Yeah, come in. The apartment looked different in the early evening light. Still small, still crowded, but somehow more lived-in than last time. Lilly's artwork covered one wall now, held up with painter's tape. The new bookshelf stood proud in the bedroom doorway, fully loaded and organized.
Clara saw him looking. She rearranges it every day. I've stopped trying to keep track of her system. That's good. Means she's using it.
Using it? She talks about it constantly. Well, signs about it. You know what I mean. Clara cleared space on the folding table, moving design sketches and a laptop that looked like it might die any second.
What did you bring? Pad Thai, spring rolls, some kind of curry thing the guy recommended. The guy? At the restaurant. You went there in person?
Yeah. Clara sat down across from him, shaking her head slightly. Most people just order delivery. I was already out. Where?
Good question. Ethan had actually driven from a job site in the industrial district, but saying that would require explaining what he was doing there, which would lead to questions he wasn't ready to answer. Running errands. Clara accepted this without pressing. They ate straight from the containers because she only had four plates and most of them were in the sink.
The Pad Thai was good. The spring rolls were better. The curry was too spicy for either of them, but they kept eating it anyway. So, Clara said around a mouthful of noodles. Tell me about your son.
Jake? You have another one I don't know about? Just Jake. He's eight. Smart kid.
Too smart sometimes. What does that mean? It means he asks questions I don't always know how to answer. Ethan set down his fork. He's with his mom this week.
We split custody 50/50. That must be hard. It's not ideal. How long have you been divorced? Final papers came through about 8 months ago.
We were separated for a year before that. What happened? If you don't mind me asking. Ethan thought about how to answer that honestly without getting into territory he wasn't ready to explore. We wanted different things.
She wanted the life that came with my last name. I wanted to actually live instead of performing all the time. Clara was quiet for a moment. What does that mean? Performing?
Parties, galas, charity events, where everyone spends more on their outfit than most people make in a month. Standing around making small talk with people who only care about what you can do for them. He realized he was saying too much and pulled back. My ex-wife loved all that. I didn't.
Eventually that became a problem we couldn't fix. Sounds exhausting. It was. Is that why you dress like you're about to demo a house? Ethan looked down at his worn jeans and faded Henley.
I dress like this because it's comfortable. And because it pisses off your ex-wife? That's just a bonus. Clara laughed and the sound filled the small apartment like light. I like you, Ethan Mercer.
You're weird, but I like you. I'll take it. They finished eating and Clara insisted on doing dishes, even though there were only a few containers to rinse. Ethan stood in the doorway to the tiny kitchen, watching her work, and trying to figure out when he'd become the kind of person who found dishwashing romantic. How long until you pick up Lily?
He asked. Clara checked her phone. About an hour. Her teacher usually runs late because the kids don't want to leave. You want to show me what you're working on?
She turned surprised. My design stuff? Yeah. It's boring. Show me anyway.
Clara dried her hands and led him to the folding table pulling up files on her ancient laptop. The screen flickered twice before loading. I'm doing a logo redesign for a real estate company. They want something modern but trustworthy, which is code for we have no idea what we want and we'll reject everything you show us. Ethan looked at the mock-ups on her screen.
They were good. Clean lines, smart use of negative space, the kind of professional work that should have been commanding serious money. What are they paying you? 300? For a logo?
For the logo, three revision rounds, and all file formats. Clara's voice had an edge to it. I know it's not enough. But I need the money, so You're undercharging. Thanks.
I hadn't noticed. Clara. I know. Okay? She closed the laptop harder than necessary.
I know I'm undercharging. I know I'm letting clients walk all over me. I know I should have better boundaries and charge what I'm worth and all that empowering freelancer [ __ ]. But in the real world, where I have a kid to feed and rent due in two weeks, I take what I can get. Ethan held up his hands.
I wasn't criticizing. Yes, you were. I was making an observation. Same thing. They stared at each other for a moment, the air tense in a way it hadn't been 5 minutes ago.
Clara broke first, sighing. Sorry. I'm defensive about work stuff. I noticed. It's just everyone has opinions about what I should be doing differently.
My mom, my friends, random people on the internet. Like it's easy. Like I'm just choosing to struggle. I don't think that. No?
No. Ethan sat down in the armchair. I think you're doing what you have to do to survive. That's not weakness. That's pragmatism. Clara studied him for a long moment, something shifting in her expression.
You really mean that? Yeah. Most people don't get it. They think if you're struggling, it's because you're doing something wrong. Most people are idiots.