‘I’ll be right out.’
‘Why can’t I wait inside?’ Ethan sighed. ‘Come on, I feel like a stalker, loitering out here every night.’
I shook my head firmly. ‘It’s too depressing in there. I won’t be long.’
I scrambled down from the truck and headed up the front path, letting myself in. Today, Mom had made it all the way downstairs: I’d found her in the living room, watching TV in her favourite velour bathrobe.
‘How was your day? Did you eat the sandwich I left in the fridge?’ I pulled the drapes and straightened up, fluffing up the pillows on the couch, and setting an extra blanket on Mom’s lap.
Mom’s eyes drifted briefly to me. ‘Marybeth is out of a coma,’ she replied, engrossed in the show. ‘But Gustav kidnapped her baby, and switched it with the kid they found on the church steps.’
‘Good!’ I cheered, my voice bright. ‘I’m going to heat up that lasagne from last night, I’ll just fix your plate.’
I went into the kitchen and quickly made up a tray. It had taken a while, but I’d worked out a system to keep Mom fed and washed, at the very least. Breakfast was always a battle, but I refused to leave for work until she managed a few bites of toast. I left a packed lunch in the fridge, fixed us dinner every night. Mom had found a routine too: coming downstairs in time to watch her favourite soaps on TV in the afternoon, even reading a little when I managed to get to the library for the thick romance novels she liked. I could almost tell myself it was good, that we had a pattern to our days now. Routine, stability. It was only when I let myself think about it that the bleak reality seemed so laughable: that Mom managing to take a bath would count as a good day; that any time I came home to find her conscious would be a victory.
‘Here you are.’ I re-emerged into the living room and set the tray on her lap. ‘I’ll be back before midnight, call if you need anything.’
‘Are you going out with Ethan?’ Mom asked, distracted.
‘Yes.’ I bit back my frustration at the same question, every night.
Mom smiled at me. ‘He’s a nice boy. Helpful.’
‘Yes, Mom.’ I sighed, making sure she had everything she needed before I went and changed, quickly pulling on jeans and a sweater, and thundering back downstairs. I was back out in Ethan’s truck before five minutes had elapsed.
‘See?’ I said, breathless. ‘All set.’
Ethan gunned the engine but paused. ‘Are you sure she’s OK? We can hang at yours, if you want.’
I couldn’t find the ways to describe how much I didn’t want that. Spending another moment in that house would be more than I could take. It was why I was out with Ethan so much, why his house had become my refuge: warm, and bright, and full of activity, the way a home should be.
‘I promised your mom I’d come for dinner,’ I said instead. ‘Maybe another night.’ I waited for us to pull away, but instead, Ethan was waiting. ‘What?’ I asked, still tense. ‘I’m good to go.’
‘Just one more thing.’ Ethan gave me a crooked grin and then leaned over to kiss me.
I relaxed against him, feeling the warmth of his mouth and the gentle curl of his hand against my cheek. I kissed him back, tasting the mint on his breath. This was always the best part of my day.
Ethan pulled back. ‘Better?’ he whispered.
I smiled. ‘Better.’
Ethan put the truck in drive and pulled away. ‘Now I know why Mom wanted me home on time. She loves you, you know,’ he said, as we headed through the neighbourhood. ‘It’s always Chloe this, and Chloe that, and “when are we going to see more of her?”’ He mimicked his mother’s eager voice.
I laughed. ‘I like her. Both of them. Your parents are great.’
Ethan made a face. ‘I know, it’s just . . . they’re kind of full on. Living at home, working with Dad, it’s hard to get any time alone.’ He gave me a sideways look. ‘You know, that’s another thing about your place.’ He slid his hand over, across my thigh. ‘It’s practically empty. Private.’
I caught his hand, lifting it from my leg and intertwining my fingers through his. ‘We get plenty of privacy,’ I reminded him. ‘And it’s just weird for me, having her there. Not exactly romantic.’
Ethan sighed, but he didn’t press the issue. Since that first night, I’d kept us out of the house. It was a tedious dance, snatching moments between his work and mine; here in the truck, there in his bedroom, his parents downstairs, our music on loud. Sometimes, I wished I could go back, just reset the clock to before I’d asked him to stay, but that wasn’t fair. I wanted this too: the way he made me feel, those moments of escape.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured. ‘For understanding.’
