Part 7 — Pie at Midnight
On the way home, Ethan asked if we could stop somewhere for dessert.
So at nearly eleven o’clock on a Saturday night, still dressed for a luxury wedding, we sat in a twenty-four-hour diner eating apple pie.
Ethan had loosened his tie. I had kicked off my heels beneath the table.
For several minutes neither of us spoke. Finally I said, “You scared ten years off my life.”
He smiled.
“Sorry.”
“I thought you were going to pour punch on somebody.”
He laughed.
“I thought about it.”
“Ethan.”
“I’m kidding.”
I reached across the table.
“Are you okay?”
He stared at his pie.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s allowed.”
He nodded.
“Are you mad I did that?”
I thought carefully.
“I wish you never felt like you had to.” He looked at me. “But no. I’m not mad.”
“I didn’t want to embarrass him.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted him to stop acting like everything was our fault.”
“I know that too.”
He looked at Grandpa’s watch on his wrist.
“Grandma showed me Grandpa’s letter last week.”
“So she knew about the scrapbook?”
“She helped print the pictures.”
I smiled.
“That explains a lot.”
Ethan became quiet.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Dad loves me?”
It was the question I had feared for eighteen months. I could have given him an easy answer. Instead, I gave him an honest one.
“I think your dad loves you.”
Ethan waited.
“But loving someone and knowing how to love them well aren’t always the same thing.”
His eyebrows pulled together.
“What does that mean?”
“It means people can love us and still disappoint us. Sometimes badly. Love doesn’t erase responsibility.”
He considered that.
“So what happens now?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if Dad wants another chance?”
I squeezed his hand.
“Then he gets to prove what he does with it.”
