“Sorry Princess, something came up. I’m outside the movie theater now; do you think you could come out?” His voice sounds scratchy and fear courses through my veins. My mind instantly goes to what his dad may have done to him. My stomach knots at the thought and I have to work at keeping my voice steady.
“I’ll be right out; I just need to go grab my things and let the others know I’m leaving. Ethan…are you hurt?” I need to prepare my mind in case I get outside and he looks a mess. My poker face sucks.
“Not the way you’re thinking.” Not the way I’m thinking, what the hell does that mean?
“Okay, I’ll be right out.” I disconnect the call and rush back to collect my belongings.
I step outside the theater and notice Ethan’s car idling at the curb. I pull my jacket tightly around me like a shield against what I might be about to see. I’m not normally so pessimistic in my thoughts; I like to think I’m a glass half-full kind of person, but when it comes to Ethan’s home life, I can’t help but assume the worst. I pull the car door open and slip inside, angling my body towards his. I scan him instantly looking for any signs that he’s been hurt but I can’t see any.
“Hey beautiful, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he tells me as he leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. He holds us pressed together for a few beats before he pulls back, cupping my face with his hands. His mood is definitely off but I can’t pinpoint how.
“Baby, are you okay?”
He sighs and looks at me, his normally clear blue eyes look cloudy and are rimmed red. I realize he’s been crying and it makes my heart sink as I’m waiting for him to answer me.
“I am now,” he whispers and then moves back and replaces his seat belt. “Buckle up, Princess, we’ll go somewhere to talk.”
“Okay,” I smile at him and try to portray a confidence that I am just not feeling.
We drive in silence to the beach. We park and he leads me by the hand down to the warm soft sand. It’s almost silent except for the noise of waves crashing against the shore as we sit facing out to the ocean. I stay quiet, allowing him the time to work out what it is that he wants to say to me.
“So today my mom told me that she’s not actually my mom.”
I’m drawing patterns in the sand with my fingers and I still at his words.
“Apparently my real mom died when she was having me.”
I’m completely taken aback, stunned, mute. Hell, if we weren’t already both sitting down I think I would have just fallen over with the force of that omission. How could they not have told him before now?
I throw my arms around him and pull him to me as tightly as I can. It’s not a selfless act. It provides just as much a comfort for me as I hope it does for him.
“Shit, Ethan I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s not even the best part.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Mom seems to think that me reminding Dad of my birth mom is the reason he is the way he is.”
“Wait, what? She said that?” I don’t know if I’m reading it wrong but it sounds like he just told me that his dad beats him for just existing as himself. He can’t control being like someone he’s never met. How on earth can he be punished for something so out of his control? I have a fiercely strong dislike of Ethan’s dad at the best of times, but hearing this, I know without a doubt in my mind that it's no longer a dislike; it’s pure hate.
“You do know that it’s not your fault, baby. You’ve done nothing to deserve the way he treats you.”
He smiles a sad smile and kisses my temple. I know that he doesn’t believe me and that’s the problem. He’s spent so long being told he’s a worthless disappointment, I’m not sure how to make him see the truth-—that by just being here with me now makes him stronger than he’ll ever know. He had the guts to tell me about his past. He hasn’t just given up or run away or let his dad take away his plans for college and his life.
We sit for a long time, staring out at the ocean as he replays what happened today, reminiscing about things that have happened in the past that he’s now seeing in a new light.
“I think I understand your mom a little better now,” I say softly as I’m letting the sand that’s now starting to turn cold with the setting sun, slips through my fingertips.
He’s sitting forward with his elbows rested on his drawn-up knees, his head hung low studying the sand beneath him. He twists his head to look at me, confusion clear in his expression. “How do you mean?”
I draw my knees up and hug them to my chest as I rest my tilted head on them.
“When you first told me what was going on with your dad, I couldn’t understand how your mom could let it happen. I can’t imagine how a mother could ever stand back and let her child, someone she should love above every other living thing on this earth, be hurt like that. It made no sense to me. If I’m honest it’s probably why I try to avoid her. Every time I see her I want to shake her and ask her why.”