Waiting For Ethan (20 page)

T
here is a woman standing in my parents' door waving at me as I pull into the driveway, and it takes me a moment to realize that the woman is my mother. Each year when my parents return from Florida, I'm a little shocked to discover the toll the five months have taken on their appearance. The change in my mother this year is more drastic than in past years because her hair, which was jet-black when she left, is now mostly gray.

“Mom, your hair!”

She pushes open the door, descends the stairway, and meets me on the walkway. “I missed you,” I say.

“Why didn't you come down to see us this year?” She pulls me into a tight hug, and I start to cry. First silently, but then loud sobs escape.

She pulls away to look at me. “Gina, what is it?”

“I missed you.”

She hugs me again while rubbing my back. “Tell me what's wrong.”

My mother has always been able to tell when I'm lying, so I decide to try to distract her instead. “Why did you stop coloring your hair?”

“You don't like it?”

“It's not that. It's just ... different.”

“I've decided to grow old gracefully.” She shrugs.

She breaks away, then leads me up the walkway and into the house. Inside it already smells like tomatoes, basil, and garlic. I enter the kitchen and see a pot simmering on the stove.

“It never comes out right in Florida,” my mother says, taking the lid off and stirring the gravy. “I think it's something to do with the stove there.” She pulls the full spoon from the pan and extends it toward me with her hand cupped underneath. “What do you think?” I taste the sauce. It's as good as ever. “Too much garlic?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“Sit down.” She points to the kitchen table, and I take my usual spot.

She grabs two rolls and fills them with meatballs that she extracts from the gravy. Next she goes to the refrigerator for provolone cheese and places it over the meatballs. Finally she drowns the contents of the sandwich in tomato sauce.

She carries both plates to the table and sits down next to me. “Now, tell me what's going on.”

Even though I just ate, there is no way I can resist my mother's meatballs. I pick up the sandwich and bite into it. My mother watches me chew. “It didn't work out with Ethan,” I say after I swallow. I can feel the tomato sauce smearing above my lip.

My mother hands me a napkin. “Ajee's third prediction is coming true for Neesha, but not for me.” I get up, go to the refrigerator, and return to my seat with two glasses and a bottle of sparkling water. My mother watches me pour.

“I think it's worse that it almost came true. You know? Like it was supposed to work out, but I did something to ruin it.” I look up at the ceiling. Then I look at her again and swallow back my tears. “I really thought it was going to work out.”

“Oh Gina. I'm sorry.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes. “I think maybe you were right,” I finally say. “Ajee was wrong about me marrying someone named Ethan.”

My mother bites into her sandwich and doesn't say anything for a minute. “I know you think Ajee was psychic, Gina, but she was just very observant.”

I shake my head. “I don't know what you mean. She certainly didn't see that woman kidnap Matthew. She was in Maine.”

“A few weeks before she left, she told me that she suspected Mr. Colby was having an affair. You know I never like to gossip, so I didn't ask for any of the details.”

“What about Neesha moving and us going to Italy and me breaking my arm? How did she know those things?”

My mother sighs. We are done eating, so I clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. She waits until I'm sitting again to continue speaking. “I've told you this so many times. She knew Dr. Patel had been interviewing for the position in Texas, just like she knew your dad and I were discussing a trip to Italy.” She pauses. “And, Gina, the way you rode your bike down the hill with your hands in the air above your head. I told you a million times you were going to hurt yourself. You didn't think I was psychic when you finally did.”

 

Three hours later, I pull out of my parents' driveway and make my way down Towering Heights Lane. In the distance, I see a man and a woman jogging up the hill with three small kids on bikes in front of them. Even from a distance, I know it's Cooper. As I get closer, I see he's wearing a TechVisions's T-shirt. I'm almost upon them, and I slow down and move to the right. Cooper stares into the windshield. I raise my hand to wave, but I pass before he has a chance to respond. I glance in the rearview mirror and see the woman looking back at my car.

She must be living with him. The french toast and meatball sub shift in my stomach. I'm afraid I'm going to be sick. I think about turning around and racing back to my parents' bathroom, but I don't want to pass Cooper and his happy, healthy instant family again. I open the window and stick my head out, breathing in the fresh air. My stomach settles down, and I drive home much faster than usual.

