Chapter 6: The ties that bind

It was a silent ride to my parents' place except for the soft hum of the car. The countryside blazed by in green and gold streaks. It moved in motion blur in a way that was beautiful to look at but I was not focused on the view. Ethan was who I had in mind; his coldness, his reserve, the way in which his eyes sliced through me like a knife without even actually looking at me.

The car finally pulled onto my parents' driveway and stopped, and with my little bag, I got down and thanked the driver. I turned and my mother was already at the door. She opened it before I'd even knocked, her warm smile trembling as she saw my face.

"Lila, darling," she said, her arms enveloping me tightly. "You look so tired. Come in, come in."

The house, filled with the scent of freshly baked bread and home-made lavender, enveloped me like a cloak. My father was in the living room, reading the newspaper, and he laid it aside and stood up when he spotted me, his arms wide open.

"There's my girl," he hugged me hard. "It has been some time."

"Hi, dad," I grunted with my face against his chest.

"Get some rest, you look worn out," my dad babied.

I grunted and stamped out to my old bedroom, I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

I woke up the following morning to the sweet chirping of birds outside my childhood window, the sounds were clear, cheerful and relentless. I treated myself to one indulgence, believing I was back in the past. The past prior to Ethan, prior to the wedding, prior to the frustration of wedding planning when Ethan refused to meet me halfway.

But chill hard reality began to seep in.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the sweet scent of freshly ground coffee filled the air. My mother was at the stove, stirring oatmeal in a big pot, hummed quietly to herself. A sliver of sunlight from the window picked out threads of gray in her hair and made me notice how long it had been since I'd been home.

"Good morning," she smiled up at me as I entered.

"Morning, Mom," I answered, pushing one of the chairs to the breakfast table.

She filled a cup of coffee and placed it in front of me, then poured in hers too. We just drank for a minute or two, the quiet of the kitchen contrasting with the storm raging in me.

"You were quieter than usual last night," she finally attempted quietly. "Does it have anything to do with Ethan?"

I nodded, staring at my coffee. "It's just that he created this wall around himself, and no matter what I do, nothing appears to be able to break through it. I figured if I waited, if I let him know that I did care, that he would confess to me. But…" My voice trailed off.

My mother lay across the table, placing her hand on top of mine. "Lila, I have something to tell you about Ethan. Something that I wasn't sure that I was going to say, but maybe it will make you understand him better."

I gazed into hers, my heart pounding now. "What is it?"

She exhaled and a veil of sadness swept across her face.

"His dad, Lila. Ethan's father was a stubborn man, he was always formal. As far as his mum had told me, Ethan was from a family where love was never uttered. With success, criticism was dished out instead of praise; with failure, punishment"

A lump rose in my throat. "I never knew."

"And then, when Ethan turned eighteen, his father left them for another woman. It happened so quickly. He was there one day, gone the next. Ethan was absolutely heartbroken. He and his father didn't get along but he did have a certain respect for him. Since then, he just shut down, and would not allow people into his life any more in fear of being hurt. I think that he has carried that pain with him ever since."

"I don't know what to say", I managed to extricate myself in a trembling voice.

"I know, dear", she breathed. "Ethan doesn't talk about it. But it did happen to him, creating the high walls in his mind, that even those who are near him have trouble penetrating to him at times."

"Why couldn't he have said that to me himself?"

"Vulnerability, to him, is weakness," Mom whispered, "and all those years, Lila, he constructed the walls. That does not mean that he cares any less or he doesn't know how to care, it just means that he is afraid."

Her words were chains around my neck, because I knew how hard the whole ordeal with Ethan was going to be. And yet, with knowledge of why he was that way, I had hope that I could break down his walls if I showed him that I truly love and care for him.

Later in the afternoon, lying beside the window in the living room, I looked out of the window into the garden. I then considered texting him. My thumbs were over my phone for a minute before sending finally:

Hi, Ethan. I just wanted to just check in with you to know how you're doing. I hope you're fine.

I looked at it for what felt like forever and I finally sent it. The tiny grey check appeared, it disappeared. But there was no response.

Hours went by and nothing.

I tried to sweep the disappointment aside, telling myself that he was busy, or that he did not know what to say. But the silence gnawed inside, uncomfortably present as an open reminder of the gap between us.

It wasn't until very late afterward, when I was curled up on the couch in the living room with a book, that my phone buzzed. I picked it up quickly, my heart racing when Ethan's name flashed across the screen.

I’m fine. Take care.

It was simple, straight to the point, and so Ethan-like, but for some reason, it had managed to put a soft smile on my lips. He had replied, at least. That's gotta be worth something, right?

The following days were lost in a haze of idle routine. Helping Mom prepare breakfast, walking with Dad outside, and basically learning to appreciate the little things in the house again.

It was on the veranda that my father sat down with me one evening to watch the sun set.

"You see, Lila," he said to me reassuringly in a soothing and calm voice. "Your mum and I, all we want for you is your happiness. And if being with Ethan and a good old-fashioned try at making your marriage work makes you happy, then we're with you to the very last step. But when it gets too much for you and you feel like you're getting lost along the way, there'll always be a space here for you to come running back through. Never forget that."

The tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, I laid my head on his shoulder and leaned against him. "Thanks, Dad," I whispered.

We waited for a bit, then it was time to leave, and Mom escorted me out to the car, her arm around my shoulder.

"Remember what I said to you about Ethan," she exhorted firmly but gently at once. "He's a man not easily to be loved, but not because he is helpless. Don't get lost in attempting to save him, but be patient, promise me that."

"I promise," I told her, though the promise sat heavily on my lips more than I'd ever anticipated.

I got into the car, and it roared to life as the driver turned the key. I looked over my shoulder and caught sight of my parents on the porch, their faces lit up with love and support.

We drove home, and I felt a new resolve; yes, Ethan was a challenge, an ice fortress. But I was not going to let go of him.

When we actually arrived in the city, I had worked things out. I was not simply going to be living with Ethan; I was going to be fighting for us, for the sweet and romantic life I knew we could have together.

No matter how long it would take, I was going to make him realize that love did not need to be a risk.

That it could be his greatest possession.