I’ve always told myself that it was only a matter of time before he found me. I study my face in the mirror as I put on my makeup. Do I look like I did the last time he saw me? My hair is shorter and I suppose my face is more lined. Posey claims that I look hollow. He’s coming for a divorce, I remind myself, not a reunion. But we had something real, and surely he wants to shout at me a bit, tell me what a worthless human I am, tell me about all the pain I caused.

I suppose there’s a chance that I may not be that important to him anymore. For the most part, men are better at moving on than women. When people come looking for you they want one of three things: closure, revenge, or money. I’m sure David has more money than he knows what to do with, so I can at least stand still and be a good target while he takes the other two. At the very least he’s coming for my signature.

Yara, Yara, the god of disbelief…

I meet up with Ethan for dinner. We’ve been seeing each other for around six months, and other than David’s e-mail, my feelings for him have been uninterrupted. When I see him my stomach always does this fluttery thing other girls like to call butterflies. To me it feels more like resolve fluttering to death in my belly. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love again, and while I’m not sure I’m there yet, it’s getting close. Posey assures me that we aren’t meant to fall in love only once.

“You can do it again and again,” she says.

But, she’s broken up with Samantha or whatever her name is, and I think she’s just trying to be hopeful for herself. In the end, Samantha wasn’t ambitious enough…or maybe she wasn’t interesting enough. I can’t remember. Posey always finds something wrong with them. I always find something wrong with me.

“Hey girl.” Ethan stands when I near the table, all six feet of him.

I eye the way the fabric of his shirt stretches across his shoulders. The muscular arms he has by going to the gym four days a week. I can’t go anywhere four days a week, I’m not that disciplined. He leans over and kisses me on the mouth. Not a peck either—his tongue slips between my lips and he moans a little when I kiss him back.

Just then David’s song begins to play across the restaurant. I break free of Ethan’s lips and have the urge to wipe my mouth with my napkin. Wipe Ethan away because David is watching me. Is it David’s song or my song? It follows me around, pissing on everything—the shops, work, walking down the fucking street. I tap my fingers on the table and search for the server. I need a drink, a very large, very strong drink. Ethan sings along as he studies his menu, and as always, I tense, waiting for him to realize the song is about me.

“So I was thinking,” he says.

“It’s never good when you do too much of that,” I interrupt.

He makes a face at me, the kind a stern father makes to threaten his wily offspring.

“I was thinking,” he begins again, “that it’s time to get married.”

I stand up. My chair grates across the concrete floor and people turn their heads to look. Ethan is laughing, every one of his bright white teeth showing as he throws back his head and holds his stomach.

“I’m just joking, Yara,” he says.

I sit back down, but I scoot my chair back a few inches. He lost my trust with the “M” word.

“I was thinking it’s time to move in together.”

“Oh my God,” I say, clutching my heart. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Because now moving in together doesn’t feel quite as scary. You just escaped the dreaded ‘M’ word.”

“Clever,” I tell him. And I mean it. Moving in together doesn’t sound half as scary as it would have if he hadn’t brought up marriage first.

“Why?” I ask him.

“Why do I want to move in with you?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Is this multiple choice or essay?”

“Essay,” I tell him.

He clears his throat. “All right. I want to move in with you because I love you. I mostly hate life, except when I’m with you, that is. I was a mangy sewer rat before, a deplorable. Now I feel like a teenager. Up here,” he taps his temple, “and down here.” He moves his hand to his pants.

I laugh.

“Seriously, Yara. I just want to be with you all the time. I am committed. I want to share more than the occasional dinner date and Sunday stroll through the park with you. I want to have a fucking Christmas tree and Easter ham with you.”

“All right,” I say. “Top marks for that excellent essay.”

He gets up to kiss me, and you’d think by the expression on his face that I had said yes to a marriage proposal.

“Where will we live?”

“We’ll find somewhere new,” he says. “Where I haven’t fucked dozens of hos.”

I choke on my water and he has to stand up and hit me on the back—a completely senseless thing people do to make themselves useful when someone else is choking.

