I nodded. It was. The tiny garden was a tranquil enclave with a pond, bonsai-like trees, wooden walkways, and waterfalls. I told Ethan that the whole scene reminded me of Mr. Miyagi's garden in Karate Kid. Ethan laughed as he led me across one footbridge. He stopped on the other side and sat on a wooden bench. Then he closed his eyes, propped his hands behind his head, and said, "This is the most peaceful spot in London. Nobody ever comes here. Even in warm weather, I always seem to have it all to myself."
I sat down next to Ethan and looked at him as he inhaled deeply, his eyes still closed. His cheeks were pink and his hair was curled up around the edges of his navy wool hat, and suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt a flicker of attraction to him. It wasn't the sort of physical attraction I had felt toward Marcus, nor was it the objective admiration I had felt for Dexter. It was more a welling of fondness for one of my only remaining friends in the world. Ethan was both a tie to my past and a bridge to my new life, and if gratitude can make you want to kiss a person, at that moment I had an unmistakable urge to plant one on him. Of course I resisted, telling myself to stop being crazy. Ethan wasn't my type, and besides, the last thing I wanted to do was disrupt our living (and sleeping) arrangement.
A moment later, Ethan stood abruptly. "You hungry?" I told him that I was, so we walked back to Kensington High Street, past his flat, and over to a tea shop on Wright's Lane called the Muffin Man. The inside was shabby but cozy, filled with little tables and chairs and waitresses wearing floral aprons. We took a table by the window and ordered toasted sandwiches, tea, and scones. As we waited for our treats, we talked about my pregnancy. Ethan asked me about my last trip to the doctor. I told him it was right before I came to live with him and that I was due for another one soon.
Ethan caught my slip and raised his eyebrows. "To live with me?" "I mean to visit," I said, and then quickly changed the subject before he could inquire about my departure and discover that I had bought a one-way ticket. "So at my next appointment, I'll find out the gender of the baby… But I just know that it's a girl."
"Why's that?" Ethan asked, as the waitress arrived with our treats.
"It's just a very strong feeling. God, I hope it's a girl. I'm not a big fan of men these days. Except for you, of course. And gay men."
He laughed.
"You're not gay, are you?" I asked. It seemed like as good a time as any to broach the subject.
"No." He smiled and shook his head. "Did you think I was?"
"Well, you don't have a girlfriend," I said. And you've never hit on me, I thought.
He laughed. "I don't have a boyfriend either."
"Good point… I don't know. You have good taste, you know so much about artsy things. I guess I thought maybe Brandi would have turned you off women."
"She didn't turn me off all women."
I studied his face, but couldn't read his expression. "Did I offend you?"
"Not at all," Ethan said, as he buttered a scone.
"Oh, thank goodness," I said. "I'd hate to offend my best friend in the world."
I wanted him to be flattered, maybe even reciprocate by saying "Why, you're my best friend too." But he just smiled and took a bite of his scone. After our tea break, Ethan led us back to Kensington High Street over to the tube stop.
"We're taking the tube?" I asked. "Why not a cab?" I wasn't a big fan of the subway in New York, always favoring cabs, and I had not changed the practice in London.
"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."