Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(8)
“So…uh—listen.” He stops. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Um…shit, I’m just going to say it. I asked Hannah to marry me last night.” Another pause. “She said yes.”
My throat closes. A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and my hands grip the wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.
“Come on, Will. Say something,” Ethan urges when I stay silent too long.
But I don’t want to say anything. I want to scoff. I want to curse at him and hang up.
I squeeze the steering wheel tighter. “I don’t know what you expect me to say to this. Congrats? So happy for you? I can’t do that, and you know it.”
Ethan sighs heavily. I hate disappointing him like this, but he knows where I stand on marriage, and until a few months ago, he stood right here beside me in avoiding it.
“I don’t expect you to congratulate me, but maybe to…I don’t know, just try to hear me out.”
I grind my teeth and stare out at the dark road. “Dammit, Ethan. I don’t want to hear you out! You practically just met her. Like what, three months ago? How in the hell is that long enough to know that you can spend your life with her? You’re a divorce lawyer for shit’s sake, you know better than this.”
“Yes, I am, so you know that I’m going in with my eyes wide open. But I love her, man. I gotta take a chance because…I’m helpless to do anything else.”
Helpless to do anything else. I want to punch him in the face.
“Well, now I really know it’s a mistake. Tell me it’s for practical reasons—that she needed to go on your insurance or you wanted a tax break. Anything other than you’re doing it out of a misguided romantic notion—then I could come around to it. But helplessness? Ridiculous.”
“Why does it have to be misguided?” he asks sharply.
“You know why!” My voice is hard as granite. I can’t believe I’m even having to explain this to him. “You and I grew up under the same damn roof, Ethan. Our parents were serial cheaters. They were toxic and they blamed all their shit on us. Or maybe I shielded you too much for you to remember? Maybe I should have taken the headphones off your ears and unlocked our bedroom door when they were screaming at each other in the kitchen and we were upstairs scared out of our minds?”
“I remember just fine,” he says, but I wonder if he really does.
We both go silent as memories swim through our heads. Mine most likely different from his because unlike him, I took most of the brunt of our dysfunctional upbringing, always trying to create at least an illusion of normalcy for Ethan. Our parents both worked at low-paying jobs that required them to be gone most of the day—sometimes nights too. I took care of my brother more than they ever did. I cooked most of his meals. I did our laundry. I made sure that he had help with his homework. And then when they’d come home exhausted and angry, they would tell me I was the one who messed up by not cleaning up the dishes after I made dinner. My perceived laziness would kick-start my parents’ fighting. My dad would drink. My mom would leave and go to whichever dude she was sleeping with at the time—and in the end, they’d always come back together and tell me and Ethan that they were going to make it work for us.
There was very little happiness in our home when we were growing up, and there sure as hell wasn’t love. Maybe marriage works for people who grew up in ideal homes with parents who support and care for each other; but for people like me and Ethan, we wouldn’t even begin to know where to start to have a good relationship. I’ve tried it a few times. I never make it past the three-week mark before either I’m ending things or she is because we can’t stop fighting, or that initial spark has faded. It’s why I don’t even bother trying anymore. I don’t know how to love—not even sure I’m capable of it. In fact, I don’t know that I believe in it.
And until three months ago when he met Hannah at a concert, Ethan felt the same way.
“I’m sorry, but I won’t support you in this. You’re making a huge mistake, and I can’t sit by quietly while you do,” I tell him plainly—hating that I have to upset him but incapable of not being honest with him at the same time. I love him too much to watch him potentially ruin his life like this. “Why not hit the brakes a little and take it slow? Keep dating for a while and see if your infatuation holds up—because most likely, that’s all this is, and soon the fighting will kick in or she’s going to cheat, or—”
“Stop. I’m choosing not to be hurt right now because I know where you’re coming from, but I won’t listen to you talk negatively about Hannah. As someone who understands better than anyone else, I hoped you’d be willing to listen to me and trust me when I say that I was wrong about relationships and marriage. We had a terrible upbringing, but not all relationships have to be like that. My relationship with Hannah is really good, Will. We communicate, we both give and take, and it’s so nice to know that at the end of the day I have someone to love me through every—”
I end the call.
Later I’ll text him and tell him I lost service, but for now I can’t stand to hear him say any more about it. I hate that he’s running full steam ahead toward something that could really hurt him, all because of feelings that are still brand-new. And I really hate that he doesn’t seem to be as scared of it as I am. How is he able to move past it so quickly when it’s something I’m affected by daily?