Call It What You Want, page 7
I felt Ethan climb into bed an hour later. He didn’t say anything, and I wondered if he was pretending not to know I was awake. He didn’t try to cuddle me; he didn’t even try to touch me. We were lying in the same bed, but it felt like we were hundreds of miles apart. I tried to close my eyes and tell myself things would be better by morning. If only I believed it.
***
In the middle of the night, I rolled over to readjust my sleeping position and realized that Ethan wasn’t next to me. I reached for my phone to check the time and see if he’d texted to tell me where he was going. No new notifications except for a comment from a classmate on my discussion board post. I got out of bed and grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from my duffle bag before heading downstairs to find him.
After a few minutes of scoping out the main level, I noticed one of the back sliding doors was ajar. I found him sitting in a rocking chair, staring at the electric fire he must’ve started.
“Hey,” I said sitting down in the chair next to him. “Are you okay?”
Ethan’s response lingered in silence before he finally murmured, “I needed some space.”
“From me?”
“No, Sloane.”
“Are you sure?” I pressed. “I know I got a little carried away earlier. I didn’t mean to make the whole night about a stupid game. I should’ve just brushed it off and rejoined the group.”
“I said it wasn’t about you.” He seemed to be getting angry. “Not everything I do or say directly involves you.”
“Oh, okay.” I shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it about me. I just wanted to apologize for earlier.”
“Sorry,” he replied. “I didn’t mean that. I just feel overwhelmed.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked gently.
“Not really,” he admitted, his voice a low rumble of buried pain.
I got up, but instead of retreating, I wanted to be closer to him. In a quiet, fluid motion, I pulled a blanket off the back of my chair and sat on his lap. I draped it over the both of us and laid my head between his collar and jaw. Nestled against him, it was almost like I could feel the tension release from his body.
“You know you can tell me anything, right? I don’t mean now, but when you’re ready,” I said softly.
“I know.”
Ethan wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in closer. It was then, in the security of our cocoon, that he started to really talk.
“It’s this house, that bedroom. It can be suffocating, coming back here,” he confided, the words heavy.
“Why does it feel suffocating?” I asked, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying but hoping that he would.
With a deep breath, he opened up even more. “It’s just…it’s full of memories I’d rather not revisit. I spent so much of my childhood here, holidays especially. It’s ironic that the holidays are what I’ve come to resent, because those memories weren’t all that bad. We’d ski, build fires, play manhunt. Looking back it was good,” he admitted. “The Clarks are great people, but it was hard to be surrounded by this perfect family that wasn’t mine. It was just a constant reminder that I’d never have that.”
I sat in silent empathy. My initial intention to offer comfort through words shifted as I realized maybe he didn’t want a reply. Maybe he just wanted someone to listen. “I’m sorry,” I finally said, my voice a soft echo on the quiet porch.
He shook his head slightly. “It’s not your fault,” he reassured me. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be there soon.”
Reluctantly, I nodded, squeezing his hand in assurance before standing up, leaving him with his thoughts and the crackling of the fire.
When I got back to our room and was nestled under the covers, I wondered what really happened to him when he was younger. How bad could it have been? Clearly bad enough to scare him out of falling in love. Even though my parents were divorced, I still believed that love existed. It was never perfect, never secure, and sometimes never forever, but it was something that I believed everyone should experience at least once in their life. My heart hurt at the thought of him feeling alone and unloved. I wished he could see that all I wanted was to love him, and if he’d let me, I’d never leave.
10
Ethan
January 2017
I stared at the ceiling fan and followed it with my eyes as it went around and around and around. Something about being back in a bedroom I grew up in always gave me insomnia. The only thing that was different this time was that I wasn’t lying in the bed alone. I looked over and Sloane was fast asleep with her back facing me.
When I was younger and spent holidays here, I didn’t expect the traditions to carry into adulthood. I thought that one day my parents would come back, and we’d be a family again. I only gave up on that hope a few years ago. As much as I hated to admit it, this house was as much mine as it was Graham’s. I’d officially reached the age where I lived with his family longer than my own.
I carefully slid out of bed, making sure not to wake Sloane in the process. As I entered the hallway, I stopped to look at the wall of photos that I usually tried my hardest to avoid. One that caught my eye particularly was of Graham and me on the morning of our high school graduation. At first glance, we looked like a totally normal family. You’d never suspect that was the worst day of my life, at least so far. I spent it hoping that my mom would show up to the ceremony. She never did. I had to hide how much it hurt as I went to dinner with the Clarks and then got the most wasted that I’d ever been at our friend’s party. I slept in a bush in front of the house until noon, when Graham finally found me.
Passing the rest of the memories I’d tried so hard to forget, I went into the kitchen, poured myself another glass of whiskey, and opened the sliding doors that led to the back porch. I took a seat in one of the large rocking chairs and reached for the remote that started the fireplace. As I looked out into the vast snowy mountains, I wondered what my future would look like. This house wasn’t really mine, as much as it sometimes felt like it was. My kids wouldn’t have grandparents—not biological ones anyway. What kind of dad would I be? Would I be the kind that played football in the front yard? Taught them how to ride a bike? Maybe I wouldn’t even have kids. I tried to turn off my thoughts and drown them in whiskey when I heard someone approach from behind me.
