Something Blue

as if one little hanger request somehow threw him off his whole train of thought.

By midafternoon, my room was as organized as it could be considering the lack of space. I had stuffed my closet full of clothes, lined my favorite shoes in two rows along the bottom, and had set up all of my makeup, toiletries, and lingerie on the bookcase. It wasn't pretty, but it was functional enough. Just as I was in the mood to call it quits for the day and round up Ethan for some fun, I caught him in the living room stuffing papers and a pack of cigarettes into a messenger bag.

'Are you going somewhere?' I asked him.

'Yeah.'

'Where?'

'Out. To write.'

'What exactly are you writing again?'

'A chapter in a book on London architecture. And I recently started writing a novel. And I have a ton of freelance articles due. You know, stuff to pay the rent.'

'What's your novel about?' I asked, thinking that my life would make for an excellent read. I was sure I could provide him with some good material.

'It's about a guy who loses his whole family in a carbon monoxide accident and goes to live in the woods alone to heal.'

'Sounds cheery.'

'It's ultimately uplifting.'

'If you say so… But do you have to work on my first day?'

'Yes. I do,' he said unapologetically.

I frowned, asked him why he couldn't stay at home and write. I told him I'd be extra quiet. 'Like a church mouse,' I whispered.

He smiled. 'You? A church mouse?'

'C'mon, Ethan. Please,' I said. 'I'll be lonely here.'

He shook his head. 'I can't think here.'

No wonder. It's a cramped little shit hole, I thought to myself. Instead I just threw up my hands and said, 'Fine. Fine. But just so you know… glasses and caps don't go together. Pick one or the other. It's like… overaccessorizing or something. Edit your look.'

He shook his head as I followed him to the door.

'Where do I find you if I need you?' I asked.

'You don't,' he said.

'Seriously, Ethan! Where will you be?'

'I don't know. I just wander around until I find a cafe with a good vibe. Nothing too quiet. Nothing too clamorous. Just a nice dull din. I left my mobile number on that pad,' he said, pointing to a tablet on the hall table. 'Call only if absolutely necessary.'

'Can't I come with you?'

'No.'

I sighed. 'What am I supposed to do for the rest of the day without you? I didn't think I'd be all alone on my first day here.'

He shifted his bag to the opposite shoulder and looked at me, poised to lecture.

'Okay. Okay. Sorry… I'll make do.'

He handed me a set of keys and a spiral book with a map on the front. 'The small key works the front door. The brass one goes in the top lock. Skull key for the bottom. All turn to the left. And take this A to Zed. Your bible to the London streets.'

'I hate maps,' I said, flipping through the book. 'And this one looks impossible. There are too many pages.'

'You're impossible,' Ethan said.

'Just tell me where I should go to shop,' I said.

'There's an index in the back of the A to Zed. Look up Knightsbridge. You have plenty of shopping in that general area. Harrods. And Harvey Nichols, which is more your bag.'

'How so?' I asked, anticipating a compliment.

'More fashionably elite.'

I smiled. I was nothing if not fashionably elite. 'How far away is Knightsbridge?'

'A long walk. Or short cab ride. I'll explain the tube another day. No time now.'

'Thanks, Ethan,' I said, kissing his cheek. 'I'll see you tonight. And in the meantime, I'm going to find some cute clothes!'

'Sounds like a swell plan,' he said with a supportive smile. It was as if Ethan understood that if I were going to start a new life, I needed a whole new wardrobe too.

nineteen

As it turned out, Ethan was right.

Harvey Nichols was exactly my bag. I started out at Harrods, but it was too large and packed with touristy riffraff in much the same way Macy's is at home. Harvey Nics, as I overheard one British girl call it right outside the Sloane Street entrance, was more upscale and boutiquey, reminding me of Henri Bendel or Barneys in New York. I was in heaven, going from rack to rack, gathering various gems by Stella McCartney, Dolce amp; Gabbana, Alexander McQueen, Jean Paul Gaultier, and Marc Jacobs. Then I threw some new names into the mix, finding splendid, wintery garments from designers I had never heard of.

My only bad moment of the afternoon came when I discovered that I could no longer squeeze into a size six. I was seventeen weeks pregnant, and my initial few pounds of pregnancy weight had already propelled me up from my usual size four, but when even the sixes didn't fit, I panicked. I examined my ass and thighs in the dressing room mirror, and then simulated the old pencil test, where you stand with your feet together, place a pencil between your legs, and see if it stays put between your thighs or drops to the ground. I was relieved to see that there was still adequate space-a pencil would definitely fall to the ground. So how could it be that my size had changed so significantly, seemingly overnight? I poked my head out of the dressing room and summoned a striking salesgirl wearing a funky leather skirt and orange vinyl boots.

'Excuse me, but are the sizes a bit off in Dries Van Noten?' I asked her.

She gave me a melodious laugh. 'American?'

I nodded.

'The sizes run different here, love. Are you a four at home?'

'Yes,' I said proudly. 'I am normally. But lately I take a six at home.'

'That's a ten here typically.'

'Oh, what a relief!' I said.

'Would you like me to get you some new sizes?'

I nodded gratefully, handed her my stash, and asked her if she would add a skirt like hers to my pile. Then I waited, half naked, in the dressing room, studying the small bump protruding from my stomach. It had popped out seemingly overnight, but my body was otherwise still trim and well toned. I had fallen off my rigorous, prewedding workout schedule, but I reasoned that as long as I was careful with my diet, I could maintain my figure for at least a few more months.

When the salesgirl finally returned, she squealed, 'Oh, my, you're pregnant! How far along are you?'

'Four months and change,' I said, running my hand down along my bump.

'You look smashing for four months,' she purred in her chic accent.

I thanked her as I moved aside to let her hang my size tens in the dressing room. An hour later, I was buying five amazing outfits that would have made Claire drool. As I forked over my Visa, I remembered that my spree added up to many more dollars than pounds, but I told myself not to bother with the conversion. I would just pretend to be spending dollars. And anyway, what was a few thousand dollars in the scheme of things? Nothing.