Chapter 11
We rode the subway in expectant silence, with nothing more than our shoulders touching each other as the L train rumbled east under the river.
After twenty minutes or so, we got off at a stop called Grand Street, emerging onto a busy crossroads with what looked like a university campus at one junction.
Ethan made a move to start walking, before hesitating and turning to face me. ‘Do you want to get a drink or…?’
‘I’m fine without a drink.’
He nodded once, understanding my unspoken directive: Take me to your place.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so certain about wanting something – let alone someone.
Sure, I’d always had immoveable instincts, but up until now they’d only functioned to protect me from short-term discomfort or prepare me for long-term security.
What was about to happen with Ethan would have no bearing on either of those things.
And yet, I just knew that this felt right – and that I needed it.
We turned off the main road onto a residential street, then another. Still saying nothing.
‘Okay, this is my building. Listen, Flora, before we go in: is this a stupid idea?’
‘Quite possibly, yes. But, right now, stupid feels great.’
Who even am I?
‘Yeah, can’t deny that. But I don’t even know how long you’re in the city for. When do you fly back?’
I pulled one of Ethan’s hands towards me, turned it palm upwards and traced an infinity loop on his skin, enjoying watching his fingers flutter as I did so. ‘I fly back Christmas Eve and land on Christmas Day.’
‘Man, I don’t know what to do for the best.’ He said the words under his breath, like he was speaking to himself. Was he worried about not being… chivalrous, or something?
You had a panic attack in his presence, Flora. He’s looking out for you.
I stopped doodling on his skin and squeezed his hand reassuringly, instead. ‘Ethan, it’s all good. No one’s heart is going to get broken. We’re just two adults who are finally having a nice time after a bit of a shitty year, am I right?’
The reasoning had been spoken for Ethan’s benefit, but as it left my mouth I realised that it was what I needed to hear, too.
‘More than you know.’
‘We’re on the same page, I think. But we don’t have to talk about any of that. Unless you want to?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Me neither. So, the way I see it, we’ve got a simple choice: we either enjoy the moment for what it is. Or we can go our separate ways and always wonder “what if?”. And, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a bit bored of ruminating over things that should have happened but never did.’
For the whole morning I’d been pretending to be confident and clear-minded about who I was and what I wanted. But, right now, I was feeling all those things for real – all thanks to this sweet New Yorker who I’d known for just a day.
Without saying a word, Ethan laced his fingers through mine and led me up a few steps to the front door of what looked to be a terraced house.
‘You have a whole house?’
‘Ha, no – it’s a studio in the loft. It’s pretty compact, but perfect for one.
Cosy for two.’ He squeezed my hand tightly, to the extent that I could feel the intensity of his pulse on my own wrist. I couldn’t help but think of the parallels between Ethan’s loft apartment and the attic flat back in Bath, but I left the observation unspoken – it was information he didn’t need.
There was no elevator up to the top floor this time, just a dimly lit stairwell that smelled vaguely of paint and damp.
By the time we were two floors up – and there were exactly the same number of steps up to his front door as there were to mine – I was out of breath.
That said, the way my heart was pounding in my chest, I’d probably be out of breath if he lived in the basement.
He extracted his keys and inserted them into the lock, still holding my hand.
This time, it was my turn to squeeze his palm as he turned the key.
I knew the instant he closed the door behind us we’d be kissing up against it – my entire body was ready to let go of all resistance in anticipation of that very moment, which was just seconds aw—
‘Surprise!’ A man and a woman who looked to be in their sixties stood up from the sofa at the foot of the bed and turned to face us.
What in the name of actual fuck?
‘Mom! Dad! What are you doing here?’ Ethan turned to me, eyebrows raised, face swiftly draining of colour.
‘We decided to drive down a day early before the storm and thought we’d stop by since we haven’t seen you since…’
His mum’s words trailed off as she noticed me standing bashfully behind her son. I was still holding his hand, which I released quickly.
‘Oh! Hi there, sweetie! I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Ethan’s mom, Chrissie. And this is his dad, Saul.’
I extended the hand that had been pressing against the skin of their son seconds ago and shook theirs.
‘Oh! How very formal,’ Ethan’s mum said. Her nails looked like they’d been freshly manicured, filed to neutral, talon-like perfection. My own chipped, black nail polish made me feel like a hovel-dwelling troll in comparison.