“Hey,” Sloane said. “Are you okay?”
I didn’t want her here. Not to be a dick, but I’d never leaned on anyone my entire life, so why would I start? She couldn’t fix me so why was she trying?
“I needed some space,” I muttered, my gaze fixed on the fake flames.
“From me?”
I knew Sloane had her own issues, but how could someone like her ever have understood mine? Her parents might not have loved each other anymore, but they loved her. I could see it in the way she carried herself and hear it in the way she spoke about them. I didn’t want to open up to her. But I knew if I didn’t give her some sort of answer, it would become a fight, and that was something I really didn’t care to deal with right then.
I shook my head slightly. “No, Sloane.”
I struggled to explain to her how I felt.
I could feel her eyes on me, could sense her urge to comfort, but I didn’t want her pity. I didn’t want her to look at me and see a project or a lost cause. People looked at me that way for longer than I cared to admit. It would have been nice to start over in a place where no one knew me or my sob story. Being back here made me realize that it wasn’t just familiar people that stirred up those feelings, but places too. Maybe a fresh start was what I needed after graduation.
Sloane made it easier than I’d expected to let down some of the walls I had meticulously built. For most people that would be comforting, but instead, it made me want to run.
I’d known for a while that she was falling in love with me—it was written all over her face and melted into every interaction I had with her. I felt bad knowing that I’d never be able to love her the same way she loved me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I just knew I couldn’t. I also knew that stringing her along wasn’t fair. I knew what I needed to do.
11
Sloane
February 2017
Ethan pressed his foot to the gas, and my Honda Civic accelerated down College Road. I watched as he sang along to the radio while his hand rested on my thigh. A little over six months ago was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on him. Before him, I was afraid I’d never meet the right person. I wanted so badly to believe what people said about soulmates—that one day I’d meet someone who everything fell into place with, and I’d realize why it never worked out with anyone else. I’d like to think that someone for me was Ethan.
He wiggled his hand into one of the holes of my jeans and looked over at me from the driver’s seat like he wanted to have me right then and there.
“Stop it!” I laughed.
“Come on, not even a quickie? I can find somewhere to pull over,” he pleaded.
“I thought this was supposed to be my birthday dinner,” I argued.
“You know I’m always hungrier after sex.” He winked.
“Key word: my birthday dinner.”
He turned his attention back to the road. My least favorite love language was physical touch, and that was Ethan’s preferred method of communication. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it, but the way he’d touch me sometimes felt like he only wanted me for one thing—sex. Even though I knew our relationship was deeper than physical intimacy, it was still a thought that lingered in the back of my mind often.
The car pulled into an Outback parking lot, which wasn’t a terrible restaurant choice for a college student on a budget. The past few months that we’ve been hanging out, Graham has been getting us to try wine other than moscato. While he and Lauren preferred white, Ethan and I leaned toward red.
He ordered a bottle of pinot noir, and even though I preferred cab, I didn’t say anything. I was just glad he was taking me out, considering most of our “dates” were just drive-throughs, frat parties, or sleepovers.
“So, why don’t I know when your birthday is?” I asked as the waiter brought over our bottle and two glasses.
“It’s in July,” he started. “I don’t like to celebrate it though.”
I didn’t even try to pry. I wanted to keep the conversation light, because I knew he hated talking about his past. The last thing I needed was for something to change his mood or for him to push me away. I didn’t want a repeat of our weekend in the mountains. I actually wanted to enjoy the night.
When we got back to the apartment, it was dark and quiet. As I approached the end of the hall that connected our entryway to the kitchen, I turned on the lights and was shocked at the scene in front of me.
“Surprise!” A sea of my closest friends stood in front of me. “Happy birthday, Sloane!”
I turned around and glared at Ethan, who was still only halfway down the hall as if he were avoiding being a part of the grand entrance. I wasn’t turning twenty-two until the following week, but Lauren always made a huge deal out of birthdays, so knowing her we’d celebrate every day until the real thing.
“I put an outfit on your bed. The bodysuit and skirt you were eyeing at Vestique a few weeks ago!” Lauren whispered. Sometimes I wondered if she could read my mind, or if we were just that in tune. I squeezed her and excused myself so that I could change.
We went downtown to Front Street instead of the usual beach bars. It was unusually warm for a February night, so we took full advantage of the weather and spent the next few hours on the back patio of a dive bar buying rounds of green tea shots and requesting throwbacks from the DJ.
“On to the next!” Graham motioned for us to all chug so we could make our way to the next bar.
I wanted to feel remotely excited about going to Reel for late-night karaoke, but I didn’t. Ethan had barely said two words to me since we got out of the Uber, which only made me more anxious and less fun, two things I shouldn’t have felt on my birthday. I drank my vodka soda too quickly as I listened to Lauren blabber on and on about how Graham invited her on his family trip to Key West this summer. They hadn’t even been dating six months and were already planning vacations together; meanwhile most days I wondered if Ethan felt the same way about me as I did about him.
