Page 36 of Paging Dr. Hart
“No problem.” He leans against the closed refrigerator door, only inches away, and gives me his most charming smile. I can’t look away from it. Something in me melts, just a little.
Ethan casually asks, “What do you want for dinner?” There’s a subtle shift in my mind, a resettling in my bones just from those simple words. When you live with someone, that question is as common as breathing. It hits me, what I’ve been ignoring these past few weeks.Thisis what it feels like to share your day. To let another person in. To let your decisions be influenced by someone else’s wishes and desires. To stop being selfish and instead live a life ruled by compromise.
What do you want for dinner? my mother asks.
What do you want for dinner? Mr. Chen asks.
It’s been so long that I almost forgot what this felt like, this sense of being more than just myself. It makes me catch my breath. There’s a slight tremor in my voice as I answer, “I’m fine with whatever you want.”
We fall into our pattern. Dinner, TV, bedtime.
That’s when I find out the real reason for Ethan’s shopping trip.
I’m in the bathroom, washing my face, when I hear a loud motorlike whooshing. I go to investigate. Ethan’s in the center of his bedroom, kneeling on the ground and overseeing the inflation of an air mattress. As the air blows into it, the mattress unfolds like the petals of a flower. Behind him, there’s a newly opened box that reads “queen air mattresses—superior comfort” on the side.
When he sees me, he stands up and, with a flourish of his arms, says a proud, “Ta-da!”
“What’s this?” I ask suspiciously.
He explains, yelling over the noise of the mattress inflating, “I’m tired of sleeping with my feet hanging off the end of the bed.”
“But we only have a couple more days here.” I raise my hands with my palms to the ceiling in a “what the heck?” gesture.
“I know. I know. I should have bought it earlier, but it didn’t occur to me until now. Figure I can use it whenever I come up here or when I go camping. It’ll be a good investment in the long run.” He’s clearly overjoyed with his purchase, humming happily as he puts clean sheets and blankets on it.
In the bathroom, I finish getting ready for bed. Afterward, I stop by his room to say good night. Ethan’s in his new bed with his shirt off, looking quite comfortable.
“Tiffy.” He hesitates for a fraction of a second and then continues, “Do you want to sleep here? Maybe you won’t have any nightmares. There’s room for us both.” He lifts one corner of the comforter invitingly.
I stiffen, blood rushing to my face. “No. I’m fine in my own bed. Thanks.”
“I promise not to ravish you.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a comedic suggestive way.
It eases my tension and makes me giggle. I sober and shake my head. “No, really. I can’t. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“Okay. Your loss.” Pulling the covers up to his chin, he closes his eyes. “Good night.”
Back in my room, the hallway bathroom light spills golden rays across the floor. Silence from Ethan’s room. I’m guessing he’s already sleeping. How nice it must be to fall asleep like you don’t have a care in the world. Ethan has the restful sleep of an unburdened conscience.
I haven’t slept like that since I was 18.
I toss off my covers, shiver, and then pull them back on. Blinking in the dimly lit room, I practice deep breathing. It seems to take hours, but eventually I tumble into the darkness.
The nightmares find me.
Hiding, running. Not one, but two coffins sink into the ground.
With a start, I jerk upright, the dream sound of sirens still ringing in my ears. My heart thunders in my chest, and sweat cools on my skin. Shadows ooze down the walls. They crawl across the floor, reaching for me with razorclaws. If I go back to sleep, I’ll drop right back into that same nightmare. I’ll sink into it like my pockets are filled with rocks and I’ve walked into the surf.
I don’t want to be alone with those terrors. On tip toes, I creep into Ethan’s room, hoping he’s awake. It’s nights like this when we end up on the balcony. But his new bed must be working too well because he’s asleep, lying on his side facing the door. His handsome face is slack and peaceful.
You’re on your own, kid,I tell myself. I’m about to leave when Ethan’s eyes crack open. He stares at me dreamily.
“Sorry. I had a nightmare. It—” I start to explain, but he cuts me off.
“Shhh.…” His long arm reaches out, and his hand beckons. “Come here.”
I pause and take a step out the door, considering. Apprehension, fear, and a need for something I can’t quite define…comfort or companionship, maybe…war within me.
