to bed. Yesterday he came home a little after five, but when he saw me, he turned around and went to his room. Of course I followed him—this really had gone on long enough. After climbing the stairs to his room and knocking on the door and receiving no answer, I opened it. I heard the shower in his bathroom, so I went back downstairs to finish the laundry, figuring I would catch him when he came back down. I didn’t catch him. He somehow left without me hearing him, again.
Today was the second of August, and since I had taken on all of the bookkeeping for the house, I was able to put aside the anticipation for tonight, and my worries over Ethan. All week the only thing to divert my attention from both distractions was my online courses, and I finished the week’s assignments on Monday.
Finished writing the last check for the gas company, I slid it in the envelope, and put a stamp on it. I picked up the pile of payments ready to go out in the mail, walked out of the study and set them on the kitchen counter for Grandpa or Ethan to drop in the mailbox at the end of our long gravel driveway. I glanced at my watch, seeing it was almost five, and went to my room to get ready for my date. Something that felt like a little paper-winged moth fluttered in my stomach when I thought about it: my first real date.
After showering, shaving, drying my hair, and putting on just a touch of mascara and lip gloss, I walked out of my bathroom to find Ethan sitting on my bed. Thankfully I had my robe on. A little startled and a lot nervous, I walked to the bed, and sat down next to him. I wasn’t sure what to say. I knew he needed to talk. So, I just waited.
“I’m sorry, Tare,” he began without turning to face me. His eyes remained trained on his hands in his lap. “I should have never said what I did, and you’re right, you don’t need me. I know you’re going to Carter’s, but before you leave, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” He spoke with such a despondent tone, it made my chest ache. With his head bowed, hands in his lap, and shoulders slumped, he made a perfect picture of dejection. Tears started to form in my eyes, and guilt swamped me. Trying desperately to not cry again, I grabbed his hand and turned my body to face him.
“Ethan, look at me, please.” He lifted his head until he met my eyes, and turned his body slightly toward mine. I had no control over my emotions, and I threw my arms around him, grabbing onto his middle and holding on tightly. I felt his arms come around me and tighten.
“I’m so, so sorry, Ethan. I do need you, you are my best friend, and without you, I would have died, too.” My body was shaking with sobs. I could feel his chest quaking, and when I looked up to his face, he was crying, too.
“You are the best man that I know, Ethan. Your strength inspires and humbles me. You make me want to be better. You and me, Ethan always. Remember, it’s you and me,” I cried.
“Shhh, I remember Tare. You and me. I love you, baby sister,” he whispered in my ear, while rubbing my back and rocking. I couldn’t believe how much I had hurt him. It made me feel sick to my stomach. I had only seen Ethan cry three times since the incident: the first was when I woke up in the hospital, the second was my dad’s funeral, and now. To know I caused him to cry ripped me raw.
I’m not sure how long we sat like that before we released our embrace. He smiled—it was a sad smile, but healing nonetheless. He looked at his watch, and back to me.
“You only have half an hour before he gets here, I suggest you get yourself ready.” His smile got bigger, and after ruffling my hair, he walked to the door.
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