Page 148 of Pick-Up
He gazes toward the path for a beat, then back up at my face. There is an intensity in his eyes, a furrow in his brow that unravels me. Now that I realize I want this, I know I also want to take away his pain. He takes a step toward me. I drop my hands. “I ran here to find you to ask you not to choose fear,” he says. “Choose nights on the couch. Days in the park. Crispix shopping in tandem. Choose annoying events and ridiculous photo shoots. Choose the awkward blending of our families and run-ins with my ex. Choose getting screwed. Withme.”
And there is no way I can say no. To any of it. I want it all. Messiness be damned.
I take a step closer to Ethan. I pretend it’s because I want to give us some privacy. But really I just want to be as near to him as possible.
“It’s true that you come with some baggage,” I say. “And you could have told me your ex-wife hated me with the fire of a thousand suns. That might have been helpful forewarning. I’m not sure our kids like each other, and also you are very condescending when it comes to making cotton candy. And running.” I sigh, stick my chin in the air. “But you’re a really good kisser and that’s not something I want to live the rest of my life without experiencing again.”
This last part catches him by surprise. He works to suppress a smile. Manages, sort of. “So, what does that mean?”
“It means,” I say, forcing myself to hold his gaze no matter how naked I feel, “that I will stop with the push and pull. No one will be drawn and quartered today. That I’d like to date you. I chooseus.”
To my surprise, what I feel, more than anything, in accepting his proposition, in giving in to my base desires despite the obvious complications, is relief. Not panic. Not worry. I trust him. I trust us. I don’t want to fight myself anymore.
“You want to date me?” he says.
“Yes.”
“And kiss me?”
“That seems like an implicit part of the package, but yes. Sure. If I need to lay it all out: I’d like to date you and make out with you. Regularly. Because, the thing is, I really,reallylike you. And that doesn’t happen to me—ever.”
“You do?” He shoots me a small smile.
“Yes. Because you’re smart and funny and kind and good—and you look really great in T-shirts.”
“Hm. Even if I wear Tevas? You’ll still like me then?”
I toggle my head. “Yes. Even then… probably.”
He eyes me sideways, his lips pressed together as he assesses.Is this real?“It’s not always going to be simple.”
“I know. I can handle it.”
As if on cue, Green Vest jogs by in a green workout set. She spots us and raises a hand in greeting. “Hi, guys!”
We wave back.
“Has Kaitlin assigned each of her friends a color to wear?”
“It’s possible.” Ethan sighs. “But that’s a perfect example: that woman will likely report on us. People will be in our business. And you may not always like what they say or do.” His voice grows quiet. “Your kids may hear things and not always like that too.”
I nod. This has occurred to me. Multiple times as I lay awake in my bed, staring at my ceiling and wondering how my kids managed to stick a unicorn puffy sticker all the way up there. And, to be honest, my desire to block for my children is one of the biggest obstacles to overcome. But this is the work.
“Ethan. Are you talking me into this or out of this?”
“I don’t want to talk you in any direction at all.” He shakes his head. “I want you to know. On your own. I want you to be ready. And know that I’m here when and if you are.”
How can I explain? Encapsulate everything that has gotten me to this place?
“I’ve spent a lot of time worrying about what I can’t give my kids,” I say. Now, it’s my turn to kick a pebble, smash some leaves with my toe. “But I’ve realized I need to accept the reality of inevitably failing them sometimes, no matter the pain. It’s not possible to protect them entirely. Not without robbing all of us of something. They need to learn resilience. So, perfection is no longer the goal.” It was never attainable anyway. “Ethan, I think the reason I didn’t remember you after we first met and had what I’m sure was a significant conversation is that I wasn’t open to seeing the truth yet. And I think that’s been a big barrier for me all along, in many ways. I haven’t been truly open to what I want.”
Ethan runs a hand through his hair. Nods. I want to do the same.Run my fingers over his head and down his neck, lodge myself in the crook of his arm. Inhale his mowed-lawn cologne. But I realize we’re not there yet.
I can’t believe I was ever willing to let him go.
“I understand that it’s not the same for us,” he is saying. “I know that being a mother is different from being a father. But, for the sake of my relationship with my ex-wife too, I’m taking more on. Not only the logistical stuff, but also the sense of compromise. The load.”
“They should come up with a better word for that.”
