I glance at the urn on the coffee table, wishing I could dump out the contents and put Ajee back together and make her tell me what I'm supposed to do.

Twenty minutes later, Ethan is singing in the shower. I don't recognize the song, but it's upbeat and hopeful and it depresses me. When he emerges from the bathroom, he's dressed in pleated gray Dockers and my favorite button-down shirt. It's bright blue and makes his eyes pop. I imagine that when Leah sees him in that shirt and is reminded of the tender way Ethan treats Brady, she'll realize she's made a big mistake.

“Do you want company for the ride?” I blurt out.

“Probably not a good idea,” he says after a long pause. “I don't want to rub it in her face that I'm, you know, with someone.”

I try to keep my expression neutral, but I'm sure my disappointment shows, because Ethan pulls me into his arms. “I'll come back.”

It takes me a second to realize he's talking about today, not answering my unspoken question.

 

Ethan thought he'd be back by three. It is now four, and I haven't heard from him. In my mind, Leah ran into his arms when she saw him at the restaurant. “I made a big mistake. Forgive me,” she pleaded. Ethan kissed her, and then the two of them and Brady drove off to their home in Glory to live happily ever after.

I spend the next several minutes imagining how Ethan will break the news to me. In the very worst scenario, he shows up at my doorstep with his arm around Leah. “Stay away from my husband,” she says. Then she shoves me as Ethan looks on, laughing. In another version, he sends Jack to tell me. “I tried to warn you, but you wouldn't listen.” His eyes scan my apartment. “Any chance Luci's here?”

More likely, Ethan will send a text:
“Great news, Leah's giving me another chance.”
I decide I will be happy for him.
“True love prevails,”
I will write back. This last thought bounces around in my mind like a pinball. Something about it rings true. Ethan does love Leah. I will never be his first choice. I will be the one he settled for because Leah does not love him back.

 

To distract myself I check my e-mail. I have one message from my mother:
“Mrs. Bonnano's son arrived yesterday. He is very pleasant and has a nice sense of humor. I wish you would come down next weekend to meet him. Love, Mom. P.S. The old women down here are having a terrible time remembering his name and he answers to almost anything. He probably wouldn't mind if you called him Ethan.”

I can imagine her laughing as she typed that last part. She probably thought it was so funny that she read it out loud to my father. Then I see her laughter ending abruptly and hear her inhale. “She's going to end up alone because of that meddling old woman.”

I should write and tell her that I finally met Ethan, but how can I do that when at this very moment he might be reconciling with his estranged wife? “
Dear Mom,
pleasant
and
nice sense of humor
are code words for overweight and receding hairline. Love you, Gina.”

Two minutes later, I receive her response. “
You're almost forty, Gina. Not too many men your age still have their hair or muscles. Miss you, Mom.”

What does she know? Ethan has both, and for that matter, so does Cooper. Oh God, it would serve me right if Ethan reconciles with Leah today after I lied to him about having dinner with Cooper.

By six thirty, I give up waiting for Ethan and make myself a grilled cheese sandwich and french fries. I just finish eating when he slumps through the door. His pained expression and slouched shoulders leave no doubt that it was not the happy reunion I've been envisioning all day. Still, I am not relieved. I get up to hug him. “What's wrong?” I ask, hoping he will tell me it was hard leaving Brady with Leah.

He rests his head on my shoulder. “She brought a friend.” His voice cracks. “Ron.” I pull away to see his face. Is it my imagination or are his eyes filling with tears? “Prick drives a Beemer,” he says. “Spread towels on the backseat so Brady wouldn't soil the leather. What the hell did she bring him for?”

I don't know what's worse, if the happy scenes I imagined between Ethan and Leah came to fruition or seeing him so upset that she's moving on. I really wish he hadn't come back today. Seeing him like this makes it impossible to deny that Jack and Luci are right. Ethan is not over Leah.

I turn my back to him and return to the couch. The urn on the coffee table mocks me. “You will help him get over her, Bella,” I imagine Ajee saying.

Ethan follows me to the couch. “You're upset Leah's moving on. You're not over her.” My voice is barely a whisper.

He doesn't look at me. “It was just weird to see her with someone else.” He runs his hands through his hair. “This guy has some dough. His car. His watch. She was always on me because I don't make enough.” He slides closer. He doesn't just look at me, he caresses my face. His fingertips trace my lips. As always, his touch causes an electric current to ripple through me. I feel myself leaning toward him. It's unfair the way my body betrays me.

