“Larry... it’s been a while.”
Noise comes through the line. Raised voices, and the harsh clang of something metallic hitting the floor.
“Colin... hey. I wish I were calling under better circumstances. You need to get here. It’s your son.”
My chest tightens so fast it hurts.Ethan.
“My son? Ethan? Are you in Ithaca? What happened?” I ask, already grabbing my wallet and keys.
The noise gets louder, and I feel the panic starting to kick in.
“Not Ithaca. Williamsburg. I’m sending you the address now.”
He doesn’t even get the words out before I’m calling the elevator.
The street is packed when I pull up to the address Larry sent me. I’m out of the car and moving the second I spot Larry and Nancy. When I see Ethan slumped over by a brick wall with his eyes shut, I pick up the pace.
When Larry sees me coming, he starts talking right away. “He’s alright. Just had a bit too much. You know how it is at that age.” He shakes his head. “I already gave the bartender an earful for serving him, and the other kids who were clearly underage.”
I shake his hand, then Nancy’s, thanking them for calling me.
“Nonsense,” Larry says. “We’ve all been that age. My own three kids? They’ve gotten into their fair share of trouble. We know how it goes.”
As they walk away, a lump forms in my throat.
Not Ethan. Not my son… who, as far as I knew, had never touched a drop of alcohol. But then... What do I really know about him these days?
I walk up to him and say, “Ethan... son.”
He cracks one eye open and exhales.
“Ugh... why are you here? I thought I was hearing things.” He makes a lazy flicking motion with his hand. “You can go. I don’t want you here. I don’t need you.”
I swallow hard. “I know you don’t,” I whisper. “But I’m here anyway. Come on. Let me take you home.”
The second I touch his arm, the fog of alcohol clears just enough for something uglier to show through. Ethan yanks away from me and stumbles back.
“Don’t touch me. Just... leave me alone. You don’t even care.”
“Of course I care,” I say. “You’re my son.”
He laughs loud, enough to turn heads. “You know the first thing I remembered last month? On my birthday?” He sneers. “That a year ago you ditched us to spend the weekend with your whore.”
The words land, tearing something open inside me. And I feel it, that sick feeling coiling under my skin every time my past with Maya resurfaces.
I feel small. Exposed.
“That’s not—” I start.
“Yes, it is,” he cuts me off. “You don’t get to rewrite it. You don’t get a better version of yourself just because it hurts now.”
I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Swallowing hard, I take a step closer.
“Come on, son,” I say quietly. “Let me take you home. Or anywhere else, if you don’t want to come with me.”
Ethan looks at me, hurt and fury written all over his face. Then he shoves my chest. “Why did you do it?”
He shoves me again, harder, and I stumble back, hitting the side of a parked car.
