“I’ve been honest with you, and I’ll keep doing that. Promise.”
Eyes on his cards, he smiles. “Good. Now, let’s play some cards.”
CHAPTER 21NOW
August 3, first day of “vacation”
On second thought, the house we’re staying in probably should have been of more interest to us. Had we explored it when Ethan and Jen got here, before taking off on our impromptu bike ride, we would have been better prepared for what we’re facing now:
Our bedroom.Ourbedroom, which has only one bed.
I stare at the tiny folded card sitting on the dresser, bearing our names in Jen’s pretty teacher’s cursive.
Thea and Alex
“Um,” I say unhelpfully.
Alex turns, facing Jen and Ethan, who stand in the doorway, Mia behind them, sprawled in the living room, her head propped up on Argos, who’s happily dozing, no qualms about playing his frequent role as her pillow. She has her headphones on, eyes glued to her iPad as she watchesBluey.
Jen smiles at us brightly. She’s honestly glowing. Ethan’s expression is unreadable.
“Not to sound ungrateful,” Alex says. “Would there, uh”—he clears his throat—“happen to be another room that hastwobeds?”
“Yes,” Ethan says. “But Mia and Jen are staying in that one.”
I glance to Jen, who’s still smiling, like none of this is weird, let alone bothering her. She and Ethan are about to get married—not that she knows we know that—and she’s going to have a sleepover with her kid all week, instead of cozying up in this massive bed with her soon-to-be husband?
“Is there another room?” I ask, finally finding my voice.
“No,” Ethan says, looking at me like I should know this, before realization clears his expression. I think he’s only remembering now that he never brought me here. If he feels guilty about that, he doesn’t show it.
“It’s an old home,” he adds after a beat of awkward silence, sounding a little defensive. “My great-grandparents built it, and they only had one child, my grandfather; and then he only had one child, my father. No need for more rooms than those two.”
I don’t state the obvious, that this means there were no guest rooms. Seems antipathy for hospitality runs in Ethan’s family. I always wondered if Ethan kept our socializing largely out of the house because he didn’t want to bring people into the space that, despite his largely successful greige aesthetic, I managed to clutter up with books, flowers, houseplants, and as much colorful art as I could. In my low moments, I worried that he didn’t want people in a space that, to him, felt too much likeme. Now I’m realizing, he probably just didn’t like hosting and came by it honestly.
I expect to feel relief as I put the pieces together. But I don’tlike glancing down, expecting to see a scab you’re so used to still being there, only to realize it’s vanished, already healed.
“Where are you sleeping, then?” I ask him, genuinely curious.
“The pullout sofa,” Ethan says.
“How noble,” Alex mutters.
Jen gives him a chiding look.
“Notthatnoble,” Ethan says breezily as he steps back, then turns toward the living room. “I personally find that mattress the comfiest in the house.”
Alex and I look at each other, biting back laughter as we smile.
This sleeping situation is a disaster. But if we can laugh about anything, it’s about my ex being a consistently douchebag human being.
“Alex!” Ethan calls from somewhere deep in the house.
Alex’s smile dissolves before he calls back, “Ethan!”
“Your help in the kitchen?” Ethan drawls.
I stare at Alex, who glares out the doorway, that jaw in his muscle working overtime.