That Thing Between Eli and Gwen (8 page)

“Oh gosh, I used to love painting, it’s such a nice hobby.” She laughed loudly, and with such fakeness.

I winced.
Nice hobby?

Stevie Spencer—or Stephanie as she seemed to go by now—had come with me from our small town of Cypress, Alaska, to study art at NYU. She, however, had dropped out during her third year after meeting Nathaniel Warren Van Allan, son of something something Richie Rich. We had gotten into a big fight about it, too. I thought she had lost her mind; part of me still did. How could she just throw away everything she'd worked so hard for, just for a guy who to me didn’t understand a thing about her? He looked like such a tool, and I told her so… We didn’t talk to each other for a year after that. Only after I apologized did we try to rebuild our friendship, but it was much harder than even I had thought it would be. She was a whole different person.

Her red hair had always been tied into a braid so she could keep it out of paint. We never spent money on our nails, or even put that much effort into makeup and jewelry…not because there was anything wrong with that, but because it got in the way of our work, and work was everything…or it had been. Now her hair was down and fluffed up, and she wore thick, heavy makeup along with a small fortune’s worth of accessories…including her engagement ring. That's why we were all there: for her bridal shower.

“Now that we are all here.” The same woman who'd spoken before stood up. “Let’s give a toast to the newest member of the Van Allan family. To you, Stephanie, may your life be filled with splendor. I’m so glad you and I are the best of friends, you truly are the sweetest.”

“Here, here.” We all raised our glasses.

“Aww, thanks you guys! And thank you so much, Josephine, for putting this together. You are amazing.” Stevie laughed, giving everyone small, one-arm hugs.

“Of course! Who else would do it?”

For some reason I felt like her words were directed at me, even though I had no idea why.

“Excuse us, ladies.” A server came over with three bottles of wine.

“We didn’t order this,” Josephine said in confusion.

“1920 Blandy's Madeira Bual, sent from Mr. Van Allan. He hopes you ladies have a beautiful evening,” the server said, placing the black bottles on the table.

“Oh my gosh,” the ladies whispered.

Stevie looked like she was going to cry.

Leaning over, I put my arm around her and whispered, “You’ll ruin your makeup if you cry, Stevie. If Nathaniel hears you cried over a glass of wine, he’s going to think he did something wrong.”

She laughed and nodded. “I know! But he’s just so sweet.”

The ladies giggled. “Nothing says love like twenty thousand dollar wine.”

“Twenty thousand? Dollars?” I gasped, looking at the deep red liquid in my hand. “I feel like it should at least come with a gift or something, for that price.”

Stevie let out a small laugh next to me, but she was the only one.

The others just raised their eyebrows at me.

“The gift is the taste.” Josephine smiled at me. “Ms. Poe, believe me when I say you will never forget your first glass of Bual.”

“With that price, I can’t afford to,” I whispered to Stevie.

She elbowed me, one hand over her lips to hide a smile.

Maybe she isn’t that different.

“Wait, you’re Sebastian Evan’s Guinevere!” Josephine gasped, turning toward me, though she didn't seem that shocked.

“No—”

“Isn’t your wedding in like, two weeks? Where is your ring?” She leaned closer to look at my fingers.

I slid my hands slowly under the table.

“Josephine, that isn’t really…” Stevie tried to figure out what to say.

I put my hands on hers and smiled, looking back to the rest of the waiting women. “Our wedding—”

“Oh my god, did he really leave you for someone else’s bride?” One of the women lifted up her cellphone. “I just googled him. He owns
Class
and
Rebel
magazines, right? Is this true?”

There were gasps and a few shocked giggles. Some women covered their mouths as they waited for me to respond.

Reaching into the middle of the table, I grabbed the bottle, poured myself a full glass, and drank. I didn’t stop until I'd finished the whole thing.

“Yes…” I paused for a second with my hand on my chest to keep from burping. “Yes, it’s all true, and I don’t have to give you details about it, nor would any of you find it worth giggling about it if had happened to you. Do you have more questions, Josephine? Or would you like to actually talk about the upcoming wedding of our dear friend here?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“Of course you didn’t. Let’s just not talk about it again so you don’t look like a horrible person.” I smiled, shifting the bottle back into the middle of the table. “And you were right, I’m sure I’ll never forget that glass.”

