Chapter 4: Cracks in the ice

Golden light flooded in like a river through the big windows in the kitchen. Standing at the counter, whipping up batter in a bowl. Firm and sure were my hands; elsewhere was my mind.

I had hardly slept a wink the previous night, at the back of my mind was the mystery of Ethan's face, cold and yet fragile, so much lacking, my mind kept turning round it asking myself what the missing pieces could be.

This afternoon, I did something different, something small but special. One of the times that I spoke to Ethan's mom, she talked about how much, as a young boy, Ethan enjoyed chocolate chip muffins. A small thing, perhaps, but maybe it would serve as a reminder that I paid attention, that I cared.

I took the muffins out of the oven and placed them on a plate, releasing bouquets of the richest chocolate-stuffed aroma into the air. My heart seemed to pound at the notion that somehow, such a simple act could span the gulf so rapidly developing between us.

I turned around and considered the plate of muffins I had just placed on the kitchen island, filling the air with the most delicious of scents-sweet and warm.

A silly grin spread to my lips, the absurd thought being that Ethan would see my small act of affection and caring.  And still here I sat, in this gaudy marble kitchen, just hoping for one reaction, one smile which would let me know that perhaps I wasn't completely invisible to him.

It was maddening how much I cared.Several times, I told myself that I did not need his approval and I would thrive in this world just without his love. And, of course, each word was a lie. When he pushed me away or gave me those frigid, passionless stares, something within me just dried up.

I still was not ready to give up on him or this marriage.

My phone burbled loudly, its ring tone echoing; I picked up my phone to find out who was calling from the caller id: Ethan's mom. I picked up with hesitation.

"Lila, sweetie, how are you?" She spoke first with affection.

"I'm fine, thank you", I tried replying with as much seriousness as could be managed.

"It's been weeks since both of you have been seen in public, throw a little dinner party, so everyone can see how happy you two are together." She said.

A dinner party? I thought. Realizing I was still on the phone with her, I stated, "I don't know if Ethan is going to be okay with th…,"

I started but she interrupted me.

"Don't be silly, darling! Talk  to him about it and have the dinner party tomorrow. If you need anything at all, I'm at your disposal dear." With this, she terminated the phone call. I sighed, already thinking of how to go about it, how to convince Ethan, and how to get the party organized.

The front door flung open and my heart leaped. I blotted the water from my hands on a towel and turned as Ethan's feet stamped down the corridor. The following moment, he stood in the doorway, long and authoritative. His tie already loosened and he looked tired, but no less agonizingly handsome.

"Ethan," I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.

His eyes swung to me, then down to the plate of muffins on the counter. An eyebrow shot up. "What's this?"

"I made them for you," I said, moving closer, "Your mom said they were some of your favorites when you were young."

He stepped into the kitchen slowly. As I blinked, already he was standing a few inches away from me. His gaze flickered to mine; and for one heartbeat's duration, I could have sworn something flickered in those features.

He reached out, his fingers brushing mine as he grasped a muffin. The touch was brief, but it sent shivers down my spine. I swallowed hard, watching him take a bite.

"They're good," he whispered.

Relief washed over me, and I let myself smile, just a little. "I'm glad you like them."

For a moment, I thought he would go on, but he turned from me, his broad shoulders set.

"Ethan, wait," I cried suddenly, my voice trembling.

He paused at the door and looked back at me, an eyebrow cocked. "What is it, Lila?"

I was silent. My hold on the dish towel grew tighter. "Your mom called today. She said we need to have a dinner party tomorrow. You know, a little quiet thing."

His brow furrowed and he turned completely around to face me. "Why?"

"She thinks it would be good for us," I said, stepping closer again. My hand snagged on his forearm, briefly, uncertainly. "You know, to show everyone how. happy we are."

He let out a low, humorless laugh. "Happy. Right."

"Ethan, please," I panted, my hand remaining on his arm. I could sense the muscle beneath my hand tense, but he didn't pull away. "This could be a chance for us. A chance to…."

"To what?" he cut in, his tone knife-sharp. "Play make-believe? Pretend that this marriage isn't a sham?”

His words resonated deep, but I did not let them get to me. "I am not asking for much," I breathed hardly above a whisper. "Just one night. Please."

For a tough moment, he stared at me, his eyes burrowing into mine. The air between us was electric, heavy with what had not been spoken. His eyes finally softened as he nodded. 

"Well, fine," he said finally in a low gruff voice. "Do as you please."

The house was in an uproar the next day. Workers were scurrying about here and there, arranging flowers and putting out silverware, while I was dashing between them, coordinating traffic, fixing small issues, my tension building with each passing second. 

When all the major work had been sorted out, I went to get changed for the evening. I wore a slinky, fitted emerald green dinner dress: its silky fabric gliding over my skin in all the right places. I told myself it was just for the party, but a small part of me was quietly hoping that Ethan would notice.

The first of our visitors came at seven on the dot, and I greeted them with a professional smile. Ethan came in right behind me, his suit expertly fitted and hugging him like it was sewn on him. He stood beside me by the door, his hand on the curve of my lower back while we ushered our visitors in.

The touch was light, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

"You look beautiful, Lila," he whispered so softly that it sounded imagined.

I turned to him in shock, but his face was inscrutable. He turned and walked away before I could speak, leaving me in wonder.

The night was a blur, a chorus of laughter and conversation. I navigated through the throngs with ease, my smile plastered on my face, though my inner antennae were acutely aware of Ethan. I saw him often enough to know that he'd noticed me more than once, his lids heavy and intent, as if attempting to read me. Everywhere I went, his eyes were always on me, gazing at me in an intense manner that made me hot with need.

When finally the last of our guests had faded away, I sat in the living room surveying what was left of the evening. Behind me the clinking of glass made me turn around.

Ethan was standing at the bar pouring a drink for himself. He looked up; his eyes meeting mine.

"Well," he said with a swig of whiskey, "that's over."

I crossed my arms over my chest, seething. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" he asked calmly.

"Brush off everything," I said, stepping closer to him. "No matter what I do, it's never good enough for you."

He put the glass down on the counter, his jaw clenching. "I didn't ask you to try, Lila."

It was a knife to my heart, cut through, and for the first time tonight, the hurt in his voice came to the forefront. "You may not have asked," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "but I'm here; trying, can't you see that?"

His eyes eased, for a moment. He moved closer, his hand swept across my arm, a light touch sending shivers down my body.

"Goodnight, Lila." He breathed.

With no word from me, he spun around and exited, leaving me to stand alone in an otherwise vacant room, the sensations of his touch still resonating upon my body. I let out a sigh, I had given everything but with him, it wasn't enough.

My cell phone, left on the coffee table, buzzed softly, catching my eye at once. I reached to take it in my hand, frowning as the name upon the screen emerged: Mom.

"Hello?" I said, my tone a mere whisper.

"Lila," she replied, her tone strained. "We need to discuss something."

"Mom, it's late," I replied, running my hand over my forehead. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"It can," she replied rigidly. "And it can't."

There was something in her tone that made me feel a shiver run down my spine. "What is it?"

"It concerns Ethan," she said, "and something else you need to be informed about."

Her words hung in the air like dense suggestions.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice shaking.

There was a silence, then, "Not on the phone. Come on home, Lila. Please."

I glared at the phone for an eternity after the call ended, my heart racing against my chest. What on earth could she possibly have to say about Ethan? And why did it seem like the ground was about to give way beneath my feet?