“I said I wanted to be in the NHL. He never pushed me one way or the other. He supported whatever I chose.”
“That's rare. Most parents would have pushed you toward college first.”
“My parents aren't most parents.” He looks at me across the table. “What about yours? They must have been pleased with your choice of career.”
I make a face. “My mom wanted me to marry well and join the Junior League. Physical therapy was too working-class for her taste.” I try to use a light tone, even though my mother’s dismissive attitude towards my career still hurts.
“My dad was supportive, though. He's a cardiologist, so at least I was in the medical field. That was good enough for him.”
I let out a breath. “Your family is so different and warm. My mom has known Brody for three years, and she still calls him 'a catch' like I'm supposed to be grateful he wanted to marry me.”
“You, Natalie Cross, are the catch,” Ethan says.
We finish our pie and drive back to the house as the sun begins to set. Danna has made pot roast for dinner, and the whole family gathers around the table, with Lucy chattering about her latest drama while Danna interjects with questions and corrections.
I love it.
It's loud, and nothing like the formal dinners I grew up with, where conversation was polite, and topics were carefully selected to avoid conflict.
After dinner, Danna pulls out photo albums, and I spend two hours looking at pictures of baby Ethan in the bathtub, toddler Ethan with chocolate all over his face, and teenage Ethan with braces and a truly bad haircut.
“Mom,” Ethan groans, trying to grab the album. “She doesn't need to see these.”
I hold the album out of his reach. “Oh my God, is that a mullet?”
“It was the style.”
Lucy laughs from the other end of the couch. “He thought he looked so cool. He used to put gel in it and everything.”
“I will pay you to stop talking.”
“Not enough money in the world, big brother.”
By the time we head to bed, my face hurts from laughing. Ethan walks me to my door and looks both ways down the hallway before stealing a quick kiss.
“Tonight,” he whispers. “Your room or mine?”
“Yours. I want to see if you still have stuffed animals.”
“I don't have stuffed animals.”
“We'll see.”
17
Ethan
Natalie is bright red when she wakes me up. “Your mother saw me coming out of your room.”
“You're adorable when you're embarrassed.” I grab her wrist and pull her down onto the bed beside me. The mattress screams in protest, but I don't care. I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her neck.
“Ethan, this is serious.” She wriggles against me, trying to escape, but I hold her tighter.
“Relax. My mom isn't going to judge you.”
She manages to squirm free and sits up, her hair mussed and her cheeks still flushed. “It’s embarrassing.”
I rub the sleep from my eyes. “What did she say?”