“Well, maybe you’ve had enough,” she announced to the rest of the ladies at the table.

I felt like asking what the hell her problem was. What had I done to her?

Stevie squeezed my arm. “Gwen, that’s enough,” she whispered.

I didn’t know how much longer I could do this. If it hadn’t been for Stevie, I would have left a while ago—or probably never come there at all. I could see I didn’t fit in with these people, and I couldn’t lie, it bothered me how well Stevie did.

“My favorite story of Stephanie is…” Josephine tried to think, and then snapped her polished fingers. “When we were in Brunello Cucinelli, trying to find gifts for Nathaniel and David, but we didn’t know their sizes, so we pulled over the clerks and had them wear the clothes—”

“Josephine!” Stevie giggled, smacking her napkin at her.

“I promise you, no clerks were hurt in the process.” Josephine went on as the rest joined Stevie in laughing.

I just smiled. It sounded fun…sort of. I guessed it was one of those things where you just had to be there.

When their giggles died down, they looked to me, waiting.

“Oh, it’s my turn.” I sat up, grinning.

“Oh, good.” Stevie put her head in her hands.

“Well, you might not know this, but Stevie and I were the biggest tomboys in Cypress, and we always got in trouble with the boys—”

“No, you got in trouble with the boys. I stood in the background,” she replied, pointing at me before drinking.

“Really? Who pushed poor Jeremy in the river with the sockeye salmon and threw fish food at him because he said she looked like a redheaded bear?”

She coughed, almost spitting out her wine.

“She what?” Josephine frowned, confused. “What happened after?”

“Jeremy screamed like a baby and never called me a redheaded bear ever again,” Stevie said, proudly nodding her head.

I nodded along with her.

Josephine faked a laugh. “If I was Jeremy’s mother, I would have been so angry. He could have gotten hurt.”

“Who do you think gave her the fish food?” I muttered, drinking water this time.

“Good ol’ Cypress,” Stevie whispered.

I wondered if she missed it as much as I did. Our small town had sometimes felt like a prison when I was in it, but now that we had left, I could see all its little charms. By accident, I glanced to my right, and for a second, I thought I saw him.

Bash
?

It’s just the alcohol.

However, when I saw the blonde woman beside him flip her hair off her shoulder, I stood up.

“Gwen?” Stevie stood up beside me. “Are you okay—”

“I have to go.” I gathered up my things as fast as I could, but when I turned to leave, I ran into the server bringing in all of our desserts. The silver platter slipped, pouring all over me before falling to the carpet, and my first instinct was to look up to see if he had seen. I thought he must have moved because I couldn’t see him.

 “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” I said to her. “I have to go. Sorry, Stevie.”

I ran. I ran as fast as I could, my purse and jacket in hand. My ankle twisted once, but, ignoring it, I just threw myself out the door, the cold air blowing across my face.

“Gwen!”

I didn’t want to look back.

She caught up to me and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Gwen, what is it?”

“He’s in there, Stevie. I saw him, he and she—”

“Gwen.” She gripped my sides. “He wasn’t there. It looked like him for a second, but when he looked over after the plates shattered…it wasn’t him.”

“Not him?” I echoed in a whisper.

She shook her head. “No. Come back inside.”

I wanted to smack myself. “I’m so sorry, Stevie.”

“It’s okay, come back inside and let’s order dessert.”

“Look at me, I’m a mess. I’m just going to sit this one out. I don’t want to mess this up any more for you, okay? I’m sorry, please go back in. Your friends are all waiting! This is supposed to be happy, remember? Go be happy. I’m okay, I swear.” It was a lie.

She looked me over.

I forced a smile, giving her a little push. “Go, or I promise I will tell even more embarrassing stories at your wedding. I can even gather photos.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” She lifted her hands and backed up. “Text me later?”

