Page 121 of Pick-Up
“Yes!” I say. “Maybe.” We smile at each other for a beat.
“So,” I say.
“So,” he says. He is looking at me expectantly.
“Oh, sorry! Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah. That would be great.”
Ethan steps over the threshold, and I close the door behind him. Click. Suddenly, Demon Dad is in my house. Alone. A fresh wave of sparks shimmers through me.
I look around at the living room, seeing it through his editorial eyes. There is a basket of unfolded clean laundry by the couch. There’s a Nerf football on the rug. It could be worse. It could be better.
I look down at myself too. My threadbare T-shirt (yes, fully transparent, but it’s too late to remedy), soft gray joggers, bare feet. At least I still have my Turks and Caicos pedicure.
“Sorry,” I say, with a general sweep of my arm toward the room and myself. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s perfect,” he says, but he’s looking at me, not the decor.
Heat prickles up my spine.
“What’s in the bag?” I say abruptly, changing the subject. “Scuba gear for the Harvest Festival raffle?”
“How is there already another school festival?”
“There isalwaysanother school festival.”
“No. This is for you, actually,” he says, handing me the bag. “Well, for your kids.”
“Really?” I take the package and look inside. “Tissue paper! My cat Larry will love it. So thoughtful.”
“Where is Larry anyway?”
“Downstairs. Larry doesn’t just make appearances when you drop in. You need toearnhis trust.”
“Noted,” Ethan says. “Anyway, it’s conch shells. From the beach. Found already empty of creature hosts, so ecologically sound. I know you wanted your kids to have some and weren’t able to grab them the day… you got stung.”
The day I got stung. The day I got laid. The day I got mad. Big day.
This is extremely kind. I am wowed by the gesture. Touched. Because it’s for me. But it’s also for my kids. He understands how much I hate to disappoint them. This must be another thing magazine editors know how to do—gift.
“Thank you so much,” I say, meaning it, as I peer down at the tissue paper. “Truly. They’re going to be so psyched! This is really thoughtful.”
“Well, you know,” he says, kicking at the fringe on my rug, his hands in his front pockets. “I’m a thoughtful kind of guy.”
“And humble.”
“That too.”
We smile at each other.
“Anyway,” he says, “I just wanted to say, after I thought about things…”
“Things in the outdoor shower?”
“Well,definitelythe outdoor shower.” His eyes flare in a way that I’m sure makes me blush. “But, no, things more globally. I realized I was partially afraid of our bubble bursting when we got home. Of losing the simplicity of that one perfect afternoon. But then I realized, it’s fine. Things will be different here. But it can be good different. Indoor showers, for example. They’re underrated.”
And that’s when it dawns on me what he’s saying. And how differently we see our reality. Looking at Ethan, I am so tempted to give in. So tempted to fall into his arms and whatever else he is offering up.