M
y mother and I are in the kitchen making pasta when we hear the moving truck rumbling up Towering Heights Lane. My mother uses her apron to wipe the flour off her hands and heads to the living room window. I follow a few feet behind. We watch the truck groan to a stop across the street. Shortly after, a black SUV with Texas plates climbs the hill and turns into the driveway. The passenger door swings open, and Neesha Patel Davidian steps out onto the driveway of the home she left twenty-two years earlier, almost to the day. She turns toward our house and brings her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun. A moment later, she lifts that same hand high above her head and waves like she's in the midst of a huge crowd trying to catch the attention of a rock star on stage.

“Dear God,” my mother whispers. “For a moment, I thought it was Jayda standing there.”

I race out the front door and across the street. Neesha is leaning into the backseat of the minivan, removing her son from his car seat. Her husband and daughter walk around from the driver's side. The girl, dressed in a green sundress, has a long black ponytail and large, inquisitive eyes. She could very well be Neesha at age eight, if Neesha wore dresses, that is. “Hello,” I say.

She studies me cautiously before responding. “Hi.”

“I'm Gina.”

“I know. My mom told me to call you Aunt Gina.” The movers roll a dolly with a bureau strapped to it past us and up the driveway. “I don't know why she wants me to call you that. You're not really my aunt.”

I nod. “You don't have to call me Aunt Gina if you don't want to.”

“Oh yes, she does,” Neesha's husband says.

I extend my hand to him. “Gina Rossi.”

He removes his Texas Rangers baseball cap, revealing thick, black wavy hair. “Ashley Davidian.” He ignores my outstretched arm and instead steps toward me and pulls me into a tight hug, crushing his cap against my back. “Thrilled to finally meet you, Gina. Neesha has talked about you for years.”

“I'm so happy you two are finally meeting,” Neesha says. I pull away from Ashley to embrace Neesha and Ashley Junior, whom she is holding.

AJ studies me with his dark eyes but says nothing. “He's a little shy,” Neesha says. “Say hi to my friend Gina.”

“No.” He buries his head in his mother's chest.

“That's the effect I usually have on males.” I mean it as a joke, but it makes me think of Cooper, who has pretty much been avoiding me since that night he gave me a ride home. Luci thinks it's because he's getting serious with Miss Minivan and I am a temptation. Me a temptation. That's pretty funny.

“He just has to get used to you,” Neesha says apologetically, handing him off to his father.

Across the street, I hear the screen door open and shut and then watch my parents make their way down the lawn and across the street. Neesha rushes to the end of the driveway to greet them. My mother's eyes fill with tears as she pulls Neesha into a tight embrace. They hug in silence. Then my mom steps backward so that she can see Neesha's face. “You look exactly like your mother,” she says.

Jayda has made her way to the edge of the driveway. She takes Neesha's hand. “Mommy, what's wrong?”

Neesha squeezes Jayda's hand. “This is Mrs. Rossi,” she says. “She was my mom's best friend.”

“You knew my grandmother?”

“I did,” my mother says.

“I'm named after her,” Jayda says. “And I've seen pictures of her.”

“She was very beautiful,” my mother says, “just like you and your mom.”

My father has made his way up to the garage entrance, where the movers have placed a golf bag. “Nice clubs,” I hear him say as he pulls out a pitching wedge and inspects it.

“Any challenging courses nearby?” Ashley asks. A few minutes later I hear them talking about handicaps.

AJ has made his way to the edge of the driveway. Neesha lifts him into her arms. “Say hi to Mrs. Rossi.”

AJ gives a small wave. “Your children are beautiful,” my mother whispers, reaching for AJ.

He goes straight to her. No crying or hiding his face like he did with me. He grabs a handful of my mother's newly gray hair. “Ajee,” he says.

“She's not Ajee,” Jayda says.

“But her hair is the same color as Ajee's,” Neesha says.

“Ajee,” AJ repeats.

“No, AJ,” Jayda whines.

“Why don't you call her Grandma Rossi,” Neesha says.