I just nodded and waved, because I knew if I said any more I wouldn't be able to keep it in, and it wasn’t fair to take over her day worse than I already had. When she went in, I turned and walked quickly, trying to use my coat to hide the stains on my dress, wiping the tears from my eyes.
God, this sucks. Why am I like this? It wasn’t even him.

Eli

I pressed the close button for the elevator doors when she
limped
in, heels in her hands and a mess of something all over her blue dress. Her mascara was smeared, and she just stood there as the doors closed and we went up.

“Rough day?” she asked me.

It was funny, but I couldn’t laugh. “Yes. You all right?”

“Yep,” she said when the door opened, and we just went into our separate apartments.

Chapter Seven

We Are Not Okay

Guinevere

I was just deciding whether or not to knock on his door when he opened it wide, a first aid kit in his hands.

“What are you doing?” His eyebrows furrowed together and he took a slight step back.

“I don’t have a first aid kit yet, so I was going to ask to borrow yours,” I said quickly. “But never mind, I will just buy one tomorrow.”

“I figured.” He laughed, though he didn’t seem to find it funny. He held up the first aid kit. “I was going to give this to you.”

“Oh, thanks—” I reached for the kit.

He pulled it back, staring down at my ankle as I balanced on my other leg. “How bad is it?” He knelt in front of me. “Did you feel anything pop?”

“No, it’s fine.” I put my foot all the way on the ground, only to wince and lift it up again.

“That is not fine. Come in.” He took my elbow, helping me inside.

“Eli—”

“Keep walking.” He guided me toward his gray sofa.

Everything in his apartment was either navy, gray, or off-white, and annoyingly clean like one of those show homes or…well, like a hospital.

“Sit,” he commanded when we reached the sofa.

“I’m not a dog—”

Sighing, he just pushed me back slowly.

When my butt hit the couch, I felt the urge to just lean back into it. The thing was so soft. “This is nice…” I whispered, running my hand over the cushions.

“Isn’t it? It’s called a couch, a marvelous invention really. With all that empty space in your place, I wasn’t sure if you knew about such items.” He sat on his wooden coffee table, lifting up my leg.

“You are not funny—ah.” I winced as he pressed around my ankle.

“What happened?” He finally looked up.

“Why do you care?”

“Because if people see you coming in like that, the value of this place might go down.”

Reaching up, I tried to smack him.

He squeezed my ankle.

“Ouch! What happened to 'do no harm'?”

“Sorry, just checking to see if you tore anything.” He shrugged, a small smirk on his lips betraying the lie. “You're going to need to ice this first,” he muttered to himself, taking out a large, square instant ice pack. “After the swelling goes down, I’ll compress it. Hand me that pillow.”

Reaching over, I handed him the navy pillow.

He put it under my leg. “Is there some possible way you could mange to keep still for about twenty minutes? I know it might be hard, but—”

“I don’t know, Dr. Davenport. I am five years old.” I rolled my eyes, shifting my foot again when he left it on the pillow and walked around the couch. “Thank you,” I muttered.

“What was that?” he pressed, even though I was sure he had heard me.

This man is trying to annoy me to death.
“I said thank you!” I shouted.

“Okay, jeez, no need to yell.”

Shifting, I turned to look back at him.

He gave me a blank look, holding up a bottle of beer and waving it. “Want some? I also have Coke, and—”

“Do you have vanilla ice cream?” I sounded so excited, I could tell he was fighting back a comment.

“Sadly, I hate vanilla, so that would be a no.”

“How do you hate vanilla? It’s the cornerstone of ice cream.”

“No, that would be chocolate. So, are you saying no to the beer then?”

He was being too nice. “Does it come with a catch?”

“Tell me what happened?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” I faced front again, where he, like all guys I knew, had a massive television hanging on the wall.

“Suit yourself.” He took a seat beside me, popping off the cap and flicking on the TV to a man trying to walk across a tightrope between two mountains.

I turned, not looking at the screen.

“What?”

“Nothing?”

“Why are you looking at me, then?”

“Sorry.” I shifted, staring up at the clock.

“Are you afraid of heights? It’s so bad you can’t even look at it?”

“No.”

“All right. Right now, he’s about 180 feet off the ground—”

“I have a fear of heights.”