But I can’t deny that there was some small part of me that was thrilled and excited by her suggestion.
She sighed. “I think you should tell him how you feel, and I think you should listen to what he has to say as well.”
I told her I wasn’t ready for that, but I’d be lying if I said that the idea hasn’t taken root in my brain since that session. In the middle of the night, I lie awake considering what I might say to Ethan and how he might respond. A whole index of imaginary scenarios exists within my head now—some hopeful, some resolute, some terrifying. All completely fictional.
Until now, that is.
There’s nothing but a door separating me and Ethan at the moment.
Last weekend, Emma said we needed to talk. She sat me down and explained that her future in-laws wanted to host a party to welcome her and Garrett home, as well as celebrate their engagement. Ethan would be there, of course. She wanted me to attend as well but understood if I wasn’t up for it. And while I appreciate her thoughtfulness, there isn’t a chance in hell that I’m sitting out of my best friend’s engagement party.
So, here I am, standing in front of Ethan’s parents’ front door.
I’m wearing a nice dress and light makeup. My hair is down around my shoulders. Any second now, I’ll take a step forward, ring the bell, and make my best attempt at a genuine smile.
Any second…
…but maybe just a few seconds more.
I’m not sure how long I stand there. Hopefully they don’t own a doorbell camera, but in a neighborhood as fancy as this, that’s doubtful.
From their giant front porch, I can see Garrett and Emma’s house down the street. If I squint, I can see Ethan’s house in the distance as well.
I wonder if he’s already inside. I wonder if he brought a date. I wonder which of the million scenarios I’ve played out in my head will come closest to the reality of seeing him again.
The only thing that actually propels me forward to press my finger to the doorbell is the headlights of another car rolling to astop in front of the house, and the idea of being caught standing outside just staring at the front door like a weirdo.
The man who answers the door is tall with a familiar expression and a strong jawline. It takes me a second to realize that I’m looking at Ethan’s father.
“H-hi,” I stammer. “I’m Margot.”
“Hi, Margot.” He smiles, opening the door wider and gesturing for me to step inside. “Come on in.”
The warmth in his tone is open to interpretation. Does he recognize my name from something Emma or Ethan has said, or is he just friendly to everyone?
It’s rare that I feel compelled to blabber, but the sudden urge to properly introduce myself wells up inside of me.I’m Emma’s best friend and Ethan’s ex-assistant. We also kinda-sorta dated, then I found out that he’d been lying about his ex-wife and we broke up. But my therapist seems to think that maybe I should give him another chance, and I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. And now I’m here. In your house. Possibly about to have some sort of mental collapse.
Yeah… no.
Luckily, before we exchange any other words, the next group of guests arrive at the door. I step out of the way while his dad offers another round of warm welcomes.
The swell of laughter and voices leads me down a hallway, my heels clicking lightly on the hardwood floors and my heart in my throat. My stomach knots a little tighter with every step.
Ethan’s here… somewhere. I keep telling myself I can handle seeing him, but the truth is that I have no idea how I’ll react. When it comes to Ethan North, my heart, my brain, and my body each have a mind of their own, and the results aren’t always pretty.
I turn the corner into a dining room, but before I can orient myself, I’m yanked into a suffocating hug.
“You came!” Emma squeals.
“Of course,” I manage, smiling into her shoulder. “I told you I wouldn’t miss this.”
Emma leans back, looking me up and down. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, and you look amazing!”
I laugh, shying away from the compliment. “No,youlook amazing.”
She really does. Several months of hiking through New Zealand have left her toned and tanned. She’s still has all her curves, but they’re just a bit firmer now. And I don’t have to ask if Emma made her own dress for this event because the blush-colored dress fits her way to well to be anything but one of her original designs.
Someone calls Emma’s name from across the room, drawing both of our attention. She smiles and quietly groans in unison. “Duty calls,” she says, turning back to me. “I’m pretty sure Garrett’s parents invited everyone they’ve ever met. And since Garrett isn’t exactly Mr. Small Talk, all of the socializing falls on me.”