“I do not believe you one little bit .”
She wrinkles her nose, cringing. “Well, I’m pretty sure she’s a whole lot less mad than she was before. That part is true. And… I mean… you can invite Ethan .”
I open the creaky door, turning to fall into the passenger seat, which is pretty much the only way to get into the car anymore .
“I don’t think I’m ready to do that. It’s not a good idea .”
“I didn’t say that you had to date him,” she objects. “You could just invite him to the shower. Let him give you presents. Let him feel a little bit included. Like it or not, they’re his babies too. He should get to suffer through the baby shower too !”
“Well, you do have a point about the suffering …”
As Bea navigates back through the parking garage, I pull out my phone and stare at it. I don’t really know what to say. Is this even a good idea ?
Would you like to come to my baby shower ?
I hit send, then make a face. That was a stupid message. After two months, that’s all I’m going to say to him? Lame .
Yes .
My heart does a little leap .
“He says he is coming .”
“Hooray!”
Can we have dinner first? No strings. Just to touch base ?
“Oh shit. He wants to have dinner .”
Bea hunches over the steering wheel, looking back and forth at traffic, trying to time her left turn .
“So have dinner with him,” she says distractedly .
“I just said I didn’t want to see him anymore !”
She sucks her teeth in disgust. “Have dinner with him, Ava. Don’t be such a baby. You don’t have to fuck him or anything. You already did that .”
“Ouch, cold,” I remark .
“Sorry,” she says immediately, pulling out into traffic. “You know you shouldn’t talk to me when I drive .”
“Yeah.”
I scowl at the phone, wondering what to say. She’s right. I am being just a little bit immature .
Dinner. Yes .
I send the message, then drop my phone back into my purse, not resolving not to wonder too hard about what I just did .
***
W e have dinner at a little French bistro near the bridge. I walk up cringing, expecting there to be paparazzi surrounding Ethan, and a hundred questions hurled at me. But there doesn’t seem to be anybody. In fact the street is practically deserted .
It takes me a second to realize that the man who is staring at me as I approach is Ethan. He seems taller. Certainly leaner. He’s wearing jeans and an untucked, button-down shirt .
“You look different,” I muse as I come up. “Have I ever seen you wearing jeans before? Not counting when we were kids .”
He just shrugs, his face crinkling into that familiar smile. I instantly count the laugh lines around his eyes, then scold myself for being so emotional .