Chapter 6 - Ethan’s Mother Had Warned Me About His “Fun Dad” Problem
Her name was Susan Bennett.
Ethan’s mother.
Sixty-four.
Retired elementary-school librarian.
Not dramatic.
Not intrusive.
She loved:
Ethan
and:
me.
About six months before Chloe’s surgery, Susan spent a weekend with us.
Saturday afternoon, Ethan built a “rocket launcher” using:
plastic soda bottles,
a bicycle pump,
water.
Harmless enough if done:
properly.
He and Chloe went into the backyard.
I was inside.
Susan watched through the window.
Then suddenly went:
outside.
Later she told me:
“Ethan had Chloe holding the bottle while he pumped.”
I looked at him.
He said:
“It wasn’t pressurized yet.”
Susan answered:
“That isn’t the point.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Mom.”
She looked at:
me.
“Rachel, he still thinks knowing how something works means he can control every variable.”
I laughed awkwardly.
“Sounds familiar.”
Because yes.
Ethan had always been:
confident.
Kayaks.
Grills.
Tools.
Ladders.
Fireworks? Better not high-risk? Still maybe sparklers. Let's avoid.
He knew enough to:
manage risk
until he stopped respecting:
risk.
Susan later told me privately:
“When he was fifteen, he almost burned down our garage because he was absolutely sure he understood gasoline fumes.”
I said:
“He’s thirty-seven now.”
She answered:
“Age doesn’t automatically cure temperament.”
That was clue one.
I remember thinking:
Susan worries too much.
Interesting.
Because Ethan always told me:
I worry too much.
And eventually I adopted his language about:
his own mother.
May you like
That was convenient.
---