“You should have come with me,” he says, pinning me down.

“Why?”

“Because I missed you, babe.” His hands are rough as they slide down my body.

His words and touch both feel like a lie. I push him off me.

“What's wrong?” he asks.

“It's just . . .” I stop because I don't know what's wrong other than it just feels wrong.

A
crowd of wary passengers waits in the baggage area. I scan their faces looking for Neesha. A dark-haired woman leaning against a pole catches my attention. I change positions so I can see her face. Definitely not Neesha. The woman opens her mouth wide to yawn. Great, now I have to yawn, too. Unlike her, though, I cover my mouth with my hand. I go back to searching the people lined up to retrieve their suitcases. A man pushes his way closer to the carousel. He doesn't bother to say “excuse me” to the waiting passengers he bumps along his way. His sense of entitlement infuriates me.
“Who do you think you are?”
I want to shout.

A college-aged girl squeals with excitement and runs toward the sliding glass doors, where she jumps into the arms of a boy her age entering the building. He picks her up and twirls her around. Observing their actions reminds me why I love arrivals. On the other hand, departures depress me, even when I'm traveling to someplace fun. I hate watching people say good-bye. The way they hug, clinging to each other like they might not ever see one another again. The last look over the shoulder as the passenger disappears through the security gate. I'll take arrivals over departures anytime.

A buzzer sounds, followed by a
plunk, plunk
noise that indicates the suitcases are now on the conveyor belt. I study all the dark-haired women, but there is no sign of Neesha. I check my cell phone but I have no new messages. Passengers drag their luggage off the carousel and toward the exit. A few minutes later the crowd has dispersed. One lone hard-shell red suitcase remains going 'round and 'round. I pull the suitcase off the belt and look at the identification tag. I recognize Neesha's messy scrawl before I read her name.

I roll the suitcase to a nearby bench and sit. Down the hall a buzzer sounds as another conveyor belt rolls into action. The exit doors open, and a dark-haired woman holding a cell phone steps inside. She looks at me. I stand, and then we are both running toward each other. “Neesha,” I scream at the same exact time she yells, “Gina Rossi!” We jump up and down as we hug each other. We pull apart and study one other. There is no sign of my lanky fourteen-year-old friend with the long dark ponytail and mischievous closemouthed grin. In her place is a beautiful, tall, curvy woman with long hair that curls around her face and a big toothy smile. She slides her cell phone into the pocket of her mint-green overcoat. “I couldn't get a signal in here so I had to step outside to call Ashley and the kids. Jayda is really upset that I'm gone. It's the first time I've ever left her, so I had to calm her down. Sorry it took so long.”

Neesha tousles my hair. “What happened to the curls?”

I laugh. “I spend forty-five minutes each morning ironing them out.”

“And at the same time I'm probably torturing my hair with the curling iron.” She links her arm through mine, and we head toward the exit. “We always want what we don't have.”

“You look great,” I say as she takes her suitcase from me. “I see so much of your mother in you.”

Neesha pauses. “You remember her?”

“Of course.”

Neesha's eyes well up. “It's so great to see you, Gina. It really is.”

 

Neesha and I are sitting on my couch scrolling through a photo album on her smartphone. Any awkwardness created by all the years of no contact melted away on the drive out of the airport. “This is my favorite,” Neesha says. She hands me the phone. There is a picture of her children, Jayda and AJ, holding hands with Ajee. Ajee's hair, which was salt-and-pepper when she lived across the street, is completely gray, and there are more wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and around her dark eyes. “She was a pain in the ass, but I miss her,” Neesha says.

The urn with Ajee's remains is on the coffee table in front of us. Neesha picks it up. “Jayda's teacher called Ashley and me in for a meeting,” Neesha says. “Apparently Jayda was predicting gloom and doom for her classmates that she doesn't like. She convinced one little boy his parents were going to sell him.” Neesha returns the urn to the table. “Turns out Ajee told Jayda that she, too, has the gift. Of course, Jayda doesn't understand. She thinks that means anything she says will come true.”

“So, Jayda has the gift?”

Neesha crosses her legs under her on the couch. “You always were Ajee's biggest believer.”

I sit up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“You never doubted anything she said.”

“There was no reason to doubt her. The things she said always came true.”

