I should go, he said standing. It's late. Clara walked him to the door. In the dim hallway light, she looked younger somehow, more uncertain. Same time next week?
She asked. Yeah. Lilly has art class Thursday evenings. I'm usually free after. If you wanted to I don't know.
Get coffee without a chaperone this time? Ethan smiled. I'd like that. Okay, good. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither quite ready to say goodbye.
Ethan? Yeah. Thanks for seeing us. Not just showing up, but actually seeing us. He didn't trust himself to respond with words, so he just nodded.
Walking back to his truck, Ethan passed a man smoking in the stairwell, a couple arguing in rapid Spanish, a flickering fluorescent light that probably hadn't been fixed in years. The building was falling apart. The neighborhood was rough. Everything about this situation should have sent him running. Instead, he was already thinking about Thursday.
His phone rang as he drove home. Rachel, of course. How was it? Good. Just good?
Really good. Did you tell her? No. Ethan. I'm not doing this tonight, Rachel. You're falling for her.
He didn't answer, which was answer enough. Just be careful, his sister said softly. I know you want this to be real, but secrets have a way of blowing up. I know. Do you?
Yeah, I do. He hung up and drove the rest of the way home in silence, Clara's words echoing in his head. Thanks for seeing us. The problem was Ethan couldn't imagine not seeing them now. His house felt even emptier than usual when he got back.
He walked through the massive kitchen where he never cooked, past the dining room table that never hosted dinners, up to his bedroom where he slept alone in a bed big enough for four people. Somewhere across town, Clara was probably already asleep on a mattress on the floor. Lily curled up beside her, both of them crammed into a space smaller than his walk-in closet. And he would have traded his entire house for one night in that crowded apartment if it meant he got to be part of whatever family they were building together. His phone buzzed.
A text from Clara. Lily just informed me she's adding you to her Christmas list. Fair warning. Ethan smiled and typed back, What does she want? She hasn't decided yet, but knowing her, it'll involve art supplies and glitter.
I can handle glitter. That's what everyone says. Then they find it in their car 6 months later. Worth it. A pause, then Yeah.
It really is. Ethan fell asleep that night thinking about bookshelf measurements and terrible water pressure, and a little girl who thought he had kind eyes. For the first time in 3 years, he didn't dream about his failing marriage, or his empty house, or the company that demanded everything and gave back nothing. He dreamed about a crowded apartment that smelled like pasta and paint, where everyone talked with their hands and nobody cared that he was a billionaire because nobody knew. And when he woke up, he was already planning Thursday.
Thursday came slower than Ethan wanted and faster than he was ready for. He spent Wednesday afternoon in a meeting with city planners about a mixed-use development downtown, nodding at architectural renderings while mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need to build Lily a proper desk. The folding table situation was bothering him more than it should. Clara needed workspace. Lily needed somewhere to do homework that wasn't covered in design mock-ups and coffee rings.
Mr. Mercer, your thoughts on the facade treatment? Ethan blinked and refocused on the architect standing at the front of the conference room. Whatever gets us through permitting fastest. I trust your judgment. His VP shot him a look that clearly said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
But Ethan ignored it. The meeting dragged on another 40 minutes before he could escape. His assistant caught him in the hallway. "Sir, you have the foundation dinner Saturday night." "The one for children's literacy?"
Cancel it. You're the keynote speaker. Find someone else. Mr. Mercer? Janet.
He stopped walking and turned to face her. I know I'm being difficult. I know this is your job, but I need Saturday off and I'm not negotiating. She studied him with the expression of someone who'd worked for the Mercer family long enough to recognize when pushing back was pointless. Fine.
But you're telling the board chair yourself. Deal. He made it to Clara's building at 6:15, carrying takeout from a Thai place his sister had recommended, and trying not to think too hard about the fact that he was more nervous now than he'd been before board presentations worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Clara answered the door in paint-splattered jeans and a tank top, her hair up in a clip with a pencil stuck through it. You're early.
Traffic was light. Is that a problem? No, just um She gestured vaguely at herself. I'm a mess. Lily's still at art class.
I was going to shower before you got here. You look fine. I have cerulean blue in my hair. I don't know what that is. It's a shade of paint.
In my hair. Because I'm a professional disaster. Ethan held up the takeout bag. I brought food. Clara's expression softened.
You didn't have to do that. I know. Can I come in or are we eating in the hallway? She stepped aside laughing. Sorry.
Yeah, come in. The apartment looked different in the early evening light. Still small, still crowded, but somehow more lived-in than last time. Lilly's artwork covered one wall now, held up with painter's tape. The new bookshelf stood proud in the bedroom doorway, fully loaded and organized.
Clara saw him looking. She rearranges it every day. I've stopped trying to keep track of her system. That's good. Means she's using it.
Using it? She talks about it constantly. Well, signs about it. You know what I mean. Clara cleared space on the folding table, moving design sketches and a laptop that looked like it might die any second.
What did you bring? Pad Thai, spring rolls, some kind of curry thing the guy recommended. The guy? At the restaurant. You went there in person?
Yeah. Clara sat down across from him, shaking her head slightly. Most people just order delivery. I was already out. Where?
Good question. Ethan had actually driven from a job site in the industrial district, but saying that would require explaining what he was doing there, which would lead to questions he wasn't ready to answer. Running errands. Clara accepted this without pressing. They ate straight from the containers because she only had four plates and most of them were in the sink.
The Pad Thai was good. The spring rolls were better. The curry was too spicy for either of them, but they kept eating it anyway. So, Clara said around a mouthful of noodles. Tell me about your son.
Jake? You have another one I don't know about? Just Jake. He's eight. Smart kid.
Too smart sometimes. What does that mean? It means he asks questions I don't always know how to answer. Ethan set down his fork. He's with his mom this week.
We split custody 50/50. That must be hard. It's not ideal. How long have you been divorced? Final papers came through about 8 months ago.
We were separated for a year before that. What happened? If you don't mind me asking. Ethan thought about how to answer that honestly without getting into territory he wasn't ready to explore. We wanted different things.
She wanted the life that came with my last name. I wanted to actually live instead of performing all the time. Clara was quiet for a moment. What does that mean? Performing?
Parties, galas, charity events, where everyone spends more on their outfit than most people make in a month. Standing around making small talk with people who only care about what you can do for them. He realized he was saying too much and pulled back. My ex-wife loved all that. I didn't.
Eventually that became a problem we couldn't fix. Sounds exhausting. It was. Is that why you dress like you're about to demo a house? Ethan looked down at his worn jeans and faded Henley.
I dress like this because it's comfortable. And because it pisses off your ex-wife? That's just a bonus. Clara laughed and the sound filled the small apartment like light. I like you, Ethan Mercer.
You're weird, but I like you. I'll take it. They finished eating and Clara insisted on doing dishes, even though there were only a few containers to rinse. Ethan stood in the doorway to the tiny kitchen, watching her work, and trying to figure out when he'd become the kind of person who found dishwashing romantic. How long until you pick up Lily?