Page 52 of Paging Dr. Hart
Ethan laughs at my predicament. “Here, let me help.” He gently brushes my hair back and tucks it behind my ear.
“There you go.” His smile is small and satisfied.
“Sorry.” I laugh at myself. “I’m a mess.”
“I don’t think so.” Ethan’s serious now, not talking about pretzels. He leans close, his eyes never leaving mine, and says softly, “I think you’re perfect. Just the way you are.”
His words land like pennies tossed into a fountain. Wishes coming true.
I stare at him with my mouth hanging open, unable to form a response.
Amused by my speechlessness, Ethan grins and scoops a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Come on, Tiffy. Let’s go.” He takes my hand and gently tugs me forward.
•••
At Space Mountain I groan when I read the wait time, 90 minutes. The line snakes around the perimeter of the ride, people shifting from foot to foot.
“I heard this one’s good,” I tell him. “Do you mind waiting?”
He agrees, and we join the long queue. Ethan leans against the metal railing that separates us from the next portion of the line. “Cinderella is your favorite, huh?” He gestures to my bucket.
I shovel another handful of popcorn into my mouth and nod. After I swallow, I say, “I always loved the fairy godmother scene. Where Cinderella is transformed from a drab housemaid into a beautiful princess. I used to dream a fairy godmother would come and change my life like in the movie.” The last sentence has a tinge of sadness.
He picks up on it. “No fairy godmother then? No one to save you?” He frowns, distressed by the idea.
“Nope.” I stare at the ground, not wanting to see pity in his eyes. “Guess I learned to save myself.”
The line moves forward in small increments, inch by inch. We dutifully follow the couple in front of us.
“What about happily ever after?” Ethan asks. “You read romance books. You love Disney. Surely you believe in happy endings?”
The corners of my mouth turn down. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen happily ever after. My mom certainly didn’t have it. She had me and work. She was a great mom, loved me something fierce, but I can’t imagine it was the life she dreamed about when she was younger. It’s hard to believe in something when you have no proof it exists.”
Head tilted, I ask Ethan, “How about you? Do you believe people can have happily ever after?”
The line moves forward. He takes a deep breath. “I do, actually. My family wasn’t perfect. Sometimes I didn’t fit in. I was athletic, while my parents and brother were more intellectual. They had high expectations for me, and I rebelled against that. But one thing I didn’t worry about was my parents’ relationship. It was always solid. They have something close to happily ever after. When my brother and I were younger, we would get grossed out if my parents held hands or kissed. We’d run around screaming “eww” and pretend to gag, but inside we secretly liked it. Those gestures of affection made me feel safe. I guess that’s what I mean when I say happily ever after. Having someone you can depend on. Who’ll always be there for you, no matter what.” Ethan blushes slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe that sounds silly.”
“I don’t think it’s silly at all. It sounds wonderful. I’d be the luckiest person to have that someday.” My reassurance banishes the pink from his cheeks.
“I’m glad you had that kind of childhood,” I continue, “and I’m jealous of it, if I’m being honest. I was secure knowing my mom loved me, but everything else seemed up in the air. We barely had enough money to get by. Our neighborhood was unsafe. My school wasn’t the best. My mom wanted me to escape. She taught me education was the way out. So I studied hard, won scholarships, and climbed the academic ladder. I guess that’s my happily ever after. To have the job I dreamed about when I was in high school. To help people when they’re at their worst. I get a lot of satisfaction from work.”
Ethan’s eyes soften as he says gently, “That’s not enough. A job is great, especially ours, but as much as you love it, a job can’t love you back. It won’t hold you when you get home from a hard day’s work. It won’t give you a pep talk when you fail. It won’t wipe away your tears. You need a person for that. Someone to love you.”
Quietly, I consider his words, knowing he’s right. For years, decades even, I’ve been living half a life. Content with my job and my cat but shut off from everything and everyone else. Too scared of getting hurt, being betrayed, or, worst of all, abandoned to risk reaching out to others. Lying to myself that I don’t need those kinds of personal connections. That I’m happier without them.
Spending time with Ethan in Cleveland and here at Disney World, I feel more complete than I have in a long time. I’ve grown accustomed to speakingout loud all the random thoughts that pop into my mind and hearing his response. It’s like I’m learning to talk all over again now that he’s here to listen. I don’t want to go back to the silence of my old life.
As we slowly wind our way through the line, he tells me more about his family. Since I’ve already met Curtis, it’s easy for me to picture the two of them getting into mischief. Chuckling, he tells me how his brother would pin him down like it was a WrestleMania fight, twisting his arm behind his back until he yielded. Ethan points to the scar in his left eyebrow. “Wrestling injury from my brother.” Still talking, he tells me about how he would wait up late into the night, listening for the whir of the garage door to let him know his mom or dad had arrived home safely from a late shift at the hospital.
I share stories from my childhood as well. Although mine are carefully curated to leave out the bad parts,I end up telling him more than I planned. Snapshots of Mr. Chen and a young Shelly make their way into my tales. Names I haven’t said in a long time. I assumed it would be sad to revisit those memories, heartbreaking to mentally dust them off, but it isn’t. It’s like meeting up with old friends. Things I’d forgotten suddenly come alive again—the smell of chlorine in the apartment pool, the sizzle of dumplings being pan-fried, the sensation of my mother’s fingers as she ran them through my hair.
43
It’s well past midnight by the time we leave the park. My eyes still have bright spots dotting my vision from where I stared too hard at the fireworks. My feet ache from walking. I’m exhausted, but it’s a good kind of tired, the kind that comes from a day filled with laughter and joy.
Back at the hotel, we take the elevator up to our floor. Ethan requested his room to be close to mine, so he ended up right across the hall from me. We stop outside our hotel doors, standing apart from one another. I put one hand on the handle and stare at it, unable to look at him.
A silence falls between us. My tongue is heavy, full of things I want to say. I want to tell him how much fun I had today. How I appreciate his patience with me. How I’m hiding secrets I desperately want to reveal but can’t.
