Something Blue - Emily Giffin [90]
"What a sweet story," I said.
He ignored my sarcasm. "And then we walked around the museum together afterward."
The whole thing was a little too close to my Alistair fantasy for comfort. I swallowed, trying to identify the knotted feeling in my chest. It felt like envy and worry and loneliness all blended together.
I formulated a dozen more questions but decided against asking any of them. I had heard enough. Instead we just listened to Norah Jones. Ethan's eyes were closed, his hands still on my feet when he finally spoke. "You looked really pregnant in the Muffin Man today," he said.
"You mean fat?" I asked, thinking of Sondrine's delicate bird wrists. I was downright sturdy next to her.
"Not fat. Pregnant."
"Pregnant and fat," I said.
He shook his head, opened his eyes, and gave me a funny look. "No. Pregnant and radiant."
I felt all tingly and knew that I was beaming. I thanked him, feeling shy.
Ethan kept looking at me with concentration, the way you study someone when you're trying to place them, remember their name. He finally said, "You really do have that glow."
"Thank you," I said again. Our eyes locked for a second, and then we both looked away at the same time.
There was no more conversation for a long time after that. Then Ethan suddenly turned to me and said, "Darce, I was wondering… why did you go to the nursing home today?"
"I told you—to get a job," I said.
"I know. But why a nursing home when you have a public relations background?"
"Because I want to help people. Be more compassionate and stuff."
Ethan chuckled and shook his head. "You're such a little extremist, aren't you?"
"What do you mean? You're the one who said I needed to change. Be a less shallow person and all that," I said, realizing how very much I wanted him to recognize the effort I was making.
"You don't have to change everything about yourself, Darce. And you certainly don't need to go working in a nursing home to be a good person."
"Well, it's a good thing. Because I didn't get hired." I smiled. "And to be perfectly honest, I don't particularly want to work with old people."
"Yeah. You don't have to be a martyr. Just find an enjoyable job and make a little loot. If you can add some value to the world in the process, all the better. But you have to be yourself."
"Be myself, huh?" I said with a smirk.
"Yeah," he said, grinning as he stood and walked toward his bedroom. "It ain't all bad."
I stood to follow him and then hesitated. I knew nothing had changed overnight, but there was something about seeing Ethan with a girl that made sleeping in bed with him feel strange, somehow wrong. I reassured myself that despite an occasional, fleeting attraction on my part, we were strictly friends. And friends could share beds. I used to have sleepovers with Rachel all the time.
Still, just to be sure, I waited for Ethan to turn around and say, "Are you coming?" before bounding (as much as a pregnant girl can bound) down the hall after him.
I didn't know how much longer I had before Sondrine would make her presence known in the flat, but I was going to savor every minute of it.
* * *
twenty-three
The next morning I called Mr. Moore, the doctor Meg and Charlotte had recommended. As it turned out, he had a cancellation in his morning schedule, so I took the Circle Line to Great Portland Street and followed my A to Zed to his office on Harley Street, a block of beautiful, old town houses, most of which appeared to have been converted to medical offices.
I opened the heavy red door to Mr. Moore's practice and walked into a marble foyer, where a receptionist handed me a form to fill out and pointed to a waiting room with a fireplace. Moments later, a plump, grandmotherly woman who introduced herself as Beatrix, Mr. Moore's midwife, collected me in the waiting room and led me up a winding, grand staircase to another room that looked as if it should have been roped