Wednesday evening, 7 PM

Harvest Restaurant, Cambridge

Ethan

Why did I bare my soul like that to a total stranger?

Hours after leaving Belmont, Ethan still couldn’t get over how close he’d come to talking more about Abbie. He’d pulled back at the last moment but coming so close… it felt like a betrayal. To Callie’s credit, she hadn’t pressed him for details, but she knew. He’d seen the sympathy in her eyes.

How long did it take him to open up like that to Jess? She used to tease him about being so mysterious, so private with his thoughts and family life. Even now, their rare fights always circled back to that same theme: We’re supposed to be soul mates, so how come I never know what you’re thinking? There should be no secrets between us.

She was right. There were things about his past that Jess deserved to know before they got married. Ever since their relationship turned serious, he’d been looking for the right moment to tell her. But the timing never felt right. 

Part of him wondered if it ever would.

“You’re so quiet tonight, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

Ethan looked up at his mom and realized he’d been staring at the dinner menu for over a minute. This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to go. She needed distraction, not brooding. He had no right to be so self-absorbed. Not tonight. Not on the five-year anniversary of the worst day of their lives.

“Sorry.” He returned his full attention to her. “Just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” Mom reached across the table to cover his hand, worry lines framing her watery blue eyes, and he instantly regretted his choice of words.

“No. Life’s good. It’s just that between my psych rotation, planning for the move to New York, residency, the wedding…”  

“You’ve got a full plate,” she finished, smiling again. “I know. But these are all wonderful things, darling. Jess is such a lovely girl. You’re finally…” Her voice cracked. “You’re finally getting the life you deserve.”

“Yeah. I’m lucky,” Ethan said, eager to steer the conversation to something lighter. When Mom got emotional like this, tears of joy had a way of turning into sobs of self-pity. She needed distraction, which he had learned to provide. “And you certainly hit it off with Jess’s parents, especially Judy.”

That seemed to do the trick. The remainder of dinner passed with light conversation about Ethan’s future in-laws. Byron Sachs with his hedge fund billions and political ambitions. Judy’s philanthropy and volunteer work for ‘Save the Children.’ Mom’s mood seemed cheerful enough, until the waitress handed out dessert menus.

“Your father,” she said as they considered their options. “Have you talked to him lately?”

“No.” Ethan put down the menu, bracing himself. When Mom thinned her lips like this, bad news always followed. “Why? What happened?”

“Oh, nothing really. Just that he’s started seeing someone. One of his surgical residents, if you can believe it.” She took a sip of pinot noir. “It’s quite the controversy at the Brigham. Girl’s only a few years older than you.”

“When –?” Ethan felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. “When did you find out about this?”

“Earlier this week.”

“Before or after we had dinner with Jess’s parents?”

“Before.”

He crushed the napkin in his hand, remembering how his father had been glued to his cell for a good part of the engagement dinner.  Claimed he was dealing with a hospital consult. Putting out fires.

Well, he’d give Dad a fire to put out. After dinner, he’d march right over to the selfish prick’s apartment and –

“It’s okay, honey.” Mom reached across the table to ease the napkin from his fist. “I’m not upset. What your father does with his private life is his own business. He has a right to move on, and I accept that.” She smiled. “Just as long as he’s a good father to you.”

Before he could reply, she gestured for the waitress to come over. That was how Mom ended uncomfortable conversations. Abruptly, and always on her terms. As she cheerfully ordered the mixed berries and sorbet, Ethan bristled at the sudden change in her voice. The ease with which she slipped on her public mask – the charming, polished one she always wore when talking to friends and strangers.

Abbie hated this phoniness. The acting. The pretty façade.

Stop it, Mom! Stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s not!

“And what about you? See anything tempting?”

He looked up at the waitress, who was waiting for his order.

“Just a coffee, please.”

The young woman nodded and took his menu, then walked away. She looked to be in her early twenties – tall and thin with the pale skin, freckles, and reddish hair so common in this part of New England. In the restaurant’s low light, she could almost pass for Abbie from a distance. Hopefully, Mom wouldn’t notice the resemblance.

She didn’t seem to as she prattled on about the new Shaker furniture display she was curating at the museum, then changed to the topic of his hair and how it so desperately needed a trim, especially in the back. She’d been meaning to tell him since the engagement dinner (she had, at least a dozen times), and couldn’t she just treat him to a session with Renzo at the Charles Street Salon?  

How many times had he and Abbie joked about Mom’s perennial nitpicking? He always gave in with a shrug, but his big sister would fight every nagging request, no matter how trivial.  He could almost see her puffing out her cheeks and laughing now. Not the dark, bitter laugh from those last few months, but the playful one from before. The one that made everyone grin and join in. Even Dad.

Mom was right about one thing. Doctor Evander Chase had been a good father. Abbie brought that out in him, just like she always brought out the best in everyone.

And then she’d died, and everything had fallen apart.

*

A half hour later, Ethan stepped off the T at the Aquarium stop. Up ahead, city lights flickered against the dark expanse of Boston Inner Harbor and an arctic wind whipped off the water, turning vicious as it funneled through the skyscrapers of downtown.