Neesha unfolds her legs and puts her feet back on the floor. “It's always the things she didn't say that bothered me.” She reaches for the urn again, and I have a feeling she's thinking about the lump in her mother's breast that went undetected for so long.

“I think she did the best she could.”

Neesha closes her eyes. “She always liked you. In fact, I think that's one of the reasons she wanted her ashes spread in Westham, so that we'd reunite.”

“Why do you say that?”

Neesha hands me the urn. “She made me promise to spread her ashes at the house on Towering Heights Lane, and then she told me that while I was here I had to find you. She wanted me to tell you that he was close by, nearer than you think. She mumbled something about how history and furniture were making it harder than it should be.” She shrugs. “Ashley and I were convinced she was hallucinating near the end.”

“I met him,” I say. “Soon after I saw Ajee's obituary.” My mouth goes dry with the admission.

“You met Ethan.” Neesha slaps her palm on her knee. “I wasn't even sure you'd still remember her prediction.”

I tell her about how Ethan stopped to help me in a snowstorm and how we've been dating ever since.

“So Ash and I will be coming back to Boston for a wedding soon, then.” She touches my hand as she says it.

“I hope so.”

“Well, I want to meet him. I need to see this guy my grandmother saw so many years ago.”

L
uci, Neesha, and I are meeting Ethan and Jack for drinks at a Chinese restaurant. Luci picked the place. She is already sipping on a Scorpion Bowl when Neesha and I arrive. I see her sizing up Neesha as we make our way to the booth. I imagine at some point in the evening Luci will lean over to me and point at Neesha's orange sweater. “Why's she dressed like a pumpkin?” she'll ask.

Luci stands when Neesha and I reach the table. She hugs me quickly. “I like your outfit, Gina.” Last week at lunch we went shopping, and she picked out the cranberry blouse and brown trousers that I am wearing tonight. Luci extends her hand to Neesha. “Luci Corrigan Chin,” she says. Neesha shakes Luci's hand and introduces herself. “Your sweater is an interesting color,” Luci says.

Neesha points to Luci's cleavage. “Those aren't real, are they?”

I swallow hard, but both Neesha and Luci laugh.

A few minutes later, Ethan and Jack arrive. Jack's face sports the beginning of a goatee, and I wonder if that's because Luci told him she prefers men with facial hair the first time they met. He slides into the booth next to her and stretches his arm out against the backrest. Luci pointedly looks over her shoulder and edges closer to the wall. Ethan kisses me and then reaches across my body to introduce himself to Neesha. “You two look alike,” he says, pointing at Neesha and then me.

Jack leans forward toward Ethan. “You're something else, man. You see a resemblance between Gina and her Indian friend, but you don't think she looks anything like Leah, who just happens to be Caucasian like Gina.”

Neesha's sipping from the Scorpion Bowl and takes her lips off the straw. “Who's Leah?”

Luci pulls the drink toward her. “Leah is Ethan's ex-wife.”

“There's no ex yet,” Jack corrects. “Leah is still Ethan's wife.”

I glare at Jack. Ethan takes my hand.

The waitress stops at our table. She is Chinese and has long black hair. Jack tilts his head toward her. “Let me guess, you think she looks like Gina, too.”

“No,” Ethan says. “I think she looks like Luci.” We all laugh.

Luci drains the rest of the Scorpion Bowl. “We'll need another of these, please.” Ethan and Jack both order beers.

Luci asks Neesha what I was like as a kid. The next hour or so passes without incident as Neesha and I reveal stories from our childhood. “My archnemesis, Patty Ryan, saw Gina and I looking at crib notes during a vocabulary test,” Neesha explains.

“Saw Gina and me,” Luci corrects.

“We're with the grammar police,” Jack warns.

“Saw us looking at crib notes,” Neesha continues. “And she told the teacher, Mr. Moran, right?” Neesha looks at me. I nod. “Gina was scared her mother was going to ground her for life. Meanwhile, she doesn't get punished, and I end up with no TV or phone privileges for two weeks.”

I laugh, remembering when Mr. Moran called my house to talk to my parents. My father answered the phone. After he hung up, he playfully smacked me in the head, “Next time be smart enough not to get caught,” he said, but he never told my mother.

