Theyâre great onesâmain level, first-base sideâbecause my dad shares season tickets with his law firm. Iâve shoved a huge bag of peanuts in my backpack because thatâs what we always do in our family. Over the years, David and I have eaten our way through thousands of peanuts. We used to buy them at Wrigley, but weâd go through so many bags that my mother started buying a jumbo pack at the grocery store and bringing them in her purse. Lots of things have changed in my world, but baseball traditions have stuck.
âIf my dad had his way,â I say, unpacking the peanuts and plopping the plastic sack on Ethanâs lap, âtheyâd remove the lights from Wrigley. Heâs totally old school about this. Do you know that Wrigley didnât have lights until like the eighties? Day games only.â
Ethan digests this tidbit and cracks open a peanut. The wind is blowing off the lake, and the sky is blue and clear. The sun is shining. We are on our fourth official date. So far, we have: hung out at the penguin habitat at Lincoln Park Zoo, gone bowling, and played three rounds of miniature golf at Par-King. (I won two of them.) In between, weâve talked, met for coffee. Lately heâs started calling me late at night. Ben used to do this when we were going outâcall me to tell me good night. With Ethan, we talk until I start to drift off. The deep, even sound of his voice soothes me. I donât sleep much these days, so what little I get is generally in the hours right after we finally hang up.
Sometimes I feel like weâre pushing our luck with all this acting like two regular people in a relationship. In the dark after weâve finally ended our nightly phone call, I lie in bed and wonder how many coffees, how many rounds of mini golf, before we meet our quota of normal. You have magic powers and your grandmother is a bipolar rusalka, I tell myself. And Ethanâs not exactly the poster boy for normal either. Eventually the cartoon anvil is going to fall on our heads.
But then I find myself watching out the window for his car. And when he kisses me, I press myself against him and feel a ridiculously hopeful pleasure as his tongue tangles with mine and his handsâoh God, he has wonderful handsâstroke my back, my arms, my face, skim my sides, his thumbs massaging at the curve of my breasts. I run my hands under his shirt, his skin warm against my palms, the familiar tingle flickering through my fingertips as they graze that lion tattoo near his shoulder.
Except hereâs the problem. I have no idea whatâs going to happen to me even a day from now. When I took the power Baba Yaga offered, I did more than just enable myself to save Ethanâs life. I gave up my own. At least I think I did. I owe the witch now, and Iâm not sure what she wants or when she plans on collecting. If I end up trapped in Baba Yagaâs forest as payment for our bargain, how much worse would it be to go there feeling the way I do about Ethan? How could I live forever knowing what Iâd lost?
Again, I remember last nightâs dream. David asking me if Iâm sure about Ethan. The truth? There are moments when Iâm positive that I donât know everything I need to know about him. But the person Iâm most unsure of is me.
As for Ben, well, itâs still unresolved. I donât love him. I never have. But when someone almost dies in a witchâs forest because of you, thereâs a certain sense of obligation. Tess says I need to untether him. But sheâs not the one whoâs going to have to tell him to stop waiting for me to change my mind. This doesnât make me like myself very much. But it hasnât forced me into action either. Turns out that when it comes to Ben, Iâm a head-in-the-sand kind of girl.
âIâm with your father on the lights,â Ethan says. He passes the peanut bag to me. Heâs wearing jeans that hang