Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Twenty-Five

Night came too quickly and tomorrow was another sonogram. I needed a night by myself before I saw that little creature on the screen.

"Don't leave," Ethan whispered.

"I have to," I said.

"I know," he admitted. "You should go. I just don't want you to."

"I don't either," I said softly.

He kissed me on the lips, a respectful kiss that was less sexual than kisses I've gotten from my great aunts. I smiled mischievously and poked my tongue between his lips. He smiled, humoring me, but leaned back, kissing me chastely again on the nose.

"Little minx," he said, and I laughed. "When will I see you again?"

I looked down at that. He was being so patient, so understanding, but he couldn't actually understand. He didn't have the phantom of another love watching over everything. He didn't have the child of another love growing inside of him, and if he did we had larger problems.

"Soon," I promised, and turned to go.

He walked me out, chivalrous gentleman that he was, and we kissed once more at the car. This time it was deeper, more ardent.

"That one was so I know you'll come back," Ethan said and winked.

"And now I'll have to," I responded archly, and maneuvered myself behind the steering wheel.

"Should I drive you home?" he asked, concerned. Or maybe he was just afraid to let me go, afraid I really wouldn't come back. Maybe he understood more than I thought.

"And then what, walk back? Or will I have to drive you back after?"

"Good point," he laughed sheepishly, then leaned through the window to kiss my shoulder. "Drive safe," he said, and then because I couldn't stand this parting, I put the car into gear and drove off.

It had been a long day—wonderful, but long—yet I was wired and knew I couldn't go back home yet. Being with Ethan was like a drug; it shut off my brain to anything too painful, and let in the pleasure I hadn't felt in ages. And yet, even while I wasn't thinking, I must have been putting effort into turning off my brain—Amy had called today and last night, not unusual these days, but each time I had ignored the calls. I wasn't ready to tell her about Ethan. Was I ashamed of myself? Ashamed of him? I didn't want to know, and that's why I didn't pick up and even now, I wasn't going to call her back. Instead. I needed a girls' night, and I needed one stat.

Julia, reliable as ever, was home and willing to host ladies' night, despite the fact that we couldn't think of a plan that didn't involve drinking, and that was unfortunately not an option. I was getting pretty sick of this whole abstinence thing.

It had been a couple of weeks since Julia and I had hung out, the longest we'd gone without seeing each other since she first came to visit me after Al died. Truthfully, she hadn't reached out either, and whether that was due to her unending sensitivity to my feelings or simply because she was busy too, it gave me a justification for not seeing her. The fact that she so readily agreed to hanging out so last minute, though, made me think her reason for not getting in touch was more the former than the latter, and so guilt for getting in touch only when I needed her was added to my list of emotional baggage.

This is the worst part about being friends with nice people—they always make you feel guilty by being so nice, and then they just make you feel guiltier when they (nicely) protest that you shouldn't feel guilty at all. It almost makes me prefer mean people.

"I'm so sorry I've been so out of it," I apologized as soon as she opened the door.

"Don't worry about it!" she chirped—see what I mean about nice people?