Page 64 of Frankie and the Fed

“No. I thought you would move in with me.”

“You want to live together? It…” It feels too fast.

His face falls. “Would you at least be willing to live in my building?”

I want to say no, but the look on his face makes me reconsider. “I won’t be able to afford the expenses of an apartment in the most expensive part of Manhattan, even with my new job.”

“It’s my building. So no expenses. There’s a tenant who has a contract ending at the end of next month, and I haven’t yet signed a lease with anyone else. Consider this, please?”

I hesitate.

“That way, you’ll have the privacy you want, and you’ll still be close enough to me.”

“Okay.” I nod. It’s a reasonable compromise. I can live with that.

He parks in front of my apartment and quickly gets out of the car.

“I’d love for us to fly back before Christmas.” He looks at me as I open the door. “I’ll understand if you prefer to stay with your parents and come later, but it would be nice if you flew with me. I’m going back in two days.”

“In two days?”

“We got that extension from the court, and I want to use the time to return to the offices before the holiday. Several subjects are waiting for me.”

It’s too fast, too stressful. I have to quit my job. Say goodbye to my parents. “I can’t leave that fast. I can’t leave with just two days’ notice to my boss. And I have a lot to sort out first. But perhaps I’ll join you for the holidays?”

He leans in to kiss me. “I’d love that.”

* * *

I wake up in a panic. I try to understand where I am and realize that I’m in my bed. What woke me up? Then it happens again.

Ethan is in bed next to me, squirming, the blankets tangled around his body. He’s sweating, and his facial expression is tormented.

“No!” he shouts. “Leave me alone. Let me go. I need to save her!” He kicks at the blankets, but they only get more tangled around him. I hurry to turn on the light in the room, then rush back to the bed and try to wake him up.

“Ethan, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

He thrashes about in bed, and I’m careful not to get in the way of his fists.

“Ethan!” I shout, succeeding in shaking him. His eyes barely open, and he blinks at me. I notice how obscurity turns into painful recognition.

“Ayala,” he whispers, burying his face in my neck. “You’re here.”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Fuck! Did I hurt you?” He looks frightened.

“No. I’m fine. I was just scared. What did you dream about?”

“Nothing. I don’t remember. I’m sorry I woke you.” His arms wrap around me.

I know he remembers what the dream was about, but I don’t press because I also know how it feels to share your tormented soul with another person. When you’re trying to show the world that you’re okay, that you’ve recovered. When inside your head, you’re still living that day, and you’re still broken.

Ethan is used to pretending since mourning for Anna. No one was there to tell him he was allowed to break, that he could also be weak. It’s easy to ignore the problem when you’re alone with yourself when no one knows. But when Mom woke up every night from my screams, I knew I had no choice. I had to talk about it. Ethan is not at that stage yet, but he’ll get there.

* * *

Two days later, we say our goodbyes before his flight back. I know we’ll see each other again soon, but that doesn’t help the feeling of longing that starts even before he’s gone.