“Yes.”
“I don’t want people to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Tonight, I thought…”
I stopped.
He waited.
I looked down.
“I thought being onstage might be difficult.”
“It was.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“The microphone.”
Mom made a choking sound and burst into laughter.
Ethan grinned.
“The microphone was difficult.”
I laughed too.
Then I turned serious again.
“I’m sorry.”
“For the microphone?”
“No.”
He waited.
“For deciding what would be hard for you before asking you.”
Ethan studied me.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
“And for worrying people would judge your gift.”
“They did.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“People compare everything.”
“You noticed?”
“Claire.”
He stared at me.
“I’m not blind either.”
Mom coughed to hide another laugh.
Ethan picked up a fry.
“Some people thought other gifts were better.”
My heart hurt.
He shrugged.
“Doesn’t make mine worse.”
Then he ate the fry.
That was Ethan.
He could reduce a problem I’d been wrestling with for months to seven words.
