Suddenly, it makes sense why he never brought her up at work. Who’d want to talk about their ex? I’d rather shove thumbtacks into my eyes than mention Warner’s name.
“It’s really cool… of her to look after your mom while she’s recovering from hip surgery,” I comment. Or rather, it’s pretty great he’s amicable with his ex.
“Why wouldn’t she?” he says with a chuckle, and he doesn’t notice the confused frown spreading across my face while he brings his phone to his ear. I don’t think I’d ever expect my ex to help me with anything.
Ethan leans his weight onto one foot, then breaks into rapid-fire Spanish when she answers.
I squint at him when I realize he’s going through a list of demands.
“Did you walk the dog?Has she taken her medication yet?I don’t care if she doesn’t like it. You need to make sure she takes them. Also, you need to pick up my laptop.Do not break into my apartment. Bring the laptop back to the house instead. I don’t want you inside my apartment, Lara. Listen to me, Lara. Stay out of my apartment.”
My eyes are saucer-wide while I pretend to be engrossed in the latest picture of Pie posted earlier today.
“No. Stop it. She is my coworker, not my girlfriend,” Ethan grunts.“Don’t you dare?—”
There’s a piercing shriek. “You’re on vacation with your girlfriend?” His mom, I’m presuming, is shouting so loudly that I can hear her voice from where I’m standing, a foot away from him. “You’ll tell Lara, but not me, your mother,you’re proposing to her?When were you going to tell me?After you two have gotten married?”
“Mom,” Ethan says. “Are you taking your medication?—”
“Why?” she counters. “So I can live long enough for you to keep the first of many grandchildren from me?”
“Take your medication. Do not overexert yourself. And let Lara walk the dog,” he says, ignoring her. “I love you. Goodnight.”
He hangs up and pockets his phone, then slides a glance my way. “Any chance you don’t understand Spanish?”
“I’m fluent in Cantonese and Vietnamese.” Surprise registers on his face while I shrug. “Because of my parents.” Tipping my head toward the restaurant, I say, “Now, can we head inside? I’m starving. Or do I have to wait until we have the first of many kids?—”
He groans. “If you never bring this up again, I’ll buy youtwoscoops of pistachio ice cream.”
“Make it three.” I spare him an innocent look. “I’m going to need all the energy I can get before we get started on the first of many?—”
Emitting a loud grunt, he pulls the restaurant door open and motions for me to step inside.
We’re seatedin a secluded corner, which is nice. Our manager is across the room, which isn’t as nice.
Ed’s too busy chatting with his wife to notice us, though. Based on the sunburn he’s rocking, I don’t think he stayed long for day one of the conference.
“Bee,” Ethan hisses. “Stop looking at them.”
“Was he there when the conference was over?” I ask, even though I’m certain his Rudolph-red neck answers my question. “And do you think we could leave early tomorrow?”
“And miss out on all the free pens you can collect?” he deadpans. “What if the ones offered tomorrow can be used as a stylus? Or a torch for the Olympics?”
The withering gaze I shoot him is met with a crooked grin.
“I looked at the schedule,” I say. “And it’s not like we work in sales or marketing. We’re not getting anything out of this except for office supplies and business cards from people irrelevant to our jobs.”
“We’re being paid to attend the conference,” he says. “Even though it makes no sense why we’re here. The least we could do is stick around for the entire thing.”
“What about the package we paid for?” I ask dryly. “Are we ever going to enjoy our honeymoon?”
“Y’all are on your honeymoon?” Our server beams brightly at us as she approaches our table. “How exciting! How did you two meet?”
“Online,” I blurt.
“On a plane,” Ethan says at the same time.
We exchange glances.
