Two nights later, we had dinner with Ethan’s parents.
Halfway through the meal, his mother smiled at me.
“I don’t know how you manage that schedule, sweetie. Ethan says you’ve been thinking about slowing down.”
My fork stopped.
I had never told Ethan that.
“I’m not planning to slow down.”
Ethan gave a small laugh.
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
“You told them I wanted to slow down.”
“I told them you’ve been exhausted.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
His hand moved toward mine.
I pulled mine away.
On the drive home, he made it four blocks before speaking.
“What was that about?”
“I corrected something you told your parents.”
“You made it sound like I’ve been speaking for you.”
“You have.”
Ethan glanced toward me.
“Mallory, you’ve spent months coming home half-dead. What was I supposed to think?”
“Ask me.”
“I have.”
“No. You ask whether I’m tired, then fill in everything else yourself.”
He went quiet.
That silence stayed with me the next afternoon when I went to see Summer, my best friend since college.
She knew something was wrong before I finished taking off my coat.
“Tea?”
“Please.”
Summer handed me a mug and listened while I told her everything.
When I finished, I said, “Maybe I really was working too much.”
Her expression changed.
“Why are you starting there?”
“Because maybe he saw how bad things had gotten.”
“He probably did.”
I looked at her.
“But seeing that you’re overwhelmed isn’t the same as deciding your future for you.”
“He helped me through the worst year of my life.”
“I remember.”
“What if he thought he was helping again?”
Summer leaned back.
“Then why didn’t he tell you what he’d done?”
I had no answer.