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“In hopes that you’d agree, I’ve already been looking up flats to rent. There’s one quite near here. I can ring the agent and see if we can have a look before someone else snatches it up.”

“You’re pulling my leg. What an eager beaver.”

But, he already knows he has me. The thought of getting out of my grubby little flat is thrilling. The thought of starting something solid with a man I love and respect feels like movement forward. It makes the past a joke if you can somewhat behave in the present. Like it didn’t really matter that I walked out on a man and a marriage, or that I’ve never managed to stay in a relationship for longer than a year. Moving in with Ethan will make me legit.

“Call her,” I say. “I’m excited.”

“I love when you’re excited,” he says. “You wear it like a child.”

I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but I smile at him over my wineglass as he pulls out his phone to text the agent.

After dinner we catch the train to Embankment and walk the short distance to a stately limestone. The Eye is lit up to a neon pink and I wonder if we’ll be able to see it from the flat.

“I always thought this was a hotel,” I say to Ethan.

The agent is waiting for us outside, looking put out and checking her watch like we’re already late. He gives her a little wave to let her know it’s us she’s meeting.

“A stickler,” I whisper to Ethan. “Let’s annoy her.”

He winks at me conspiratorially and we step forward to do our handshaking and name giving. Her name is Lucinda, or Lucretia, or some shit like that. She sums up my bag and my shoes, usually a telltale sign of a woman’s wealth and stature in the world. I’m carrying a secondhand Gucci bag Posey gave me. I seem to pass the test as she glances at it appreciatively and leads us into the building.

“This one is going to go very fast,” she says, walking toward the lifts. “Being so centrally located and all. It’s just a short distance from the Tube and there are some wonderful restaurants and shopping nearby.”

I take in the chandeliers, the heavy wood paneling, and the crisp uniform of the doormen.

“I’m afraid there’s quite a long application process as well,” she says. “Only the cream of the crop allowed in here.” She glances back at us to see if we’re afraid.

I nod solemnly. When her back is turned I make a face at Ethan.

We get off on the seventh floor and she leads us down a wide carpeted hallway, stopping at 37G. She types into a keypad and there is a click as the door opens.

“Keypad entry,” she says over her shoulder like we were too daft to notice.

The space is 1,200 square feet of perfect. We ooh and ahh as we walk through the small rooms and come to a stop in the kitchen. Three identical windows face the Eye, the Thames spread out before it, glittering like black magic. I give Ethan a look. Ethan gives me a look.

“Can we afford it?” I ask softly, doing a tally of money and bills in my head.

He smiles like that’s the silliest question in the world.

“Yes, Yara. Do you want it?” he asks.

“Very much so, but shouldn’t we look at some others? It seems so hasty to jump into the first thing we see.” I glance at the agent who is pretending to investigate a cabinet while she eavesdrops.

“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” he says. “You’re a see it, want it person. Usually you’ve decided within the first few minutes.”

He’s right, of course. I knew the minute I walked in that there would be no need to look further.

“I suppose I’m trying to be responsible,” I tell him. “Not so hasty.”

“No. Don’t change. The way you’re sure about everything makes me sure too.”

“All right then,” I say, looking at Lucinda. “We’ll take it.”

She nods.

“So how did you two meet?” she asks as she pulls an application from the folder she’s holding.

“I was working the corner,” I said. “I had a brown wig on that day and he picked me up in his convertible and took me to a hotel to fuck me. We just hit it off, you know? Been together ever since.”

Ethan’s eyes are wide, his hands shoved in his pockets. I don’t know if he wants to laugh or chastise me, but he plays along, nodding his head.

Lucinda looks from one of us to the other, her doughy face strained. It’s like the dumb bitch has never seen Pretty Woman.

“Thank you,” Ethan says, breaking the silence. He pulls the application from her fingers. I shrug and wander over to the window to watch the Eye in her slow rotation.

It’s time to stop waiting, isn’t it? To be ready. For life to start. I’m not even sure what I was waiting for. Very soon I will see David, and then I can say a proper goodbye and get on with my life. He deserves that and I do as well. I made mistakes in my youth, but it is time to move forward.