The cold slapped his cheeks raw, but he welcomed the pain. It sharpened his anger. Made him itch for the confrontation to come.

He gritted his teeth and crossed State Street.

Dad’s new “bachelor’s pad” was the opposite of the cozy colonial he had left behind with his wife in Chestnut Hill. Haymarket Wharf reminded Ethan of a bunch of stacked brick boxes with windows. That seemed to be the new style; over the past few years, dozens of similar luxury residential blocks had sprung up like mushrooms, some virtually overnight, to take advantage of Boston’s real estate boom.

The doorman recognized Ethan from earlier visits, but still called up to announce him. After ten long rings, his father finally picked up, sounding gruff and annoyed.

“What?” It was the same clipped tone he used when answering late-night calls from the hospital.

The doorman cleared his throat. “Your son Ethan is here to see you.”

Silence, followed by a barely audible whisper. Then, “Give me five minutes and then send him up.”

Dad’s apartment was one floor shy of the penthouse, with a panoramic water view from Charlestown to Logan Airport. From his seat in the living room, Ethan could count the twinkling lights of all the planes lined up on their final approach to Logan. They dotted the horizon like a constellation of stars.

His father emerged from the kitchen, dressed in athletic shorts and a black tee and looking sweaty, like he had just finished a work-out. In the years following Abbie’s death, he had lost weight, his cheeks hollowing out to give him the austere look of his Pilgrim ancestors. Some of the fullness had returned to his face, but the sharp jawline remained. He was good looking, Ethan guessed, although it was hard to view your father that way. Mom used to complain how it was so unfair, the way aging affected men and women so differently. Dad’s salt-and-pepper hair and beard stubble made him look more distinguished, like a college professor, while her gray roots needed to be eradicated like toxic mold. The crow’s feet around his eyes made him seem more animated, while hers made her look tired. It was such a double standard.

Looking at Dad now, that double standard was on full display. Mom had her girlfriends, who were all in their sixties and talked mostly about their kids, grandkids, recipes, home decorations and travel plans. Meanwhile, Dad had his twentysomething mistress, and from the flushed look on his cheeks, they hadn’t been doing much talking.

He handed Ethan a bottle of ale before leading him into the study. Professional Orthopedic Surgery awards and diplomas dotted the walls, interspersed with artwork depicting famous naval battle scenes. They sat facing each other across an impressive mahogany desk, like a patient consulting his doctor.

“You should have called to let me know you were coming,” Dad started.

“Why?” Ethan shifted his gaze to the bedroom door, which was closed. “Busy doing something?”

Dad’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t take the bait. Never did.

“Let me guess. You were just with your mother.”

“Right. Didn’t want her to be alone. Not tonight.”

Dad let out a joyless laugh. “Kate’s never alone. Have you seen her social calendar?”

“I’m not talking about Mom’s bridge group. She lost her daughter five years ago. Don’t you think she deserves to be with family tonight?” Ethan took a pull of his ale. Bitter and flat, just like this conversation. “Guess that’s just me now.”

His words ended with the sssssh of rushing water. Someone had just turned on a shower in the room next door.

He arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like an invitation. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Don’t be crass, Ethan. You’re better than that.”

“You’re right. I am better.”

He jumped up from his seat, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. Coming here had been a mistake. Before he could get to the door though, his father stood up and called after him.

“Where are you going?”

He turned, feeling some of the rage drain away. Dad suddenly sounded more worried than angry and he knew why. A familiar current of guilt tugged at him, threatening to pull him under. He deserved the extra scrutiny. Probably would for the rest of his life.

He tensed his right knee, flaring the dull pain that only one thing ever really took away. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I know. You’re back on track, son. Top-notch residency lined up. A smart, beautiful fiancée who loves you. If you want to make your mother happy, take care of yourself. Believe me, that’s all she wants.”

Dad’s gaze shifted down to Ethan’s leg. “How’s the knee? Still bothering you?”

“Feels fine. Never better.”

“Come into my office tomorrow if you need a cortisone –”

“I said it’s fine!”

His father let out a sigh. Took a step toward him, then stopped. This was as close as he would get. Doctor Chase wasn’t the hugging type.

“Your mother and I… we’re moving on with our lives. Truth is, we’d grown apart, even before the…”

He trailed off, like he always did whenever Abbie’s death came up. It was like the tragedy that had altered the course of their lives could never be spoken. To put what happened to words would force the inevitable question. The one that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Why?

“I get it,” Ethan said. “Divorces happen. But that doesn’t mean you get to walk away from your family.  I’m sure” – He tilted his chin toward the bedroom door – “your new girlfriend makes you feel good. Maybe even amazing. But when the woman you were married to for thirty years needs your support, you’d better be there.”

He opened the door, wishing he could muster more anger. It would be so much easier to hate Dad, but part of him understood the selfish need to run away. To choose pleasure over pain, no matter what the cost.

Maybe that’s why he added “I love you,” to soften his parting warning. “But if you cut Mom out of your life, I’ll cut you out of mine.”

***

Author's Note: Random factoid #2 - I'm in my 40s and my mom still nags me to cut my hair.

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