“Why does it have to be misguided?” he asks sharply.
“You know why!” My voice is hard as granite. I can’t believe I’m even having to explain this to him. “You and I grew up under the same damn roof, Ethan. Our parents were serial cheaters. They were toxic and they blamed all their shit on us. Or maybe I shielded you too much for you to remember? Maybe I should have taken the headphones off your ears and unlocked our bedroom door when they were screaming at each other in the kitchen and we were upstairs scared out of our minds?”
“I remember just fine,” he says, but I wonder if he really does.
We both go silent as memories swim through our heads. Mine most likely different from his because unlike him, I took most of the brunt of our dysfunctional upbringing, always trying to create at least an illusion of normalcy for Ethan. Our parents both worked at low-paying jobs that required them to be gone most of the day—sometimes nights too. I took care of my brother more than they ever did. I cooked most of his meals. I did our laundry. I made sure that he had help with his homework. And then when they’d come home exhausted and angry, they would tell me I was the one who messed up by not cleaning up the dishes after I made dinner. My perceived laziness would kick-start my parents’ fighting. My dad would drink. My mom would leave and go to whichever dude she was sleeping with at the time—and in the end, they’d always come back together and tell me and Ethan that they were going to make it work for us.
There was very little happiness in our home when we were growing up, and there sure as hell wasn’t love. Maybe marriage works for people who grew up in ideal homes with parents who support and care for each other; but for people like me and Ethan, we wouldn’t even begin to know where to start to have a good relationship. I’ve tried it a few times. I never make it past the three-week mark before either I’m ending things or she is because we can’t stop fighting, or that initial spark has faded. It’s why I don’t even bother trying anymore. I don’t know how to love—not even sure I’m capable of it. In fact, I don’t know that I believe in it.
And until three months ago when he met Hannah at a concert, Ethan felt the same way.
“I’m sorry, but I won’t support you in this. You’re making a huge mistake, and I can’t sit by quietly while you do,” I tell him plainly—hating that I have to upset him but incapable of not being honest with him at the same time. I love him too much to watch him potentially ruin his life like this. “Why not hit the brakes a little and take it slow? Keep dating for a while and see if your infatuation holds up—because most likely, that’s all this is, and soon the fighting will kick in or she’s going to cheat, or—”
“Stop. I’m choosing not to be hurt right now because I know where you’re coming from, but I won’t listen to you talk negatively about Hannah. As someone who understands better than anyone else, I hoped you’d be willing to listen to me and trust me when I say that I was wrong about relationships and marriage. We had a terrible upbringing, but not all relationships have to be like that. My relationship with Hannah is really good, Will. We communicate, we both give and take, and it’s so nice to know that at the end of the day I have someone to love me through every—”
I end the call.
Later I’ll text him and tell him I lost service, but for now I can’t stand to hear him say any more about it. I hate that he’s running full steam ahead toward something that could really hurt him, all because of feelings that are still brand-new. And I really hate that he doesn’t seem to be as scared of it as I am. How is he able to move past it so quickly when it’s something I’m affected by daily?
It doesn’t matter. Because the fact is, when I started keeping people at arm’s length was when I started really finding happiness—and I’ve never met anyone who’s made me want to challenge that decision.
No one.
Not Gretchen, not the woman I met in Italy last year, not Jada from Texas, not Allie from Indiana, and not even…
My thoughts snag on the one name I can’t bring myself to lump in with the others for some concerning reason:
Annie Walker.
CHAPTER FOUR
Annie
After leaving the restaurant, I go straight to Amelia and Noah’s house for an Audrey Hepburn movie night with the girls. Before going in, however, I change out of Emily’s dress and back into my usual overalls and T-shirt in my truck, and then shove the dress into my purse. It’s fine—it’s dark. No one saw anything.
My sisters and I have adopted Amelia’s practice that if anything goes wrong, hurts, or makes you feel cloudy, you turn on an Audrey film and inject her smile into your heart until it heals. Or you know, just generally have a girls’ night and gossip and eat popcorn.
That’s what’s happening tonight, while we’re all four curled up in various parts of Noah’s living room (or I guess I should think of it as Amelia’s living room now) watching Funny Face. When Amelia first came to town a little over a year ago, we had never seen an Audrey movie. Amelia, however, is capital O obsessed with her. And after watching her movies, my sisters and I are too.
“Nope,” Amelia says abruptly over the sound of the movie as she points to the hallway off the living room. “I saw you. Go back into your room.”
My brother Noah emerges from the hallway wearing a sulky face. “Come on. Just let me watch this one with you guys. You can’t keep me from my own damn living room.”
Amelia has been very firm in protecting our early tradition of girls’ night, and her engagement to Noah hasn’t changed it. The funny thing is, I don’t think he actually wants to watch the movie. He just loves to push Amelia’s buttons, and she loves to have them pushed. Match made in heaven.
“Excuse me—it’s my living room, too, now. And this is girls’ night. No boys allowed.”
Noah rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’m going to James’s house.” James is Noah’s best friend and like our second brother. He owns Huxley Farm next door (next door meaning several acres over).
“I’ll send a courier pigeon when we’re done,” says Amelia.
Noah slaps a ball cap on. “Just call.”
“We’ll flash the lights twenty times when it’s safe to come back and get frisky, Lover Boy,” says Maddie with a devious smile. Noah hates the nickname we gave him when he was first falling for Amelia. We’ll never let it go.
Noah frowns. “Call me when it’s over so I can come to bed. Some of us are not teachers on summer break and have actual jobs in the morning.”
Emily cups her hands around her mouth to get a good projection going. “I’ll turn on the hose and shoot a stream of water at James’s window when we’re on our way out, so you know the coast is clear to come home and make sweet, sweet love to Amelia!”
Noah tries his very best not to smile, but we can all see it there, lurking. He looks at me next. “Nothing from you?”
I shrug. “Tell James I said hi.”
My sisters and Amelia all boo, and Noah just grins at me. “I like you the best.”
He turns and leaves, but no sooner has the front door shut behind him than it opens again. Noah storms back inside. He walks around the back of the couch where Amelia is sitting, puts his hands on her jaw, and tilts her face up so he can kiss her goodbye.
When I first saw Noah and Amelia together as a couple, I was shocked. Well, we all were. The affection between those two was so easy and freely given. I’ve never seen Noah like that with anyone else. It’s inspiring watching the way they have managed their long-distance relationship all while dating within the limitations of Amelia’s fame.
“Ew,” says Madison with a disgusted laugh. “You’re going to kiss her Spider-Man style? It wasn’t a good look for Tobey, and it’s not a good look for you either.”
Emily throws a pillow at Maddie, and she deflects it with a karate chop.