The first time Ethan had seen her, he’d thought she had to be the most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth, but in a way where he wasn’t sure if he wanted to put her on a pedestal and admire her from afar or take her home and ravish her. He’d split the difference by marrying her.
Though their divorce had seemed to drag on endlessly and he’d been devastated by the result of the custody battle, over the past few years their relationship had evolved into something resembling friendship. Being married with kids for ten years had a way of bonding you to a person for life, whether they liked it or not. At first, she would only come to his house to drop off the girls, but lately, every now and then she came by just to talk. Ethan knew it was more for his benefit than for hers, but he still appreciated the gesture. If he was in the right mood, that is. If he was in a self-loathing spiral he found her kindness unbearable.
Nora had remarried a year ago, to a kind, reliable man named Jeff who worked as a camera operator on her prime-time medical drama. Now she was back to the serene, self-possessed woman he’d married, rather than the melancholy shadow flitting around corners to avoid him during their final months together. She was better off without him.
Nora perched on one of the stools next to the kitchen island.
“Yeah, they’re fine. They’re asleep. Jeff is with them.”
Ethan leaned against the island, finally claiming victory in his battle with the foil.
“Did you decide yet? About maybe letting me have them for the week next time?”
Her pert nose crinkled. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You know it’s not really supposed to work that way.”
His heart sank. Audrey’s voice echoed in his mind: Don’t you want to see your girls more? Maybe she was on to something. If Nora believed that he’d gotten his act together, he might have an opening to renegotiate the custody agreement. Go fifty-fifty, like he’d wanted. Even though their relationship had improved by leaps and bounds since their divorce, she still brushed off all attempts to discuss it. The subtext was clear, fair or not: how can you take care of them when you can’t even take care of yourself?
In retrospect, he understood her caution back when they’d first separated, in those hazy, dark days after Sam’s death. But he was on his best behavior these days. Around the girls, at least. She just refused to see it, understandably skeptical after so many years of his worst.
“Right. Well. What brings you over here, then?” he asked through a mouthful of carne asada. Before Nora could answer, he was back in the fridge, rummaging around for some hot sauce.
“Oh, you know, your standard wellness check,” she deadpanned. They both knew she was only half kidding.
Ethan dumped the Valentina on his burrito and took another enormous bite, closing his eyes with pleasure. How long had it been since he’d eaten? He couldn’t quite remember. He gestured with the burrito, doing a few exaggerated strongman poses, feeling fortified.
“How do I look?”
Nora’s face twisted in a pained smile. He saw she was looking past him at the beer bottle he’d abandoned on the counter.
“What number is that?”
He shrugged. “You come over to count my beers, Nor?”
“Not exclusively.” She fidgeted, toying with the sleeve of her sweater. “Has Paul talked to you about the Lincoln Center thing? Have they contacted him?”
“Lincoln Center?”
Nora avoided his eyes. “They want to do a fifteenth-anniversary screening of Dirtbags this summer. Part of one of their festivals. Press, red carpet, Q and A, the whole thing.” She let herself look at him, gauging his reaction. “I think we should fly out and do it. I think…I think it might be good.”
Ethan looked down at his burrito.
He didn’t like to think about Dirtbags. Just hearing the title was like a deep-sea fishing net trawling his subconscious, dredging up all those freaky, gasping, malformed memories that were better left to wallow on the ocean floor where they belonged. It was the first movie he and Sam made that had hit it big. The movie where he and Nora had fallen in love. Their first trip to the Academy Awards, Ethan’s win shocking them all. The three of them on the whirlwind media tour, barely believing their good fortune, their whole lives ahead of them.
If it hurt this much just to think about, how could he possibly consider watching it, let alone watch it in a crowd? He shut his eyes. Uhh, this next question is for Ethan? Yeah, hi, big fan. How does it feel to watch yourself and the two people you loved most in the world as bright-eyed optimistic twentysomethings, knowing that you would go on to ruin all three of your lives and you will never, ever come close to being that happy again?
He was trembling now. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been silent. Ethan realized his hand holding the burrito was now squeezing it so tightly that the filling was oozing out of it and falling onto the pristine white tile. Damn. His housekeeper had just been there that morning.
Nora was already in mom mode, hurrying to the counter and ripping a paper towel off the roll. She knelt down to pick up the fallen filling.
“You don’t have to do that,” Ethan said helplessly, not moving.
“Already done,” she said, straightening. She crumpled the paper towel and pressed the pedal on the trash can, dropping it in before turning back to him. “You don’t have to decide right now. I know…I know it’s hard.”
She bit her lip, as if contemplating whether or not to say more. Her normally placid voice cracked with emotion.
“It’s hard for me, too, Ethan. I miss him, too. Every day.” Her eyes flicked back to the bottle on the counter, and she hesitated. “But this…this isn’t what he’d want for you. Shutting yourself away forever. I hope you know that.”
Ethan couldn’t bring himself to look at her. To give her the validation he knew she needed.
“I’m pretty beat. I think it’s time for me to hang it up for the night. Would you mind letting yourself out?”
Nora’s brow furrowed with concern, but he knew that she knew better than to express it. He was a lost cause tonight.
“Of course. I should get home, too. Take care of yourself.” The final platitude was delivered with a little more emphasis than was traditional.
Ethan heard the door shut. He was alone again.
He slowly moved toward his bedroom, as if in a trance. The burrito lay forgotten on the counter. On the way to his room, he grabbed a bottle of Macallan from the bar cart without missing a beat. No glass.
He shut the bedroom door behind him.
GREY HAD TO PEE ALREADY. She’d channeled her nerve into chugging the lemon-mint-infused sparkling water Audrey’s office manager had placed in front of her, but the plan seemed to have backfired now that she was almost done with her second glass and the meeting hadn’t even started yet. She had dressed intentionally for the climate: jeans again, and a cropped black sweater with her thickest bra underneath. She wasn’t taking any chances today.
Ethan had been early, surprisingly, and had already been sitting at the table when she’d arrived. He was dressed, like their last meeting, in jeans and a faded T-shirt, the kind of celebrity outfit that looked deceptively simple but likely cost four figures. Even so, his clothes were distressed in a way that didn’t seem prefab. Grey had a feeling if she touched his shirt it would be soft and threadbare from years of washing. She curled her fingers in on themselves to stop herself from reaching out to find out for certain.