“As a what?”
“And, obviously, aget well soonslashthinking of yougift,” I say, but it clearly doesn’t explain anything to him. If anything, he looks more confused. “Okay. It’s gonna sound a little morbid, so bear with me.”
His expression turns solemn as he nods for me to continue. I spare him a nervous laugh, brushing my hair behind my ear.Glancing around, the closest person nearby is yards away from us.
“Don’t tell anyone at work, okay?”
“I won’t.” He makes an X over his heart, which causes me to duck my head with a tiny smile.
“My sisters and I were a wreck after our parents died. Super miserable. Really devastated,” I babble, my voice low. While shock colors his profile, he doesn’t cut me off. “Friends and family wouldn’t stop dropping by with food and flowers. People were reaching out to us nonstop to see if we were okay. But honestly, none of us were handling it very well because their deaths were sudden. Hit and runs generally are, you know?
“Then, like, an old neighbor of ours sent us a fruit bouquet. Which, you know, is kinda odd—to us it was. Likesorry your parents died because they wanted to walk around their neighborhood, here’s some star-shaped fruit.”
Ethan looks at me, and my cheeks begin to burn under the intensity of his gaze.
“Okay, it was like the first time in weeks my sisters and I weren’t crying or being testy with each other. We were too busy laughing at how fucking out-of-the-blue the fruit bouquet was, and it was what we needed, strangely enough,” I stammer, my body going completely stock-still when he places his hand on my shoulder.
With a gentle squeeze, he nods. “I get it.”
“You do?”
He nods again, then pauses, as if weighing something in his head. “I’m sorry about your parents. I know how painful it can be to lose someone.”
“Your dad?” I guess. “Wait, no. He passed away before you were born.”
“Yeah,” he concurs. “My stepdad. He died during my junior year of college.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “That must have been really hard for you?—”
“Not as hard as it was for my mom,” he cuts in.
“It’s not the Olympics,” I say. “Your hurt is just as valid.”
His shoulder hitches, and he tips his head toward the bar before I can object. “Come on. Let’s see if they have mango-y drinks for you.” He’s already moving to the door, not giving me a chance to press him for more details when he opens it.
Immediately, we’re greeted with a screeching high note that a small few would describe as singing.
“Did I forget to mention?” I whisper, clasping my hand on his bicep and fighting my grin when he stares blankly ahead. “It’s karaoke night.”
12
ETHAN
FRIDAY, JULY 18TH
Barbie cannot handle her alcohol.After two margaritas, she’s tipsy and chatty. And she giggles after every other sentence. She cheers for everybody brave enough to partake in karaoke night, even the ones butchering the greatest hits.
It’s almost one a.m. by the time I’ve wrangled her back to the hotel—with promises of donut holes—and gotten her to brush her teeth and change her clothes into something more comfortable for bed.
She has no filter.
Or rather, she’s not as guarded.
She likes pineapple on pizza. She snoops on email chains at work and believes Kelly and Steve from accounting are having an emotional affair. She’s half-Chinese, half-Vietnamese, and has a list of swear words she wants to teach me one day when she’s sober and can remember them.
She rescued her cat from the side of the freeway on the way home from the beach. His name isn’t Pie as his social media account would suggest. It’s short forPythagorean Theorem, which she can’t say without breaking into a fit of laughter every time the tabby comes up.
She genuinely adores her sisters from how much the conversations would abruptly halt and pivot back to them. Her face lights up when she tells me about Betty and Bell, buzzing with excitement the entire time. Literally. She’s practically vibrating. Her words are stumbling over themselves as if she wants to talk about ten different things at once regarding her sisters.
