Ethan shakes his head. “No,” he says. “She’s…” But then hestops and looks up at me. “Can you stay with me for a while? Talk about literally anything besides Billy?”
A sharp pang stabs my stomach, like I’m being pierced all the way through.
“I need a distraction. Please.”
“Okay,” I say, tucking my feet under me so I can sit up on my shins. “Well…” I rack my brain for something—anything—to bring up. “Little Womenis my favorite book,” I say.
Ethan nods, his hair flopping down over one eye. “I know that. We all know that.”
“They’re releasing a new edition this summer. Illustrated sprayed edges. A new foreword about Amy March and her surprising place in feminist history.”
“Okay,” Ethan says. His fingers flex, then span out on the tiled floor, starting to relax.
“The cover is printed right on the book, a beautiful embossed kind of thing. No jacket. It’s supposed to mimic the old editions.”
“Sounds nice,” Ethan says. He’s smiling now, the V between his eyebrows easing slightly. Comforting him like this feels natural, and I wonder if it was fate that brought me to him here in the bathroom. I could have waited in line for the powder room or wandered upstairs to find another restroom. But I came here, to Ethan, and right now that feels important. I grip his hand tighter, emboldened.
“I keep meaning to preorder with Dre at the Bonanza. I love when they put out old books like this but make them new. It’s like seeing something you’ve seen your whole life but in a totally new light, you know?”
Ethan’s eyes are dark and focused as they flick up to mine. My mouth goes dry, even when I try to swallow.
“I know that feeling,” Ethan says.
“Yeah?” I ask, but as Ethan nods, the door pushes open, and he drops my hand, his head tilting up to the wall of light pouring in from the bedroom.
“There you are,” Lucy says, reaching in to pull Ethan to stand. “I’ve been lookingeverywherefor you. Mrs.Godwin wants to talk to you for a minute. Can you do that?”
Ethan stands slowly, resting his hands on the counter for support. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”
“Great,” Lucy says, leading him out.
As she pushes him ahead, she looks back at me over her shoulder, pressing one hand to her neck.Thank you.Then she disappears back into the party, leaving me alone in the bathroom, the tips of my fingers tingling with an exhilarating secret: Ethan Silver finally seesme.
Lucy
“You nailed those constituent calls earlier. Sounded like a pro.” I look up from my desk to see my supervisor, Anjali, leaning over the cubicle holding a clipboard.
I stand up and brush my skirt down, hoping she doesn’t notice that my desk is piled high with stacks of paper and files I pulled from the archives to study. I’ve only been here for ninety minutes, but it already looks like I’ve been one of Mayor Cho’s interns for weeks, even though today’s my first day. Which, in my opinion, is a good thing.
“Thanks so much,” I say. “Sorry, that round took longer than expected.”
“Figured. Especially now.” Anjali shrugs. “Helluva day to start, huh?”
She’s right. Even though my first task of the internship was to call all of the business owners on Main Street and ask them to show up to Mayor Cho’s next town hall session, where she would hold a meet and greet with the Small Business Association, most everyone only wanted to talk about safety concerns, the high-traffic complaints now that reporters have started to circle the town, and the investigation into Billy’s death. Especially once they realized it was me, Lucy Gold, calling.
Donny Glick, who owns Sunday Best, the high-end luncheonette known for their sugar-dusted lemon ricotta pancakes, spent ten minutes complaining about how the news crew vans took over his entire parking lot before he lowered his voice and said in his posh British accent, “Hope you and Ethan are taking care of each other, dear.”
“We are,” I said, which was only sort of true since Ethan spent half of yesterday’s shiva hiding in the bathroom with Millie. I’ve been waiting to ask him about the party and what happened at the police station. But there never seems to be a good time. Last night, when we got home, he admitted he had a panic attack, and we spent the rest of the evening at his house watching reruns ofThe Office. Seeing him like that, so exhausted and on edge, was made even more painful by the fact that I still haven’t told him about Penn. I hate to admit it, but my dad was right. I have to wait a little bit longer, once we have some more answers about what happened to Billy.
“It’s a good thing when folks want to talk,” Anjali says. “It means they trust you.”
I tilt my chin up and press the heels of my palms together in front of my stomach. “I was actually wondering if you have a few minutes. I’d love to chat with you about the mayor’s environmental response to the—” But before I can finish, the front door to the office chimes open, and Anjali cranes her neck to see who’s there.
“Ah, she’s here.”
I glance around the cubicle, and the first thing I see is the hint of pale pink peeking through the space between the desks.
“Who—” I start to say but promptly shut my mouth because standing at the front door in an A-line dress and matching MaryJane shoes is Olivia. A chocolate-brown ribbon holds back a wave of honey-blond hair, and she’s raising one hand, wiggling her fingers in my direction, a strained smile on her face. There is no plausible reason for her to be at the mayor’s office on a Thursday morning, but without thinking, I raise my hand, too.
