PART 10:

“Pacing. Two more minutes.” “Take your time.” She paced. He waited. He poured her a glass of water because it was a thing he could do that wasn’t solving, and set it on the counter where she’d see it. She stopped pacing at the 2-minute mark almost exactly, which somehow didn’t surprise him, and picked up the water and drank half of it and looked at him.

“You knew I needed 2 more minutes,” she said. “I guessed.” “How?” “You pace fast when you’re still processing and slow when you’re coming down. You were slowing down.” She stared at him. “You watch me pace.” “I pay attention,” he said simply. Something moved through her face that he couldn’t fully read. She set the glass down.

“That’s” She stopped, started again. “No one’s ever said that to me before, not like that.” “Paying attention?” “Like it’s just what you do. Like it’s obvious.” She looked at the glass. “Most people are watching themselves think about me. You’re actually watching me.” He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything, which turned out to be right. She sat down.

He sat across from her. The apartment was quiet in the particular Friday evening way it was quiet when Sophie was at her mom’s, and outside the window, the city was making its usual Friday sounds, distant traffic, someone’s music from the floor above, and in the middle of all of it, the two of them sat, and Ethan felt, with a steadiness he hadn’t expected, that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

That thought scared him, but not enough to move away from it. “Can I ask you something?” she said. “Yeah.” “When your marriage ended” She paused. “Is that okay to ask about?” “It’s okay.” “What did you” She was choosing her words carefully, he could see it. “What did you learn?” “About yourself, not about her.

” “About you.” He thought about it for a real minute, not performing consideration, actually thinking. “I learned that I’m better at maintaining things than building them. In relationships, I’m good at keeping things stable, solving problems, being consistent. But I waited too long to build something real with her because I thought stability was enough.

And by the time I understood the difference, she’d already stopped waiting. Olivia was very still. How do you know the difference between stability and something real? Real things scare you, he said. Stable things just require maintenance. If you’re not a little scared, you’re probably just maintaining. She looked at him. Are you scared right now? The room didn’t move.

The clock on the microwave said 8:02. The city outside kept going about its business. Yes, Ethan said. Her breath shifted, just slightly. Me, too, she said, very quietly. The moment held itself between them like something delicate, something that had been building for 3 weeks without either of them naming it.

And he could feel the exact weight of it, the exact fragility. And he understood with perfect clarity that this was the moment Marcus had been talking about. The one where you either stepped toward or stepped back. The one you didn’t get to pause and reconsider. He opened his mouth. His phone rang. It was Sophie’s ringtone.

The one she’d chosen herself, a bar from a cartoon theme song. And the moment broke clean and quiet, like a glass set down too hard. He looked at Olivia. She looked at him. Something in her face said, “It’s okay. Go.” With a warmth that somehow made everything more complicated, not less. He answered. Hey, bug. Daddy. Sophie’s voice, serious in the way she got when something was genuinely bothering her.

Can I tell you something? Always. Priya’s hamster died. He sat back. Oh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. When? Today. During school. Her mom texted her at lunch, and she cried in the bathroom, and I didn’t know what to say, and I think I said the wrong thing. What did you say? I said Governor probably isn’t scared anymore because being alive is the scariest part.

A pause. Was that wrong? Ethan looked across the room at Olivia, who was watching his face and had clearly understood enough from his end of the conversation to know this was something real. That wasn’t wrong, he said. That was actually really good. She stopped crying. Then you said exactly the right thing. Okay.

Sophie’s voice was quieter now, the seriousness settling into something more like sadness. Daddy, do you think she’s lonely? Governor, do you think she was lonely? He thought about the conversation with Olivia about inner lives and hamsters and nervous systems. I think she had good company while she was here, he said carefully.

Priya loved her. That counts for a lot. A pause, then Okay. I love you. I love you, too, bug. Sleep well. He hung up, looked at his phone for a second, then at Olivia. Priya’s hamster died, he said. Olivia’s face did something complicated. Governor? Governor. She pressed her hand briefly over her eyes, not crying, just feeling it.

Oh, that poor kid. Sophie told her that being alive is the scariest part. Olivia lowered her hand, looked at him. She said that? Verbatim. She’s seven. I know. That’s She shook her head slowly. Where does she get that? I have no idea. He set his phone face down on the armrest. But apparently, Priya stopped crying.

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