Something Blue - Emily Giffin [129]
"We had rock oysters—fins de clair—which you can eat year-round. But thanks so much for your concern," he said, yawning with feigned nonchalance.
"Anytime," I said, as we strolled around the top of the Cricket Lawn. A long minute passed, the silence between us thickening.
"How do you feel?" I finally asked, choosing my words carefully. "About the breakup?"
Ethan glanced at me with raised brows. "It was a long time coming. I think I was just too sleep-deprived to get around to it sooner, you know?"
I nodded. I knew.
"I just didn't feel that close to her," he continued. "After this long, I should have felt closer to her. Or at least had the sense that I knew her… I mean, I knew her taste in music, art, food, travel, literature. But I still didn't know her. Or maybe I just didn't want to know her badly enough."
I nodded again, noticing that we were both walking at a faster clip and avoiding eye contact.
"There was other stuff too," he chattered nervously. He stopped pushing the pram long enough to reach down and adjust John's cap, which had slipped down over his eyes, and then said, "She was so relentlessly anti-American. I'm the first guy to step up and criticize our government. But it raised my hackles when she did it. I found myself constantly grinding my teeth to keep from saying, 'Your ass'd be speaking German if it weren't for us.' "
I smiled, pretending to be distracted by a nearby three-on-three football game.
"And then there's her scent…" he said.
"What? She doesn't bathe enough?"
He shook his head. "No. She's perfectly clean. And she wears nice perfume and all of that. But there's something about her actual, natural scent. The way her skin smells. I just didn't like it… So you know, it's hard to fix that one."
"Do I have a scent? When I'm not wearing perfume?" I asked, suddenly worried that Ethan didn't like mine either, and that I was only imagining our physical, chemical connection.
Ethan glanced at me, blushing scarlet. "Yeah. You do have a scent," he said slowly.
"And?" I asked, my heart pounding.
He stopped walking, turned to face me, and stared into my eyes. "You have an almost citrusy scent. Sweet, but not too sweet."
His expression removed my last trace of doubt. I was sure now—Ethan loved me as much as I loved him. I smiled, feeling light-headed and breathless as he wrapped his hand around mine, his other still gripping the handle of the pram. We had held hands many times before, but this time was different. It was a precursor to something more. Sure enough, Ethan pulled me against him. Then he closed his eyes, buried his face in my neck, and inhaled.
"Yeah. You smell like an orange," he whispered. "An orange in your stocking on Christmas morning."
An electrical charge passed through my body, and I learned what it means to be weak in the knees. I closed my eyes and put my arms around Ethan's shoulders, holding on tightly. Then, right in the mid-
die of Holland Park, amid footballers and dogs and babies, Ethan and I shared our first real kiss. I'm not sure how long it lasted—ten seconds or five minutes or something in between—but I do know that everything in the world seemed to halt, except our hearts, thudding against each other. I remember his warm hand slipping up under my jacket and shirt, his long, slender fingers pressing into my back. I remember thinking how much I wanted to feel all of his skin against mine.
When we finally separated, Ethan said my name in a way nobody had ever said it, his voice filled with equal parts affection and desire. My eyes welled as I looked into his. He was still Ethan, the scrawny kid on the playground and my best friend. But he was also someone new.
"I think you know the real reason Sondrine and I broke up," he said.
"Yeah. I think I do," I whispered.
I could feel myself beaming, bursting with anticipation of what was to come. That afternoon and every day to follow. I hooked my hand over