Grandma Rossi? My heart misses a beat. Is Neesha suggesting this because she doesn't think my mother will ever be a real grandmother? It's been six weeks since I last saw Ethan, and I'm still getting used to the idea that he wasn't the man Ajee was talking about all those years ago. On this day especially, it's hard for me to admit that her third prediction for me was wrong.

My mother smiles and nods. “I'd like that.”

T
he clouds drift in, covering most of the sun. Only one beam of sunlight shines down, and it illuminates the urn cradled in Neesha's hands. To me, it looks like the container is glowing from the inside out, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if the light coming from it is Ajee's smile. She'd be thrilled to see us standing in this semicircle around the rosebush in Neesha's yard, spreading her remains.

Neesha scoops a spoonful of ashes from the urn with a silver sterling utensil that she bought specifically for this occasion. “A waste of money,” Dr. Patel said when he saw it a few minutes ago. Now Neesha uses it to sprinkle the ashes over the bush. “Good-bye, Ajee. I hope you know how much I loved you,” she says.

She passes the urn and spoon to my mother, and as soon as they're in my mom's hands, she sneezes. Three violent nose eruptions that echo through the backyard. Dr. Patel pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of his suit coat and hands it to my mother. In return, she gives him the urn and spoon and then sneezes two more times. I had been looking forward to hearing her say something nice about Ajee, but it looks like she's found a way out of it.

Dr. Patel slips the spoon into his coat pocket, reaches into the urn, and pulls out a fistful of his mother's remains. Neesha crinkles her nose. He extends his hand, and the ashes sift through his slightly parted fingers, falling into the mulch below the bush. “Ashes to ashes,” he says. His face is beet red from the heat, and I'm wondering if he regrets wearing a suit.

Dr. Patel passes the urn to Sanjit, who looks like he's melting. His sideburns are wet, and his yellow golf shirt is drenched in sweat. “Thank you for helping raise me.” He, too, uses his hands to distribute the ashes. “I know it wasn't always easy.” He passes the urn to me and wipes his dripping forehead with his arm.

The spoon is still in Dr. Patel's pocket. I glance at him. His head is bowed, and his eyes are closed. I tilt the urn slightly and sprinkle a few ashes over the bush. “Thank you for making my childhood interesting.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother raise one of her well-groomed eyebrows.

I pass the urn to Jayda. She stares into it. Before anyone realizes what she's doing, she turns it upside down, dumping out all the remaining contents. As the thick black ashes fall to the ground, the wind gusts. A cloud of dust smears my sundress. I try to wipe it off, but I only make black streaks on the coral-colored fabric. “Ajee looks good on you,” Sanjit whispers, sounding more like the prankster he was than the cardiologist he is today.

Jayda hands the now-empty urn to Ashley. “Why don't we all recount some of our favorite memories of Ajee?” he suggests.

Neesha smiles. “I have too many good memories to choose a favorite, but I will always remember how after my mom died she pointed to my heart and said, ‘She will always be with you, dear one, right there.' ”

“My favorite memory is her saving Matthew Colby,” I say. “I didn't think we'd ever see him again.”

Sanjit laughs. “After I got a D in AP Bio, she told me not to worry, that I was going to be a fine doctor one day. Until that moment, all I ever wanted to be was a policeman.”

“I liked it when she took me for ice cream,” Jayda says. She turns to her father and says with a smile, “She always let me get a large, but she told me not to tell.”

“Ice cream!” AJ yells.

“My favorite memory of Ajee is actually the first time I met her,” Ashley says. “I came to pick up Neesha for our first date. I had a Mustang. The car had no muffler and was really loud. I loved driving it fast, and I came racing down the street. I brought the car to a screeching stop at the bottom of the driveway and blew the horn a few times. Ajee came running out of the house and reprimanded me for not coming to the door or showing her granddaughter the proper respect. She practically dragged me inside by the waistband of my baggy jeans, but just before we entered the house, she stopped. ‘This can't be,' she said, and she sounded angry. ‘What?' I asked and she glared at me. ‘You will be the father of my great-grandchildren.' She went inside shaking her head, leaving me on the landing.”

Dr. Patel shakes his head. “I don't know how she did it, but she was never wrong.”

She was wrong once
, I think.

In the distance, bolts of lightning appear, and then thunder booms. We all dash through the side door and make it inside just before the heavens open up.