‘Of course, babe.’ Ethan gave me a puzzled smile. ‘Anything for you.’
‘I’ll make it up to you.’ I lifted his hand to my lips, dropping a kiss on his palm. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed like a bitch before.’
‘You could never be a bitch.’ Ethan smiled at me. ‘You’re too sweet for that. My sweet girl.’
We pulled in to the driveway of Ethan’s house, a brightly-lit split-level with a neatly-trimmed yard. ‘Hey?’ Ethan called, as he swung open the door. ‘We’re home!’
‘Perfect timing.’ Ethan’s mom, Annette, bustled past him, pulling me inside with a hug. ‘Chloe, so good to see you!’
‘Hi, Annette.’ I smiled shyly, still not used to calling her by her name.
‘Sure, ignore me,’ Ethan teased.
‘Oh, hush you.’ Annette patted his arm affectionately, before turning back to me. Her blue eyes were smiling and she had a streak of flour on her cheek, incongruous against her sleek silk blouse and tailored pants. ‘I’m breaking the habit of a lifetime and trying my hand at dessert. Come tell me if the fruit is too tart. They said to use two cups of sugar, but surely that must be wrong.’
I followed her through the house, savouring the bright, warm rooms and the smell of sugar and vanilla drifting in the air. The Reznick house was like a spread from a magazine; not one of those cold, stark showrooms, but lived in and relaxed: polished wooden floors laid with fluffy rugs, walls covered with family photos and colourful abstract paintings that Annette had collected over the years, overstuffed couches to curl up in front of the fireplace that burned real logs (however much Ethan complained about carrying timber from the shed). I could have happily moved in and left my own cold, dark house behind, pretended as if this family were my own: loud and teasing and good-natured, instead of the fractured broken truth.
‘How was work?’ Annette chatted, as we reached the kitchen, a blue-tiled haven with acres of countertops now all covered with baking ingredients.
‘Fine. Quiet.’ I slipped on to a stool at the breakfast bar, my usual spot, and watched her stir a pot of something on the stove. She dipped a spoon in, then held it out to me. ‘Here, try, but watch out, it’s hot.’
I blew on the sauce, then tasted. ‘Great. But, maybe more sugar?’ I agreed. Annette made a face.
‘I’m trying to get the boys to cut down, you should see what they eat all day at work. Nothing but junk.’
‘And look how it’s stunted me!’ Ethan sauntered in. He flexed his biceps, grinning. I elbowed him as he passed, and he caught me in a hug, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
‘You say that now, but just you wait.’ Annette looked over, affection clear in her eyes. She scolded Ethan, but it was always good-natured. She couldn’t have been prouder of her son if she tried. ‘Your father was just like you, then he hit middle age and everything changed.’
‘Then that gives me another twenty years,’ Ethan laughed.
‘It goes sooner than you think,’ Annette warned him. ‘Here, Chloe honey, come stir this. I need to get started on the crust.’
I helped with the rest of dinner, while Ethan took a shower and changed. We had dinner ready by the time his father arrived home, greeting Annette with his usual kiss.
‘Good to see you again, Chloe.’ Derek Reznick was the older versio
n of Ethan, so much so it was unnerving: the same broad, strapping physique, the same clear blue eyes. Derek’s hair was greying from blonde to silver, and his figure was softer and padded with age, but still, there was no mistaking the likeness, a glimpse of what Ethan would look like in another thirty years.
Would we be like this too? I wondered, watching Annette take his coat and shoo him out to set the table. Me in the kitchen when Ethan arrived home from work; the daily pleasantries, the safety of family and home.
The vision should have been a comfort. Instead, I felt a faint shiver. I’d wanted those things too, but after. After life out in the world away from this town, after I’d lived a little, achieved things on my own.
‘Can you grab the potatoes?’ Annette called back, not even pausing for breath before turning and bellowing, ‘Ethan! Dinner’s ready!’
