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I just shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. I know that I brought him up a few times over the years, but I was usually drunk or depressed or lonely or something. Or even just doing it so Wanda would not try to set me up with guys all the time. He became a sort of imaginary boyfriend, and a very good reason to not have to deal with real men.
“He probably doesn’t even remember me,” I say in a hushed tone, trying to keep my emotion out of it. “Besides, I used to weigh like fifteen pounds less! And I had really long hair!”
“Yeah, I saw the pictures. You looked like an ad for those natural tobacco cigarettes, like some kind of hippie. But now you have boobs,” she observes wisely. “And an ass.”
“Okay, yeah, there is that. But what if he forgot about me?”
She smirks, reaching out to affectionately boop the end of my nose with her fingertip.
“You are unforgettable, sweet cheeks, trust me.”
“But Ethan!” I repeat, my voice rising as I run out of objections. “What if he has a concussion? We can’t let him go to sleep!”
She squints at her cell phone, stabbing at it with her thumb. “Your Uber is seven minutes away. You better hurry.”
“What? No! I told you, I’m not going!”
“Ethan?” Wanda calls out into the living room. “Your mom is leaving! Come over here and give her a kiss and tell her to have a good time on her trip!”
She crosses her arms, challenging me as Ethan shuffles obediently across the room. When he reaches me, he wraps his arms around my middle and squeezes, enveloping me in his comforting baby-animal smell. He comes up to my nose already, but he hunches down a little, so he doesn’t seem too big.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Mom!” he smirks as he untangles himself from the hug way too soon and trudges back off to his game.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do? Where does he even get that?” I stage-whisper to Wanda.
“Four minutes,” she smirks. “Now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. That’s some real advice!”
I roll my eyes. “I guess that gives me all kinds of wiggle room,” I sigh as I push away from the counter and head toward my room. She’s right, my bags are all packed, and I am ready to go. There’s nothing holding me back. Ethan is fine, despite everything. And you never know. It might be a trip worth taking.
Chapter 7
Clay
The valet hustles around the front of the Jag as I angle it toward the lit walkway, while another opens Deborah’s door for her.
“I’ll have it ready for you, Mr. Corwin,” the valet grins at me as I palm a twenty into his hand.
“Thanks, Pete.”
Deborah smooths her midnight-blue skirt over her thighs as she stands up straight, pausing to wait for me. I offer my elbow and she slips her soft hand neatly into the crook as we walk into the club restaurant.
Everyone is so polite. I still marvel at that. The maître d’ looks excited to see me. He glances past the other couple standing in front of him to hold his arm out extravagantly for Deborah and me, leading us to the best table in the house. Snapping surreptitiously over his head, he signals a waiter to meet us before I’ve even gotten my suit jacket unbuttoned.
“It smells so wonderful in here,” Deborah sighs as the maître d’ slides the chair under her bottom and unfolds her napkin with a flourish.
“I recommend the oysters Rockefeller," he says with a smirk, “perhaps the tenderloin? The branzino is also very popular. Would you like me to reserve one for you?”
Deborah wrinkled her nose. “That’s fish, right?”
“I’ll just leave you in Dennis’s care,” the maître d’ answers, clasping his hands in front of his chin ingratiatingly and then prancing away toward the still-waiting couple.
Dennis opens a wine list for me.
“We will start with the oysters Rockefeller,” I suggest automatically, handing him back the menu. “And a bottle of… prosecco? Deborah?”
She smiles prettily. “You know I love bubbles,” she simpers.
“All right, then. A bottle of the Casanova, and I’ll have the tenderloin, and the lady will have the lamb.”
