“Ethan, I’m not…” I couldn’t even finish the complete thought because I knew on some level it was true, not necessarily embarrassment, but the idea of my friends seeing me with Ethan was pretty frightening. All the questions they would ask—age, tattoos, lip rings. For the love of God, I wasn’t ready to volley all those questions just yet. I hadn’t prepared any answers.
“It’s okay,” he said quickly and suddenly. “I get it. Sorry to waste your time.”
Ethan was on his bike and pedaling away before I could even get a word out. He was nothing more than a speck in the distance before it even occurred to me to call after him. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Half an hour later, I realized I was still standing in the same spot.
Chapter 17—Longing
I was a disgraceful, undeniable idiot.
After Ethan had taken off, I could no longer breathe right. What I had said or done—or not said or done—was awful. He thought I hadn’t told anyone about us. He thought I was embarrassed to be seen with him. He thought I didn’t want my friends to meet him.
He had been right.
I was, simply put, a horrible person. I liked Ethan. I liked him a lot, and I had probably just ruined any chances we might have had because I was afraid of what my friends were going to think of him. I was even worse than Presley because he didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him. He hadn’t poured his heart out to her while sitting in a pink bean bag chair, and he hadn’t been in bed with her less than twenty-four hours ago.
I moved like a zombie to my remaining classes, images of Ethan’s agonized expression haunting me. As soon as my last lecture ended, I went immediately to Ethan’s apartment. Henry had greeted me cordially enough at the parking garage gate but told me immediately that Ethan wasn’t there. He had to have known I still had a key to the place, but it was pretty clear he had been told not to let me back in.
Over the next few days, I left Ethan seventeen voice mails. I had no idea how many times I had tried to call and not bothered leaving a message—too many to count. He hadn’t called back. I had considered texting him, but he would only know what they said if someone read them to him, and I really didn’t want anyone else reading what I wanted to say.
It had been less than a week since I had first laid eyes on him, and I had no idea where to even begin to look for him. The only place I had been with him was the penthouse apartment where he said he rarely ever spent the night. I knew he stayed with friends on the Lower West Side, but exactly where was a mystery to me. If he was going to continue to refuse my phone calls, I had no other way to find him. The phone was still ringing constantly, but the calls were from various friends, not Ethan. I knew what the rest of them were calling about, and I let every one of them go to voicemail.
Presley’s text messages were the worst.
At least now I know why you haven’t been hanging out with us!
A bicycle? Really?
Is he still in high school?
I can’t believe you are blowing us off for a guy who shops at thrift stores.
Have you completely and totally lost your mind? Call me back!
I didn’t call her. I didn’t call any of them. I even avoided my apartment as much as possible just in case one of them decided to break down my door.
On Thursday night, I started to get desperate. Though I knew Ethan wasn’t a student, I found myself searching up and down the streets of the Quarter—the small section of restaurants, shops, and bars just a block from campus where everyone hung out in between classes.
I blinked away tears as I wandered the main street. My apartment was located on the far side of the Quarter, where all the most affluent grad students congregated to avoid the rest of the riff-raff. I had been afraid to go into the building itself since I was bound to see someone I knew. Considering all the calls I had avoided, I knew Presley had told everyone about our run-in with Ethan, and I didn’t want to answer anyone’s questions.
I gave up on the Quarter and headed downtown, closer to Ethan’s apartment and my father’s company. I considered going back to Ethan’s place again, but I knew nothing had changed. Henry wasn’t going to let me in, key or not. Instead, I walked to the intersection where I had first met Ethan, looking left and right down the streets and alleys in hopes of catching a glimpse of boys on BMX bicycles. I found nothing that would lead me to Ethan.
As I went past the walk-up window of a restaurant, the smell of fresh pizza shimmied up my nostrils and reminded me of our Italian dinner. Within about four seconds of inhaling the delicious scent, I went from crying harder from the memory to the joy of revelation—the restaurant workers all knew Ethan. They would be able to tell me how to find him. I turned on my heel, ran smack into a scrawny, geeky guy with an armload of packages, spent a couple minutes helping him pick them up, and then raced back to my Saab.
Twenty minutes later, I walked through the alley where Ethan had parked his bicycle for our first date. I considered using the kitchen door, thought better of it, and decided to walk around to the front instead. It was getting late, and the restaurant would likely be closing soon. The same redhead was at the hostess’ counter, but her name totally escaped me.
“Hi,” I said. I was having a really hard time looking her in the eye. I couldn’t remember her name, but I remembered that she and Ethan had dated. “I was wondering if you might remember me. I was here a few nights ago…”
“Yes, I know. You were with Ethan.”
“Um, yes, right.” I took a deep breath and tried to start again. “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help me out.”
“With?” The redhead raised an eyebrow at me.
“Well, I’m trying to find him,” I said. “He’s not answering his phone, and I really need to talk to him.”
“It doesn’t sound like he wants to talk to you,” she said as she turned her back and walked away without another word.
I stood there with my mouth open, looking like an idiot as she went back to her podium and shuffled menus around. I was about to go back up to her and start an argument when a familiar voice called out.