 

The inside of the house smells like garlic. A bowl of salad, a basket of bread, pans of lasagna and chicken parmigiana, and stacks of paper plates and plastic silverware are arranged on the breakfast bar. We all stand in line making up dishes.

“I made this with Grandma Rossi,” Jayda says as I scoop a piece of lasagna out of the pan and onto her plate.

“She was a big help,” my mother says, smiling down at Jayda. In the six weeks that Neesha has lived here, my mother has become best friends with Neesha's kids. She is their one and only babysitter. She watches them once or twice a week. Sometimes I can't help but think the entire reason Neesha moved back is so that my mother can be a surrogate grandmother to her kids. Maybe Ajee somehow arranged it because she blew the prediction about Ethan.

Across the room, my father, who just arrived moments ago and is still dressed in his golf attire, including a Callaway baseball cap, has Ashley pinned in a corner. I hear my father say, “Made a birdie out of the sand trap.” Ashley pats him on the back. Usually they play together on Sundays. My dad refers to Neesha's husband as his adopted son-in-law.

I should be happy that Neesha and her family are giving my parents what I can't, but seeing them all interact makes me feel more alone than ever. I carry my plate to the dining room table and sit down by myself. I watch everyone talking and laughing in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Jayda starts whining that she wants ice cream. “Have a piece of cake,” my mother suggests.

“I don't like it,” Jayda cries. It's a rum cake. I don't much like it, either.

“Stop whining,” Ashley warns.

Sanjit enters the dining room. A piece of lasagna falls off his overflowing plate onto the table as he pulls out the chair across from me. “Mine never cry like that.” He wipes off the spill with his napkin. “They're about a hundred times louder.” He laughs and takes his wallet out of his pocket. He hands it to me so that I can see pictures of his children. He describes each of his three kids and tells me about his wife, Jenny. As I listen to him speak, I find it hard to believe that this distinguished man is the teenage boy who used to moon Neesha and me at the bus stop. He stuffs a large forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “We don't get food like this in Texas,” he says. I watch him chew, thinking about how his and Neesha's lives have changed since they left here. On the other hand, my life has basically stalled while I've been waiting for Ethan.

Sanjit looks at his watch. “Whoa, it's late.” He stands. I look at my watch. It's five o'clock. “Better get to the airport.”

While Neesha and Ashley take Sanjit and Dr. Patel to the airport, my mom and I stay with the kids. My mother reads AJ a story, and Jayda convinces me to take her to the Westham Creamery.

 

While much has changed in Westham over the past twenty-five years, one thing that has not is the Westham Creamery. Since the Calpin family converted their barn to a small restaurant in the 1970s, the place has served grilled cheese sandwiches, crinkle-cut french fries, and nineteen flavors of ice cream. In the winter, the place can comfortably seat only twelve or so at a time. In the summer, the family sets up row upon row of picnic tables on their grassy acre, and that number jumps to a hundred.

When Jayda and I arrive on this warm September night, there are three long lines at the takeout counter. Jayda takes my hand and directs us to the one in the middle. To me it looks the longest. “It will move the fastest,” she promises. I make note of who is at the end of the other lines, a family of four to our left and two women in biking gear to the right.

We stand behind a teenage boy and girl. She is wearing short jean shorts and a shirt that showcases her belly ring. He has a tattoo of a snake that coils around his right shoulder. Every few minutes Tattoo Boy pulls Belly Ring Girl into his arms and kisses her. Each time he does, Jayda points and laughs.

After about fifteen minutes, Jayda and I reach the counter. I turn around to check out the location of the people who were at the ends of the other lines. The women bikers still have four parties in front of them. The family of four has two people before them, but what captures my attention is the five people now at the end of the line: Cooper, Miss Minivan, a young girl, and two small boys. Cooper sees me at the same time I see him and waves. I wave back. Miss Minivan has been watching, and she waves, as well. I don't want her to be friendly. I don't want to like her.

I'm vaguely aware of Jayda placing her order, cookies and cream with rainbow sprinkles in a waffle cone. “Aunt Gina”—she taps me on the back—“what are you getting?” I turn back to the counter and order black raspberry chip with chocolate sprinkles in a sugar cone.

