Page 79 of Ethan & Grace

Not today. I need a bit of time for myself. Is that OK?

Ethan:

Of course. I’ll live for a day without you. Probably.

Me:

You can do it! I believe in you!

What are you doing now?

Ethan:

Messaging you.

Me:

Funny. What were you doing before?

Ethan:

Playing piano.

Me:

Can you play something for me sometime?

Ethan:

Sure, but I’m pretty rusty. I didn’t play very much over the last few years.

Me:

Because of your dad?

Ethan:

Yes. I actually loved it, but my dad put so much pressure on me that it wasn’t fun anymore. I was always afraid of messing up and not being good enough. And then when I was sent to boarding school, I stopped, because I thought that would show my dad. I really regret it, though. I’d be so much better today if I’d kept playing.

Me:

I get it. But look on the bright side—you got over your fear today and played just for yourself. That’s huge! And you’ve got loads of time to improve.

Ethan and I messaged for a while. I told him that Jason was trying to teach himself to play the keyboard with the help of YouTube tutorials, and Ethan offered to stop by some time to give him a few tips.

The idea of Ethan coming to give my brother keyboard lessons in his tiny room was heartwarming, and it confirmed what I already knew: This thing between us was no longer just a casual fling. Maybe it never had been. It scared me. I’d always been drawn to his looks, but my weakness for his personality was new. I was worried I could easily fall for this new version of Ethan. The version that trusted me, and wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. The version that stood by my side, listened to me, and not only made me laugh but could calm me down in seconds when my own emotions overwhelmed me.

After nearly an hour of messaging, we said goodbye. I plugged in my phone, which was down to only five percent battery, and got up from the bed to toss the empty pizza box in the bin. Just then, the front door opened, and my parents came in, joking with each other. Their laughter died when they saw me standing by the bin. A bitterness rose in my throat, but I forced a smile. I was glad my parents could be happy again, but I hated being the one who made them stop laughing.

The tension between us had only grown since our argument about Amy’s room. I had apologised for disappearing without a word, but we hadn’t, of course, spoken about the elephant in the room: what we would do with Amy’s things, or how they had treated me since her death. So we went on, awkward and uneasy, pretending nothing had changed.

“Hey.” My voice sounded dull. “How was the film?”

“Very entertaining,” my dad said, hanging up his jacket.

My mum held up a red-and-white cardboard bucket. “Want some popcorn?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks.”