I shook off the flash of my possible future and brought the serving bowl as instructed, taking my seat next to Ethan’s empty chair. He bounded downstairs and slid into it a moment later, dressed in a T-shirt and sweats.
‘Couldn’t you at least try to dress for dinner?’ Annette sighed.
‘What, you mean like a suit and tie? C’mon, Mom.’ Ethan rolled his eyes. He reached for the nearest plate, but Annette made a tsking sound.
‘Grace first.’
It was the same as always: the rituals and routines that threaded through their every day, like a safety net. Annette made some comment about Ethan’s clothes, Derek always said grace before the meal. Ethan always reached across to hold my hand under the table as they all bowed their heads and Derek opened his mouth to speak.
But that night, before he could launch into the short prayer, a noise came from the foyer, the sound of a key in the lock; the door opening.
I caught a flash of something on Annette’s face and then a young man arrived in the doorway. He had a shock of golden blonde hair and eyes as clear blue as Ethan’s, stubble on his face and a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder that he dropped to the ground with a thump as he took in the frozen tableau. The stranger lifted his eyebrow with an arched smile.
‘What, you didn’t save a seat for me?’
From the moment you’re born, people start folding you into neat pieces and tucking you inside a box of their own design. No, it starts even before then, the moment the sonogram shows a faded blur. Blue for a boy, tractors and race-cars, big and strong and brave. Pink for a little princess, pretty and sweet. They dress you up in their own expectations, before you even have a chance to understand the constrictions of your fate. That box becomes so cosy and warm, you never really notice that you’re bent double, fighting for room to breathe.
I was the good girl. A hardworker, diligent in class. My letters were laborious and perfect; my homework always handed in on time. They told me I was doing it right, rewarded me with cookies and new dolls; bright red ‘A’ grades and a 3.9 GPA.
I was the sweet girl. I took care of my mother, and kissed Ethan goodnight. He told me how pretty I was, how special and kind. I felt like I was doing it right, on track, just as I should be.
But Oliver . . .
Oliver didn’t fit in a box. He would rather burn the whole world down that spend a moment of his life caving to other people’s expectations. He took one look at me, smiling and neat and good, and he knew.
He knew I was pretending, before I even knew it for myself.
Because we were the same.
There was a split-second silence: the family around me, frozen in prayer, and this newcomer watching us with a smirk. Then Ethan pushed back his seat and greeted him with a hug, slapping his back enthusiastically. ‘Olly! What are you doing here?’
The stranger laughed. ‘What, I need a reason to swing home for a visit?’
‘Chloe, this is Oliver.’ Ethan turned back to me, grinning.
I realized who he must be. ‘The mysterious older brother,’ I said slowly. I realized I hadn’t known what he looked like. He wasn’t in any of the family photographs displayed around the house.
‘The lovely new girlfriend,’ Oliver replied, tipping his head in a nod. His eyes drifted over me, lips curling in a smile. ‘Well, look at you, guess little brother finally did something right.’
I felt myself blush as Oliver grabbed Ethan playfully around the throat, bending him over to ruffle his hair.
‘Hey!’
Ethan ducked out of the hold and then they were rough-housing, shoving each other around until their mother’s voice broke through in a high-pitched scold. ‘Boys!’
They broke apart and, for a moment, Ethan looked like a child caught misbehaving. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, sliding back into his seat.
Oliver raised an eyebrow. ‘What, no welcome home for your prodigal son?’ he teased.
Annette caught her breath. ‘Of course, darling. It’s good to see you, you just took us by surprise.’ She bobbed up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘There’s plenty of food. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll set you a place?’ She darted back to the kitchen with an anxious look on her face.
Oliver shrugged off his coat and took a seat at the head of the table. I watched him, curiously absorbing the fall of his blonde hair, overgrown and scruffy against the crisp white of his Oxford shirt, tucked into slim black jeans. He had something about him, a nonchalant energy that seemed to crackle in the cosy room.
‘Why didn’t you call?’ Derek looked concerned. ‘We didn’t think you’d be back until Thanksgiving.’
‘It’s a long story. Dull, boring, superfluous. That means unnecessary,’ he added towards Ethan with a conspiratorial whisper.
