"You're friends with me, too, you know."
He poured some vinegar on his fish and said, "I know that."
"Annalise is friends with both of us, and she'll talk to me about… what happened," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Why won't you tell me what you think? I won't be offended. I mean, clearly you're on her side." Reverse psychology was always worth a try, even with someone as smart as Ethan.
"Look, Darcy, I just don't feel comfortable with this whole topic. Don't you have anything else to talk about besides Rachel?"
"Trust me. Plenty," I said, as if my world were as chock full of glamorous intrigue as it had always been before tough times had befallen me.
"Well, then… stop trying to get me to bash her."
"I'm doing no such thing. I just wanted to talk to you, my childhood friend, about our other childhood friend and… the current state of affairs. Is that so wrong?"
He gave me a long look, and then finished his lunch in silence. When he was finished, he lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled in my general direction.
"Hey! Watch it! I'm with child!" I squawked.
"Sorry," he said, turning his chair and exhaling in the other direction. "You're going to have a rough time in this country, though. Everybody smokes."
"I can see that," I said, looking around. "It stinks in here."
He shrugged.
"So. Can I just ask a few questions?"
"Not if they're about Rachel."
"C'mon, Ethan, they are perfectly harmless questions. Please?"
He didn't respond so I asked my first question. "Have you talked to her recently?"
"Fairly recently,"
"Does she know I'm here?"
He nodded.
"And she's okay with that?" I asked, hoping that she was decidedly not okay with it. I wanted her to be jealous that I was here in London with her precious Ethan. I wanted her to feel territorial stabs. I couldn't wait for Ethan to send her postcards from our trips together—jaunts to Vienna, Amsterdam, Barcelona. Perhaps I'd scratch out a haphazard PS on the occasional card. "Wish you were here," I'd write. To show her that I was so over the whole Dex thing. That I had moved on big time.
"She's fine with it. Yes."
I made a snorting sound to indicate that I highly doubted that that was the case.
Ethan shrugged.
"So what's new with her?"
"Not much."
"Is she still with Dex?"
"Darcy. No more. I mean it."
"What? Just tell me! I don't care if they're together. I'm just curious, is all…"
"I really mean it," he said. "No Dex questions."
"Fine. Fine. I think it's bullshit that we—two friends—can't talk frankly. But whatever. Your issues."
"Right. My issues," Ethan said, looking drained.
After lunch I unpacked while Ethan retreated to his bedroom to write. I made several trips to his room to request more hangers, and every time I'd pop in, he would glance up from his laptop with an annoyed expression, as if one little hanger request somehow threw him off his whole train of thought.
By midafternoon, my room was as organized as it could be considering the lack of space. I had stuffed my closet full of clothes, lined my favorite shoes in two rows along the bottom, and had set up all of my makeup, toiletries, and lingerie on the bookcase. It wasn't pretty, but it was functional enough. Just as I was in the mood to call it quits for the day and round up Ethan for some fun, I caught him in the living room stuffing papers and a pack of cigarettes into a messenger bag.
"Are you going somewhere?" I asked him.
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"Out. To write."
"What exactly are you writing again?"
"A chapter in a book on London architecture. And I recently started writing a novel. And I have a ton of freelance articles due. You know, stuff to pay the rent."
"What's your novel about?" I asked, thinking that my life would make for an excellent read. I was sure I could provide him with some good material.
"It's about a guy who loses his whole family in a carbon monoxide accident and goes to live in the woods alone to heal."
"Sounds cheery."
"It's ultimately uplifting."
"If you say so… But do you have to work on my first day?"
"Yes. I do," he said unapologetically.
I frowned, asked him why he couldn't stay at home and write. I told him I'd be extra quiet. "Like a church mouse," I whispered.
He smiled. "You? A church mouse?"
"C'mon, Ethan. Please," I said. "I'll be lonely here."
He shook his head. "I can't think here."
No wonder. It's a cramped little shit hole, I thought to myself. Instead I just threw up my hands and said, "Fine. Fine. But just so you know… glasses and caps don't go together. Pick one or the other. It's like… overaccessorizing or something. Edit your look."
He shook his head as I followed him to the door.
"Where do I find you if I need you?" I asked.
"You don't," he said.