Page 45 of Summer Romance

“I didn’t really fit in there either, actually. But the thing about skateboarding is it takes so much concentration that I would forget that I didn’t know what to say or how to act. And I was finally good at something. It helped. Then I went to college and law school and tried to figure out how to turn myself into a success so that my parents would finally see me as a grown-up. And you’ve seen how well it’s going with my parents.” He laughs a little, then meets my eye. “I came up here and it felt like it could be a fresh start. I decided to be the architect of my own experience.”

I feel thefirst drop of rain on my wrist, and before I have a chance to wipe it away, the sky has opened up. We grab our dogs by the leashes and race to the tiny awning over the red door. We are surrounded by three walls of water, and I love the way it sounds. I love the way summer rain comesout of nowhere and hits you hard like a love affair. Rain like this couldn’t last more than a few minutes.

“I guess they were right about the rain,” Ethan shouts.

I laugh and pull my hair over my shoulder and wring out the ends. My T-shirt is soaked, and I cross my arms over my chest. Ethan’s soaked too, and he smiles down at me. I like being trapped in this tiny space with him.

“Listen, I know wet socks are kind of our thing,” he says, “but I don’t think I’m up for a four-hour drive home soaking wet. Let’s go get some dry clothes at my apartment.”

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I ask. His eyes catch mine, like I’ve surprised him.

“We could. Up to you.”

He’s pulled back the curtain on his life, and I want to see more. I want to see his home, his books, his heart. “Let’s stay,” I say.

24

Ethan’s apartment is on the third floor of an industrial building on a tree-lined street. There’s a stack of mail waiting for him on the table outside his door because the last time he left, he thought he was just visiting his parents for a few days. He opens his door and we walk into a large kitchen with stainless steel counters. There’s a single coffee mug by the sink and I resist the urge to race around in search of his mess.

His phone rings as soon as we’ve closed the door. “Hey, Barb,” he says. “Yeah, I’ve been in Beechwood. I’m just here for the night.” He grabs a dish towel and starts drying the dogs off. “For how long? No. Barb. Do not get on a ladder. I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up and pulls a nine-volt battery out of a tidy kitchen drawer. “I’ve got to go change the battery on Barb’s smoke alarm. It’s been chirping for two days, and she’s just been waiting to hear me walking around my apartment.” He shakes his head. “Let me get you something dry.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say, and I notice I am clutching myhands. I don’t know how to act, alone in this apartment with this man about whom I have way too many feelings.

He unleashes the dogs, and Brenda follows him into his room. The interior walls of the apartment are exposed brick, and a full wall of windows looks out over the street. His taste is simple: a rust-colored couch, a Lucite coffee table, a plush cream-colored rug. Once again, I try to imagine how this Catherine person ever decided she didn’t want to wake up here with this man every single day.

He comes back in sweatpants and a dry T-shirt, the top of his hair still a little wet. He hands me a stack of clothes—plaid pajama bottoms, a blue T-shirt, and thick socks. “Go ahead and change in there. I’ll be right back. Leave your stuff, I’ll throw it in the dryer.” He reaches out, as if he’s going to kiss me goodbye, but then doesn’t.

I walk into his bedroom and take a deep breath against the closed door. His bed is covered with a dark gray duvet and there’s a brown leather chair in the corner with not one piece of laundry on it. I undress in the en suite bathroom and put on his cozy clothes. I towel-dry my hair, roll up the pajamas at the waist to keep them from falling down, and give in to the fact that I’m not going to turn this look into something attractive.

I turn my back on my reflection and whisper, “Mom. I’m sleeping here. With him. Are you following this?” She doesn’t reply. I start pacing, one step in each direction. “I’m having feelings, Mom. Feelings!” The least she could do is chime in right now with a little encouragement. But, nothing. “Okay, fine, don’t answer. I don’t know what’s going to happen here. But don’t watch.” And she laughs, the bigMassa-Cheez-Its laugh, and that makes me laugh too. I roll my wet clothes into a neat pile and carefully conceal my Costco underwear and my beige bra between my shorts and my T-shirt. He doesn’t need to see that again.

He’s back from Barb’s when I walk into the living room. “Gorgeous,” he says. I curtsy and hand him my clothes. He disappears through the kitchen. I sit down on the couch and pull my knees up to my chest. I take another deep breath. There is nothing to fear from Ethan. It’s the way I am feeling that terrifies me. I am like a live wire. I want to take my just-kissing rule and burn it to the ground.

I watch the tops of the trees dry outside the window. Ferris is sniffing every inch of the apartment, as if maybe he’s looking for the mess too. Brenda curls up on a sheepskin dog bed, and Ferris joins her and fills all of the available space. How uncomplicated it is with dogs. They like the smell of each other. They do not perceive a threat. For dogs every moment is just that moment.

I hear the dryer running and Ethan is in the kitchen. “I guess I’ll have a glass of wine if we aren’t going anywhere,” he says. “Want one?”

“Okay, thanks.”

He brings me a glass of red wine and sits next to me. The tips of my socked toes are under his pajamaed thigh.

“It’s all so grown-up,” I say.

“Oh God, not you too. Ali, I’m thirty-six years old. Of course I own a couch.”

“I know. I don’t mean that. It’s just that this place has kind of an eligible-bachelor vibe.”

“I guess,” he says.

“Do women like this?”

“Do you?” He turns to me, and his face is serious.

“I do. It gives me a good feeling, like you’re in total control.”

“I’m not,” he says, and holds my gaze.

---