‘Dude, relax.’ Ethan looked embarrassed. ‘You’re not sucking up to your Ivy League friends now.’
‘Nope,’ Oliver laughed, ‘but I do need to impress your girlfriend with my eloquence.’ He caught my eye across the table. ‘What do you say, Chloe? Is it working?’
‘Umm, sure,’ I said, immediately wishing I’d come up with a better response, something witty and sharp. ‘I mean, maybe.’
‘Ah, she’s withholding judgement!’ Oliver announced, dramatic. ‘That just means I’ll have to prove my prowess.’
Ethan groaned. ‘Don’t mind him. You can always count on Olly to use five words where one would do.’
‘And you can count on Ethan here to substitute grunts for actual conversation whenever possible,’ Oliver replied, as Annette bustled back in with a plate and cutlery, laying them out for him.
‘It’s good to have you home,’ she said hurriedly, taking her seat again. ‘You don’t call as often as you should. We missed you.’
‘Say, Olly, why don’t you say grace?’ Derek suggested.
I thought I saw a look of amusement on his face, then we all bent our heads again. ‘Dear Lord,’ Oliver began, ‘we thank you for the blessings we enjoy, for the food on this table, so lovingly prepared.’
I peeked out from under my eyelashes. He was staring straight at me, his blue eyes burning into mine.
I stared back, caught. ‘For family, and especially for new friends,’ Oliver continued, not breaking the gaze. ‘We thank you. Amen.’
Slowly, he winked.
I looked away quickly. The rest of them murmured ‘amen’, and then the moment was broken, and the bustle of cutlery on china and reaching hands quickly filled the strange space our gaze had just occupied.
What was that?
I shivered.
‘So what’s happening at Yale?’ Ethan asked, helping himself to pot roast and passing the plate on. ‘Do you have a break? I thought they worked you pretty hard.’
‘I quit.’ Oliver answered so calmly, it took a moment for the news to sink in. I watched Annette’s head jerk up in surprise, as Oliver held a dish across to me. ‘Potato?’ he offered with a smile.
‘What do you mean, you quit?’ Ethan asked. ‘Like, you just walked out?’
‘Pretty much.’ Oliver shrugged. He was still holding out the dish, so I took it, trying to ignore the look of panic passing bet
ween his parents.
‘But I don’t understand, sweetheart.’ Annette blinked at Oliver. ‘You’ve been doing so well. You aced all your mid-terms, and didn’t you say you were ranked top in your class?’
‘Fifth.’ Oliver corrected her. ‘And only because I refused to jump through their stupid hoops. All those lectures and study groups and God-awful group presentations,’ he added, ‘Why should I have to tick their stupid boxes? I’m smarter than half my professors, it’s a waste of my time.’
He sat back, perfectly at ease.
‘But honey, you only have another year left.’ Annette sent a pleading look towards Derek, who cleared his throat uneasily.
‘Let’s talk about this later, after dinner. I’m sure we’ll figure something out. I remember, the stress got to me too, back in the day. Maybe a weekend break away from it all is just what the doctor ordered, eh?’ He slapped Oliver on the arm.
‘I’m not stressed, I’m bored out of my goddamn mind,’ Oliver replied evenly. ‘And now the problem is solved.’
‘But what will you do?’ Annette asked, her voice lifting with concern.
‘I don’t know.’ Oliver shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll stay here for a while, hang out with Dad and Ethan. There is room for me, right?’
Annette blinked. ‘Of course there is. The guest room is yours, you know that.’
‘My mother, the perfect hostess.’ Oliver smiled at her across the table. Annette looked away.
I watched silently, still trying to decipher the scene. Oliver’s college bombshell had sent ripples through the cosy room; Annette was fretting, his father confused. Ethan seemed to be the only one unaffected – or oblivious – as he winked at me and dug into the food. But Oliver stayed at the head of the table, chatting about classmates and Christmas vacation plans like nothing was wrong.
‘A group of us are thinking about going to Aspen for New Year’s,’ he said, helping himself to more salad. ‘Someone’s family has a cabin there. Although, these guys, a cabin probably means a ski lodge with private chef on call,’ he added, with a brief flicker of his eyes to the ceiling.