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The springs beneath his mattress squeak as his weight settles. Then, he tells me something I never expected to hear. “Mama loved flowers. She used to pick them and put them in a pitcher on our kitchen counter.”
Having been out to the Kensington farm to ride with Austyn many times, I dredge up the empty bed. In my mind I can see where bright Texas flowers would have been beautiful on the corner of the bustling kitchen—a welcome to neighbors and friends who came to the farm. “I don’t recall them ever being there.”
There’s a long pause before, “That’s because I forgot, witch.”
“What do you mean?”
There’s a long pause before he manages, “I forgot that. I forgot my mother took me out the morning she died to pick flowers in the field. What kind of son does that make me?”
My heart breaks for the toddler Ethan was. “One who was too traumatized to function.”
“Don’t make excuses for me, Fallon.”
“If something similar happened to a child—whether one of your own or someone else—wouldn’t you?” I counter quietly.
His silence is the only response I need. So I probe a bit deeper. “Have you remembered anything else about her?”
“Paige looks just like her. It hurts sometimes to look at my sister.” His confession, whispered, tells me it’s a deep, dark secret.
“Or you could look at your sister and see all the good your mother left with her,” I counter gently.
He sucks in a breath so sharply I can hear it from a thousand miles away. I’m functioning on instinct when it comes to Ethan, not much else. But tonight, he doesn’t need flirty banter, he needs a friend and I’m determined to be that person for him.
I’ll always be someone strong for him, no matter how much my heart may be crushed in the process.
Finally, he whispers, “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did,” he counters. “That special voodoo that belongs to only you is helping clear the cobwebs away from my old brain.”
A soft laugh escapes. “You said it, not me.”
He lets out a rough chuckle. Then, for the rest of the night, he regales me with stories about his mother as he remembers them. I hear the longing in his voice for something he can’t go back and change, but I know one thing from my own experience with coming to an understanding about my father’s death. With knowing Ethan just wants to be friends.
Pursuing dreams that can’t come true has a high price to pay. It’s better to focus on what’s attainable.
With that, I listen to my friend as he celebrates the more painful parts of him celebrating his sister’s birthday—and the day his mother died.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SEVEN VIRTUES, NORTH CAROLINA
Try new things. Listen to your body. Be the healthiest you that you can be.
—Fab and Delish
Three Years Ago
Over time and distance, Ethan and I became as close—if not closer—than me and Austyn. There wasn’t anything I didn’t share with him. And in retrospect, he gave me the same honesty.
This isn’t going to work with us in the places we’re presently at in our lives.
We rarely give specifics but I know him and try my damnedest to deny the crazy jealousy where he’s concerned.
He tells me about his dates. I’ve…shared some about the guys I see. I just don’t share when, on the rare occasion, I let one in my bed. I assume Ethan’s doing the same. We each lean on the other about why the people in each other’s lives is completely wrong for the other and why.
Long distance, I’ve forced him to consume tubs of ice cream when I need him to commiserate about my dates and he’s demanded I join in on whiskey nights when he needed to bitch about “—ditching some bitch.” Like tonight. “Christ, Fal, she went cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”