Something Blue - Emily Giffin [73]
"Suck it up, Darce," Ethan told me, as he handed me a pink ticket. "And don't lose your ticket. You'll need it to exit on the other side."
I told him that I didn't think that was a particularly good system.
"Seems to me an awful lot of people would misplace their ticket during their journey and be stuck floundering on the other end."
Ethan stuck his ticket in a slot, went through a turnstile and down some stairs. I followed him and found myself on the very cold, outdoor platform. "It's freezing," I said, rubbing my gloves together. "Why don't they have enclosed platforms?"
"No more complaining, Darce."
"I'm not complaining. I'm simply commenting that it's a very chilly day."
Ethan zipped his fleece jacket up around his chin and looked down the tracks. "Circle Line train coming now," he said.
Moments later we were seated on the train, a woman's voice announcing the next stop in a very civilized British accent.
"When are they going to say 'mind the gap'?" I asked. "Or do they not really say that?"
Ethan smiled and explained that they only give that caution at certain stops where there is a substantial gap between the train and the platform.
I looked up at the tube map over us and asked him where exactly we were going.
"Charing Cross Station," he said. "We're off to cover some basics, including the National Gallery. I know you aren't a big fan of museums, but tough. It's a must. You're going to see some Turners, Seurats, and Botticellis whether you like it or not."
"I like it," I said, meaning it. "Please enlighten me."
So that afternoon, we hit some more London highlights. We lingered by Nelson's Column, in the middle of Trafalgar Square amid all the people and pigeons, as I got a lesson about Lord Horatio Nelson's naval victory over the French. (Ethan was astonished when I admitted that I had no idea that the French and British were ever at odds.) We visited Ethan's favorite church, St. Martin-in-the-Fields, which he said was famous for its social activism. Then we had another tea break in the Cafe-in-the-Crypt, located in the basement of the church. Afterward, we made our way over to the National Gallery. Ethan showed me a smattering of his favorite works, and I have to admit, I enjoyed myself. His commentary made the paintings almost interesting. It was as if I were seeing things through his eyes, noticing details of color and shape that otherwise would have been lost on me.
We returned home just after dark, and prepared our untraditional Thanksgiving dinner of salmon, asparagus, and couscous. After we ate, I crawled in bed next to Ethan and thanked him for my tour of London.
He rolled over to face me and gave me a strange, serious look. "You're welcome, Darcy."
"It was my best Thanksgiving ever," I said, surprised to feel my heart beating faster. Our eyes remained locked, and my thoughts returned to that moment on the park bench. I wondered if Ethan occasionally felt a vague attraction to me too. If he did right now.
But as he turned away abruptly, leaning up to switch off his lamp, and repositioning himself farther away from me, I told myself that I was being crazy. It was likely just my pregnancy hormones making me imagine things.
After several minutes, Ethan said quietly, his voice muffled against his pillow, "I had a nice time, too, Darce."
I smiled to myself. It may not have been Ethan's best Thanksgiving ever, but I was pretty sure that the day would buy me some more weeks in London. He wasn't going to send me packing just yet.
* * *
twenty
One morning the following week I told Ethan I was desperate for a night out on the town and a little social interaction. I insisted that he take me somewhere other than his pub and introduce me to his friends.
"After all," I said, "a pregnant girl shouldn't be forced to go to a bar alone, should she?"
"I suppose not," he said, and then reluctantly promised that he'd invite a few people out to dinner on Saturday night.
"Let's go somewhere fabulous!"
"I don't generally do fabulous. Would you settle for