Page 135 of Mile High Ex's Dad
I glance at Ethan. He’s no longer pretending to be fully unconscious. His arm has shifted just enough for me to know he’s listening.
Good. Let him hear his mother speak plainly for once.
Before I can answer, the door opens.
Maksim walks in without knocking, stops just inside, and takes in the room with one quick look. Me standing by the door. Alina by the fireplace. Ethan half-conscious on the sofa.
His mouth moves slightly. “Well. This looks healthy.”
Alina turns to him. “Do not.”
He lifts one hand. “I was only observing.”
I say, “Ethan got drunk.”
Maksim looks at my son. “I noticed.”
“He was saying stupid things in the hallway,” Alina says.
That almost gets Ethan to laugh, but he thinks better of it.
Alina exhales through her nose and looks away. “He’s meant to be getting married in a matter of hours.”
“Then perhaps he should stop drinking like a university student after his first breakup,” Maksim says.
Ethan sits up at that and glares at him. “I’m right here.”
“I’m aware,” Maksim says. “It’s what makes the drinking more disappointing.”
Alina lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, though there’s no real amusement in it. “You’re late.”
Maksim gives her a look as he sets his bag down on the table by the door. “I was dealing with an actual emergency. Forgive me for not rushing back sooner to supervise this one.”
The ease of it catches my attention.
Not the words themselves. The tone. Light, practiced, almost domestic in the way old habits sometimes are between people who have known each other too long.
“You called him?” I ask Alina who looks flustered for a moment but recovers quickly.
“Well he’s practically our family doctor.”
“I’m flattered,” Maksim says drily.
Alina folds her arms, but there’s less heat in it now. “He’s drunk.”
Maksim glances at Ethan. “Yes. I can smell that from here.”
“You could try sounding less pleased about it,” she says.
“I’m not pleased,” he says. “Only unsurprised.”
Again, that same ease.
I watch them for a moment longer than I mean to. They were never especially close when we were married. Civil, yes. Comfortable enough in shared rooms. But not this. Not this shorthand. Not this sense that neither one of them needs to explain the edges of their mood to the other.
The thought comes and goes. I’m too tired to follow it anywhere useful.
Maksim walks over to Ethan and looks down at him. “Can you stand?”