I cleared my throat. ‘Hi, so nice to meet you. I’m Flora. I’m—’
‘My colleague!’ Ethan butted in, his face now burning so fiercely I could feel the heat radiating from it. ‘Flora’s my colleague. She’s a freelancer for the agency and she’s agreed to help me out with my speech for Tuesday.’
Ethan’s fib caught me off-guard: just seconds ago I’d felt like the most decisive iteration of Flora Bell that had ever existed, but now I felt myself regressing right back to a younger, more pliable version of myself – the one who’d had no choice but adapt to whatever fad or fabrication had taken Mum and Anneka’s fancy on that particular day.
I swallowed down a slew of memories and activated my invisible armour.
‘That’s me!’ I said, contemplating an American accent but deciding to stick with British after remembering what Ethan had said about one of his clients being UK-based. But Chrissie was frowning in Ethan’s direction, as if she’d forgotten I was there already.
‘Your speech, Eethy?’
Eethy?!
‘You told me you’d finished that months ago!’ His mum seemed aghast.
Ethan’s mouth opened but the words didn’t materialise, so I tried my best to fill in the gap. ‘We’re just making some finishing touches, aren’t we, Ethan? Honestly, it’s going to be sooo good.’
Ethan glanced at me and flashed me a grateful smile before turning back to his parents.
‘I just wish you’d told me you were coming! I made plans for tonight,’ Ethan said, looking between his parents in turn, as if to confirm that they were definitely here, in the room.
‘We can see that,’ his dad said, with a wink.
‘No! I mean, later. It’s the monthly cartoonist hang.’
‘A work event? On a Saturday night?’ Chrissie looked confused. She’d be even more confused if she could see the image of a bunch of cartoonists hanging upside down like bats that had just flown into my brain.
‘They’re my friends, Mom. We meet every month for beers; you know that.’
All of a sudden, Ethan sounded like a whining teenager.
Fuck, was I starting to get the ick? Then I remembered my position as moaner-in-chief within my own family unit and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
After all, my floundering attempts to code-switch between ‘functioning, successful adult’ and ‘disappointing youngest child’ would probably make him run a mile if the roles were reversed.
‘Well, I guess we should get out of your hair, then,’ Chrissie said, her lips pursed.
‘Mom, don’t be silly. I’m free until six thirty.’ He turned to me and mouthed ‘sorry’. I flashed him a resigned smile which I hoped came across as ‘I’m disappointed, but I get it’. This moment – this encounter – simply wasn’t meant to be.
‘We won’t be in your hair for long, son,’ his dad said, the family mediator. ‘We just thought we’d swing by before heading over to Ricky’s place. There was no answer so we let ourselves in so your mom could use the bathroom.’
‘Yeah, of course, that makes sense. It’s… great to see you both,’ Ethan said, finally stepping fully into the room to embrace his parents. Chrissie looked at me and grinned for the duration of the hug while I remained rooted to the spot in the still-open doorway.
Time to go.
‘I’ll be heading off, then, Ethan. Good luck with… everything!’
Ethan turned to me, his mouth frozen in a smile, his eyes boring into mine in place of a farewell snog. Talk about an anticlimax, on every single front imaginable.
‘Don’t be silly, Flora! Stay for a drink and tell us all about that fantastic accent of yours! What is it – Irish?’ Seemed like Chrissie’s knowledge of accents was as bad as Ethan’s.
‘No, I’m from England.’
‘Huh! You sure don’t sound like Kate Middleton!’
‘I’m from the south-west of England originally – we don’t speak much like the royal family – we’re all “errrrs” and “arrrrs”.
’ I exaggerated my West Country accent for effect.
‘In fact, I was born not far from Bristol, which is where John Cabot set off from when he became the first documented discoverer of North America.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Ethan said, as Chrissie took my rucksack off my back and guided me to the sofa.
‘Let me guess, you thought it was Christopher Columbus?’ I said, sitting down next to his dad.
‘No, I meant I didn’t know that’s where you were born. I assumed you were born in London.’
‘Well, we’re colleagues, Ethan. We’re not meant to know everything about each other.’
‘Touché.’
In this equivalent scenario in the UK, Chrissie would be putting the kettle on for a polite cup of tea that we would make chitchat over before I made my escape.
But there was no kettle in the minuscule kitchenette that was nestled into one corner of the square room, and there were probably no PG Tips in the cupboards, either.
Chrissie rummaged inside the fridge while Ethan joined me and his dad on the sofa, me sandwiched in between them like a sweating slice of ham.