"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah."
After that the car went quiet. He didn't put on any music, so the inside of the SUV stayed still and silent.
I turned my head to the window. People came and went along the street, a breakfast cart steamed in the cold air, and an old woman led a small child across the road, the kid holding up a stick of candied apples.
We pulled up at a dumpling place. He handed me the menu first, then ordered a pot of tea for himself.
When the waiter came to take our order, I said you go ahead, and he didn't argue. He ordered three dishes and a soup, all plain home-style food.
When he was done he said, "I don't know what you like. Start with these. We can order more if it's not enough."
I poured him a cup of tea. His fingers were long when he took it, the knuckles clearly defined.
"How old's your daughter?" he asked.
"Four and a half."
"Mine's eight. Wild as a monkey. The teacher's calling me every other day."
The corner of his mouth moved when he said it. Not quite a smile, but the lines of his face did soften a little.
The food came, and he set a chopstick's worth of greens onto the little side plate by my bowl.
I froze for a second. He didn't explain it, just bent his head and kept eating.
When we'd almost finished, he took an envelope out of his pocket, set it on the table, and pushed it toward me.
I didn't take it. I asked what it was.
"Your mom said you don't have anywhere to live right now. That apartment of mine is sitting empty. The keys are yours."
I didn't move.
The envelope sat right by my hand, a development's logo printed across the top.
"I didn't say I wanted to move in."
"I'm not telling you to move in. I just want you to take a look. If you think it's all right, we register the marriage. If you don't, that's fine too. You stay there first."
He stood up to go pay, took a couple of steps, then turned back. "Don't read too much into it. I don't mean anything by it. I just figure it's not easy, a woman raising a kid on her own."
I looked at the envelope, picked it up, and turned it over in my hand.
It was heavy. There had to be something besides the keys inside.
The waiter cleared the bowls and plates, the chopsticks knocking twice against the table.
Outside the window, kids were running, their laughter high and sharp.
I tucked the envelope into my pocket, stood, and followed his back toward the door. His pace was neither fast nor slow, just right so I didn't have to chase him.
Three days after I moved into the empty apartment at the Henson place, Ethan showed up.
I didn't let him in. He stood at the door with a bag of oranges in his hand, wearing the jacket I'd bought him, the collar worn pale.
He'd never used to wear it. Said the color was tacky.
"I came to see the kid." He lifted the oranges.
"She's not here."
"I know she's at your mom's. I came to see you."
I leaned against the doorframe and didn't step aside. The motion-sensor light in the hallway clicked off, then on again, flickering. Ethan's face was a little swollen, a red mark along his jaw, like he'd been scratched by fingernails.
"What happened to your face?"
He touched his jaw and smiled, an ugly smile.
"Nothing. Bumped it."
I didn't call him out. That mark was obviously a woman's nails, long ones, the kind with a manicure.
"You've delivered your stuff. You can go now."
He reached out and braced a hand against the door, not with much force, but I didn't slam it shut either. He craned his head in for a look. The living room was empty, just one old couch that Christian had brought over. Ethan stared at that couch for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing.
"The new guy rent this place for you?"
"It's none of your business."
"Joan, you've been divorced what, a few days, and you're already living with someone else?"
His voice rose. Down the hall a neighbor's door cracked open, an old woman poking her head out for a look before pulling it back in.
I looked at Ethan, looked at him for a few seconds. He'd gotten thinner, his eyes a little sunken, his lips dry and peeling. I remembered how, back when his lips would get dry, I was always nagging him to drink more water, and he'd get annoyed and say he knew, he knew. His lips were still dry now. No one nagging him anymore.
