Page 51 of Room for Us

I frown. This is definitely not going the way I expected. Alana seems nervous, not meeting my eyes. Hell, I’m nervous.

Is she seriously asking me to have sex with her daughter?

“I’m not sure I understand.”

She takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. “I think you do. I know you’re only in Sun River briefly, but in the end that’s exactly what she needs. A bright spot to remind her how wonderful life can be.”

Uncomfortable, I shift on the bed. She notices the movement.

“I’m sure this seems unorthodox—”

“To put it lightly,” I mutter.

“But I believe you’re a good man, and you like my daughter.”

“I do.”

Alana stands with a smile. “Good. I know she likes you, too. Great talking with you, Ethan. I hope to see you at the barbecue tomorrow.”

She departs. I’m left befuddled and speechless, staring at the floral wallpaper across the room and wondering about Alana.

29

I think I was happy on my wedding day. At least I don’t remember not being happy. I was overwhelmed, definitely. I wanted a small, casual ceremony, but Chris’ mother wouldn’t have it. The wedding took place at The Plaza and there were close to four hundred people. With the exception of my family and a few college friends, the majority were strangers to me.

I remember being nervous. Not about marrying Chris, but about tripping as then-fifteen-year-old Zander walked me down the aisle, and about stumbling over my vows. At the reception, I worried that groups of tittering women were judging my overly-simple dress—the only damn thing my mother-in-law let me have any control over—my choice of gloss over lipstick, and the way I hid myself in Chris’ shadow as he socialized.

I remember ignoring the looks of concern from my mom and Aunt B, and how uncomfortable my shoes were. I drank too much champagne. By the time Chris and I made it to our honeymoon suite, I was so exhausted and overwrought I hid in the shower to cry. When I forced myself to leave the bathroom, wearing the requisite wedding-night negligee, Chris was asleep on the bed.

I remember feeling relieved.

Funny how memories distort under the force of our will. How we want to see the world often becomes how we do see it. For years, I forcefully stamped HAPPY on that day. Cooed over the photo albums, sighed over my boxed dress, the preserved bouquets, the oversized wedding portrait that hung above our fireplace.

Some part of me always knew my time in that glittering, superficial world was limited. Eventually Chris figured it out, too. Lies are like that, even the ones we tell ourselves. Paint on the side of a barn exposed to the elements eventually peels or fades, exposing what’s beneath. I was exposed, and once my deep flaws were obvious, I was demolished and replaced by something new.

But the weirdest thing happened today—I realized what happened was for the best. It was right. Good. Hell, being booted from my marriage and high society might just be the best thing that’s happened to me. It took some time, but today, I finally felt the barest whispers of freedom curling through my heart.

Today, I remembered where I belong. Here. With these people, in this life. Saying goodbye and thanking the hardworking men and women who took time out of their lives to help me plant. Exchanging smiles and sweaty hugs, not worrying for a second about my hair or dirty nails or whether I need a shower.

“Girls’ night soon?” asks Celeste, her arm around Damien’s narrow shoulders. He’s ignoring us, legs twitching impatiently as he chugs a bottle of water.

“Definitely,” I promise. “Good luck in your game, Damien.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles. Celeste pokes him. “And thanks for breakfast.”

I grin. “You’re welcome.”

Celeste waves goodbye. I watch her pickup until it turns from the driveway onto the main road, then plop down on the porch steps to stretch my aching legs.

The front landscape is beyond perfect. Now that everyone’s gone, I can finally bask in the full sensory beauty. Blue skies above, soft breeze below. Freshly watered soil and green everywhere. It’s almost heaven.

And when Ethan settles beside me on the step, I muse that maybe it is heaven. Or at least as close as a girl like me can get during this life—passing moments of deep contentment. And if that’s what the future holds for me, I’m happy with it. I’ll remember this moment forever.

“Beautiful,” he says.

His gaze isn’t on the yard. I feel it, heavy and searching, on my face.

“Ethan?” I ask, smiling at the small rows of plants near our feet.

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