Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [122]
I am beginning to notice that Brits put a little question tag at the end of every statement, looking for affirmation.
I give it to him. "I am a tourist, yes."
Then I tell him that Leeds Castle sounds perfect. Because it does sound nice. And because everything I do, every person I meet, puts a certain distance between Dex and me. Time heals all wounds, particularly if you pack a bunch of stuff into that time.
"Ask Ethan what he thinks about it. And call me." He writes his phone number on the back of a gum wrapper I find in my purse. "I'll be around."
I thank him for a nice night. He kisses me again, his hand on the back of my neck.
"Snogging someone new right after a big breakup. Love it or hate it?" he asks.
I laugh. "Love it."
James smirks. "I concur."
I unlock Ethan's door, wondering if James is lying too.
The next morning Ethan stumbles bleary-eyed into the kitchen, where I am pouring myself a glass of pulp-free orange juice.
"So? You in love with James?"
"Madly."
He scratches his head. "Seriously?"
"No. But it was fun."
I realize that I can't even recall exactly what James looks like. I keep picturing this guy from my Federal Income Tax class in law school instead. "He wants to meet up with us today. Go to some palace or castle together."
"Hmmm. A palace or castle in England. That narrows it down."
"Leeds or something?"
Ethan nods. "Yeah, Leeds Castle is nice. Is that what you want to do?"
"I don't know. Why not?" I say.
It seems like a waste of time and a lot of effort to make more conversation with James, but I call him anyway, and we all end up going to Leeds Castle for the day. Phoebe and Martin come too. Apparently all of Ethan's friends make their own work schedules because none of them seem to think twice about taking off on a random Wednesday. I think of how different my life is back in New York, with Les looming over me, even on the weekends.
It is a warm day, nearly hot by London standards. We explore the castle and grounds, have a picnic lunch in the grass. At one point, Phoebe asks me, loud enough for everyone to hear, if I've taken a shine to James. I look at James, who rolls his eyes at Phoebe. Then I smile and tell her, in the same volume, that he is quite nice, if only he lived in New York. I figure, what does it hurt to compliment him? If he genuinely likes me, he'll be happy to hear it. And if he doesn't, he will feel safe because of the distance.
''So why don't you move to London?" she asks. "Ethan says you positively despise your job. Why not move here and find something? It would be a nice change of scenery, wouldn't it?"
I laugh and tell her that I can't do that. But it occurs to me, as we sit by a peaceful lake and admire the fairy-tale castle in the English countryside, that I could, in fact, do exactly that. Maybe the thing to do after you roll the dice—and lose—is simply pick them up and roll them again. I imagine handing Les my letter of resignation. It would be incredibly satisfying. And I wouldn't have to deal with seeing Dex and Darcy on a regular basis. I wonder how a good therapist would characterize the move—as running away or creating a fresh, healthy start?
On my last night in London, Ethan and I are back at his favorite pub, which is starting to feel like my local. I ask Ethan what he thinks of the idea of my moving to London. Within fifteen minutes he has me all moved into his neighborhood. He knows of a flat, a job, and several guys, if James isn't ideal, all of whom have straight, white teeth (because I have commented on the Brits' poor dental work). He says do it. Just do it. He makes it sound so simple. It is simple. The seed is more than just planted. It is growing and sprouting a tiny bud.
Ethan continues. "You should get away from Darcy. That toxic friendship… It's unhealthy. And it's only going to be more destructive when you have to see them after the wedding."
"I know," I say, pushing a fry through mushy peas.
"And even if you stay in New York,