I watched from behind him in line as he talked and laughed with his friends, wishing he would motion for me to come to stand with him and put his arm around me. I would do anything for him to give me just the slightest bit of attention. The bouncer scanned my ID and fastened a blue band tightly around my wrist before telling me to have a good night. When I found our group, Ethan was waiting with a shot and a drink for me.
“What is it?” I asked, referring to the shot.
“Cheers.” He winked and lifted his glass up to mine, ignoring the question.
We took our shots simultaneously, and immediately I could feel the cheap vodka coming back up. I quickly ran to the bathroom, and for the next half hour, I didn’t leave the handicap stall, which I’m sure the groups of girls in line were thrilled about.
“Sloane, it’s me.” Lauren banged on the stall door. I wiped my mouth before flushing the toilet and collecting myself.
“Let’s go home,” I said as I opened the stall.
“Graham is in a car out front.” She led me through the crowd and out of the bar.
“Where’s Ethan?” I asked when she opened the car door, and the only people inside were the driver and Graham.
“He didn’t want to leave,” she replied. I could sense the disappointment in her tone of voice. She didn’t want to upset me, but she wasn’t surprised by his actions.
When we got back to the apartment, I thanked them for taking me home and went straight to my room. I managed to wash my face and put on an oversized T-shirt before getting into bed. The room felt like it was rotating, and the remnants of vodka stung the back of my throat. I rolled out of bed and miraculously made it to the toilet where I let it all out. Again.
***
The next morning my mouth tasted like a mixture of sour liquor and stale cardboard. As much as I was glad that I woke up to an empty bed considering my current state, I was pissed at Ethan. How could he treat me that way? And on my birthday? Sometimes I felt like I didn’t know him at all, and maybe I didn’t. How he could go from one extreme, like planning a dinner date, to completely ignoring my existence a few hours later was beyond me. Moments like these made me realize that I was the one in the relationship who had more feelings, and that was never a good thing.
My hand smacked the nightstand a few times before finally locating my phone. I held it close to my face as I pressed the home button and scrolled through dozens of notifications. I kept searching for the only one I cared about: a text or call from Ethan. There it was.
2:22 a.m.
Ethan Brady: 1 Missed Call
Before I could decide whether or not I wanted to call him back, there was a knock on my bedroom door.
“I literally just opened my eyes, Laur. Can you give me at least an hour before the lecture?” I croaked.
“It’s not Lauren.” I was surprised to hear a guy’s voice. “Are you decent?”
“Depends on if you consider dried vomit in my hair as decent or not,” I replied.
The door opened, and Graham smiled. He was holding a brown paper bag, which I could only assume had a bagel inside, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a blue Gatorade.
“The hangover breakfast of champions.” He set everything next to my bed, and just as I thought he was leaving, in one swift motion, he effortlessly flipped my desk chair around and straddled it backward. “How’re you feeling?”
“Not great, but this should help.” I held up two small capsules before I popped them into my mouth, followed by a long sip of electrolytes.
“You know that’s not what I meant. Have you talked to Ethan?” Graham asked.
“No,” I sighed. “He called me last night, I’m assuming on his way home. I just hate that he thinks he can do whatever he wants and then come and crawl into my bed at two a.m. like nothing ever happened. Who does he think he is?”
“That’s Brady for ya. Not that I’m sticking up for him by any means, but he’s an only child, pretty much grew up on his own, so he’s a selfish guy. I don’t think he sees anything wrong in it,” he said.
“Neither of us know what we’re doing when it comes to a relationship, but treating someone the way they treat you isn’t hard. I would’ve never done that to him. I’d spend every day with him if he’d let me.” I threw myself back onto the pillow, knowing exactly how desperate that sounded.
“For what it’s worth, I’m rooting for you guys. You just have to keep in mind that this is who he is to his core. I don’t know; maybe he’ll change. Just be careful. I didn’t like seeing you hurt last night.” And with that, Graham left my room.
As I sat there, my thoughts wandered to Lauren and Graham. They seemed almost like carbon copies of each other. I mean, I’ve truly never met a guy like Graham. People always say opposites attract, but I think there’s something wrong with that theory. Ethan and I, we’re like night and day. Maybe that’s our problem.
I stared at my phone’s call log, Ethan’s name glaring back at me. With a bit of hesitation, I decided to call him back.
“Hey,” he answered after the third ring.
“You called?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, irritation lacing every word.
“I’m sorry I didn’t leave with you last night. I just…wasn’t ready to leave yet.” Ethan’s apology sounded genuine, but it didn’t fully soothe the sting.
“Yeah, Graham told me. It was really shitty of you, Ethan.” I couldn’t help but let my disappointment and hurt show.
“I know, and I’m really sorry,” he replied.
We fell into an awkward silence, the air thick with things left unsaid.
I found myself asking the question that was always haunting me. “What are we doing, Ethan?”