“You didn't get punished for cheating, though,” I remind Neesha. “You got in trouble for doubting Ajee's gift.” The night before the test, Neesha and I locked ourselves in her bedroom to prepare crib sheets, tiny pieces of papers with the definitions, which we taped to the inside of our jean jackets. When I was going home, Ajee walked me to the front door so she could watch me cross the street like she did every night. This time, though, before she pushed open the screen door, she turned to Neesha and me. “Girls, if you cheat on your vocabulary test tomorrow, you will be caught.”

The next day at the bus stop, I asked Neesha if she was going to use her crib notes. “Of course,” she responded.

“But Ajee said we'd get caught.”

Neesha rolled her eyes. “Ajee doesn't know everything, Gina. She just thinks she does.”

When Mr. Moran called the Patels' house that afternoon, Ajee hung up the phone and turned to Neesha and me. “Stupid girls,” she hissed. “I told you that you would be caught.”

“You couldn't have possibly known that,” Neesha answered. “You do not have a psychic gift.”

Ajee gasped, sent me home, and grounded Neesha for two weeks.

“She hated it that I doubted her gift,” Neesha says. “I guess it wasn't until she helped the police find Matthew Colby that I started to consider that maybe she was psychic.”

Ethan tilts the mug in his hand so that the beer sloshes from side to side. “Your grandmother was psychic?”

Neesha leans over me to get closer to Ethan. “How can you not know that?” she asks. “My grandmother was the one who predicted Gina would marry a man named Ethan.”

Oh crap. I can't believe she just said that. The noise in the room dims. The lights get brighter. Ethan's mug freezes in his hand on the way from the table to his mouth. Jack stops shredding his napkin. Luci leans back and rubs her palms together. My face heats up, and my neck gets splotchy. “Speaking of Patty Ryan,” I say, “she's the Realtor selling your old house.”

“Whoa,” Jack whispers.

“Hold on,” Ethan says.

“You didn't tell him.” Neesha figures it out.

Ethan returns his glass to the table. “Her grandmother told you that you'd marry a man named Ethan?” His tone suggests he'd be more likely to believe that Bigfoot just entered the restaurant.

I nod.

“When was this?”

“I was thirteen.”

The mug is back in his hand, and he finishes his beer in one large swallow. “That's nuts.”

A look passes between Jack and Ethan. “How many other Ethans have you dated?” Jack asks.

I shift in my seat. “None.”

Ethan leans over me for a clear view of Neesha. “How often was your grandmother right?”

“Almost always,” Neesha answers.

“Give me some examples,” Ethan demands.

Neesha runs through a litany of Ajee's accurate predictions. Jack listens with a skeptical expression, every so often interjecting, “Bullshit!”

Ethan sits quietly. I can't tell what he's thinking.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Neesha says. “But her predictions came true too many times. She definitely had some kind of gift.”

Luci turns to Ethan. “So, you ready to exchange vows again?”

The muscles in his face tighten. He stands. “Gotta take a leak.”

We're all quiet as he walks away. Jack stops slouching and sits up straight. “Listen, Gina,” he begins. I want to block my ears or start screaming. “Don't get your hopes up. Ethan's still working through his first marriage. It's way too soon for him to be thinking of another.”

“What is your problem?” I pull the Scorpion Bowl closer.

“I like you. I don't want to see you hurt,” Jack continues. “I love Ethan like a brother, but he's not himself these days.”

“What does that mean?”

Jack sighs.

The drink is almost empty. I make a slurping sound as I suck on my straw. Luci pulls the bowl away. “It means that Ethan isn't ready for a serious relationship,” she says.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ethan making his way across the room. He's typing into his phone, and then he slides it into his pocket. When he reaches our table, he leans against the edge. “I'm kind of beat,” he announces. “What do you say we call it a night?”

Jack flags down the waitress. When she arrives, he hands her his credit card without looking at the bill. Luci opens her purse, but Jack stops her before she can pull out her wallet. “Tonight's on me,” he says.

As Jack settles the bill, Ethan walks me, Neesha, and Luci to the door. He holds my hand on the way. When we reach the exit, Luci and Neesha rush to the parking lot while Ethan and I pause in the doorway.

I expect him to say something about Ajee's prediction. Instead, he embraces me without saying a thing. I cling to him until he pulls away. “Good night.” He holds open the door, and I walk through it. When I reach Neesha and Luci talking by my car, I look over my shoulder to wave good-bye, but he is already gone.