When we get our ice cream, I take Jayda by the hand and turn in the direction opposite Cooper. I lead her to a free picnic table in the middle row and position myself so that I have a clear view of Cooper's back. Miss Minivan turns around, looks at me, and then says something to Cooper. He glances over his shoulder. They talk for a few seconds. Then Cooper grabs one of the boy's hands, steps out of line, and heads toward Jayda and me. We've only had a few bites of our ice cream, but I have to get out of here. I do not want to meet Cooper's girlfriend and her kids. “What do you say we take the ice cream home?” I stand as I ask Jayda this.

“I like it here,” she says.

Cooper and the boy are upon us now. I sit back down. “Mind if we join you?”

“Where's your ice cream?” Jayda asks the boy.

“My mom's getting it.”

I study the kid. He has dark hair and dark eyes. Is it my imagination, or does he look like Cooper? The boy notices me staring and smiles. A dimple appears in each cheek. He is definitely a mini Cooper. Why does Miss Minivan's son look like Cooper? Exactly how long has he been dating her?

“This is Tyler,” Cooper says.

“Hi, Tyler. I'm Gina and that's Jayda.”

Jayda says hello as Tyler sits next to her. Looks like I'll be eating ice cream with Cooper and his girlfriend.

“Hi, Jayda. I'm Cooper.” He reaches across the table to shake her hand. I laugh at his formality, but Jayda is very serious in her greeting.

“We spread Ajee's ashes today,” she announces and then takes a lick of her ice cream.

“How was that?” Cooper asks.

Jayda shrugs. “It was okay. Did you know her?”

“I didn't,” Cooper answers.

Jayda stares at him as she eats. Across the field, I see Cooper's girlfriend and her other kids making their way over to us. Perfect.

“I thought she knew you,” Jayda says.

Cooper shakes his head. “Never had the pleasure.”

The rest of his party has arrived at our table. Miss Minivan hands Tyler a cone of cookies and cream and Cooper a dish of something chocolate. “This is Brendon and Clare,” she says, “and I'm Monique.”

“Nice to meet you,” I lie. “I'm Gina.” I don't extend my hand, but only because it's sticky with ice cream.

Monique sits down next to Cooper. She has a bottled water but no ice cream. Ha! That's a point for me. Cooper likes women who eat, especially dessert.

“So, Gina,” Monique says, “I've heard so much about you.” Cooper, who was bending toward his dish, sits up straight. Why would he talk about me with his girlfriend? “He really enjoyed working on that project with you. Talked about some of those late nights as if they were dates.” Cooper's ears turn bright red. Monique pats him on the back.

Across the table, Brendon and Tyler are pushing each other. “Knock it off,” Cooper says. I think he's addressing them, but if Monique's embarrassing him as much as she is me, maybe he's talking to her.

Brendon leans against Tyler so hard that Tyler falls off the bench. He picks himself up and punches Brendon in the arm. Cooper starts to say something, but Monique cuts him off. “Your dad is going to be here tomorrow, and if I tell him how bad you were . . .” The boys immediately stop their horseplay. I guess Monique's ex is pretty scary.

Monique touches Cooper's arm and leans toward me. “He is going to be so happy when we're out of his hair.”

Jayda and Clare move from our table to a narrow strip of bare grass, where they take turns doing cartwheels.

“You said two weeks, it's been close to four months,” Cooper says.

“We're having a house built in Pennsylvania,” Monique tells me. “It's been one thing after another. My poor husband is down there by himself in a tiny apartment.”

Her husband? I suddenly notice a gold band on Monique's left ring finger. Monique is not Cooper's girlfriend. I feel like joining Jayda and Clare in cartwheel alley.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Brendon says.

“Me, too,” Tyler says.

Monique stands. “I'll take you.”

Cooper and I eat our ice cream in silence for a few minutes. “So, Monique's your sister,” I finally say.

He nods. “Luckily they're leaving soon,” he whispers.

I can't stop smiling. Miss Minivan is Cooper's sister! Cooper smiles at my smile. “It's really not funny, Gina. The kids whine constantly, and my sister's a slob—and loud. And she doesn't stop talking. Ever. You noticed. I know you did.”