Chapter 3: A Name He Never Said Out Loud
"Who is Diane?"
Ethan didn't turn around from the window.
His hands were flat against the counter, fingers spread, like he needed something solid to hold onto.
"Ethan."
"She's someone I used to know," he said.
"Before you."
"How long before me?"
He finally turned.
His face was different now.
Not guilty exactly.
More like a man who had been carrying something heavy for a long time and had just been told he had to put it down right here, right now, whether he was ready or not.
"We dated for about two years.
It ended badly.
I didn't — I never talked about her because there was nothing worth saying."
"And your mother has been dressing her in my clothes."
He flinched.
"I don't know that that's what—"
"Ethan.
You just told me my entire wardrobe is hanging in a locked room at your mother's house.
There is a photograph of a woman named Diane wearing my coat.
In your mother's backyard." I kept my voice very level.
"What other explanation is there?"
He sat down at the table.
Not across from me.
At the corner, closer, like he was trying to close some of the distance between us.
"When I saw the room," he said, "I didn't understand it at first.
I thought maybe Mom had been keeping things to sell, or — I don't know what I thought.
And then I saw the coat on the hook and I recognized it immediately.
And I asked her."
"What did she say?"
"She said she was just helping Diane get back on her feet.
That Diane had been going through a hard time and needed some things and she didn't think you'd miss them."
The air in the kitchen felt very still.
"She didn't think I'd miss them."
"I know."
"Six bags, Ethan.
Six bags over six months.
She asked me specifically for the navy dress.
She asked me for the brown boots.
She asked me for the cream cardigan." My voice finally cracked on that last one.
"She wasn't helping a charity.
She was building a wardrobe.
For her."
Ethan pressed both hands over his face the same way he had when he walked in.
He stayed like that for a long moment.
"Did you ask her why?" I said.
"Not just how.
Why."
He lowered his hands.
"She said Diane deserved nice things."
I stood up from the table.
I walked to the sink and stood there with my back to him because I needed a moment where he couldn't see my face.
Diane deserved nice things.
I had handed those bags over myself.
I had felt generous.
I had felt good about it.
And Marlene had stood in my house and looked me in the eye and talked about interview outfits and women's programs and I had believed every word.
"Is Diane still in contact with you?" I asked.
"No.
Not for years."
"But she's in contact with your mother."
A pause.
"Apparently."
I turned back around.
"I want to go there tomorrow.
I want to see that room."
"I don't think that's—"
"I'm not asking, Ethan."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
"Okay."
I went to bed before he did.
I lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling and thought about the cream cardigan.
I had worn it on our third date.
Ethan had said I looked beautiful in it.
I had kept it for years after it stopped fitting quite right because of that memory.
Marlene had asked for it by name.
I thought about that until I fell asleep.
In the morning, Ethan's phone buzzed on the nightstand before either of us got up.
He picked it up, read the screen, and went very still.
"What is it?"
He turned the phone so I could see.
May you like
It was a text from Marlene.
*Don't bring her here.*
