That Thing Between Eli and Gwen (12 page)

“We are friends, but I like calling her Guinevere more than Gwen,” I replied.

“Why?”

Molly, I don’t know.
“Because Guinevere is a pretty name.”

 “I like it too! I will call her Gu…in…ev…ere.” She struggled on it for a minute.

“Guinevere,” I said slowly again for her.

“Guin…evere,” she repeated, and I nodded.

“I’m back,” Gwen yelled, running back to us with all her might. When she reached us she almost jumped on me, rising up in order to put a hat over my head. Shocked at how close she was to me, I froze as she concentrated on tucking all my hair inside it. It was only when she backed up that I was able to think straight again.

“Looks good,” she said as she whipped her head down, packing as much of her hair as she could into a messy bun. She took a silk scarf and wrapped it around her head.

“Better?” she asked Molly, and it for the first time I realized how she must have felt being stuck in a wheelchair with a scarf over her head.

Molly nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Ms. Molly, will you take a picture with me?” she asked her, taking the camera off her neck.

“Yes. Dr. Eli, come on.” Molly smiled.

“Yeah, Dr. Eli.” Guinevere pulled me around the wheelchair with her.

“I’ll take it, my arm is longer.” I took the camera from her hand and both of our hands lingered too long on each other’s.

I couldn’t help but stare at her, and without thinking I reached over to brush back a strand of hair that had escaped from the scarf.

“Thanks,” she whispered, looking away from me and patting down the side of her hair to make sure I had gotten it all.

“Okay.” I looked toward the camera, my face next to Molly’s. “One. Two. Three.”

“Pixie dust,” Guinevere said at the click.

“Pixie dust?” Molly turned to her.

“Yep. It’s made of happy thoughts and it can make you fly.” She pretended to sparkle some all over her face before her brown eyes shot up to me.

Lift her!
she mouthed to me.

Following her orders, I did.

“Haha!” Molly giggled, holding on to me.

Thank God she was finally starting to sound like she was having fun.

All thanks to Guinevere.

“Gwen?”

“Stevie, you’re back! What took you so long?” she said, walking over to woman with red hair and hazel green eyes, Taigi at her feet.

“I would like to introduce you to my friends Dr. Eli and Ms. Molly. You’re going to need a scarf if you are going to hang with us. Right, Ms. Molly?” Guinevere held her high.

Molly nodded happily in my arms. “Yep!”

“I’m gone for ten minutes and you’ve found pretty attractive friends all by yourself.” Stevie put her hands on her hips.

“What can I say? I’m just cool like that,” she said, leaning her hand on my shoulder. It felt like she was burning a hole through my shirt, her body was so hot. I was oddly aware of it there and missed whatever they were giggling about.

“Is that okay, Doctor?” Guinevere asked me, standing on her own.

“Huh?”

“Train,” Molly answered, pointing. “I can ride the train, right?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go before the kid in the Batman t-shirt steals the front.” Guinevere lifted her easily from my hands.

I just stood there dumbfounded, watching them, my mind still reeling. Where had she come from? How had she gotten there? And most importantly, how did she have the ability to completely change the atmosphere like that?

“Are you all right?” Her friend Stevie stood beside me, wrapping her head with a green scarf she must have just bought. Taigi sat still on the ground.

“You two seem close. Has she always been like this?” I asked as we walked toward the red, yellow, and black train that could barely fit more than two people in each row.

“Yep. That’s Gwen,” she said like she knew exactly what I was saying. “I’ve know her for all my life and I can’t explain it. It’s like she’s—”

“Perfectly imperfect, and the more you at look her the more confused you become but even still you can’t look away.”

“Wow,” she replied.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m going to catch the next train with them,” she said, walking off. She stopped, looked me over again, and shook her head before walking toward them.

“What did I say?”

Taigi barked like he knew the answer.

Chapter Ten

Something Borrowed and Blue

Guinevere

“Why! Why am I like this?” I cried, trying to wiggle myself out of the damn dress. The zipper was broken, and it was not budging for anything. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I sighed. “You're an idiot, Gwen,” I whispered as my phone rang. “Eli, this isn’t a good time,” I answered.

“If you ever beg me for my book, or any of my wine again—”

“Wait!” I tried to move to my door, but I tripped slightly on the hem of my dress, knocking my desk over.

“What are you doing?”

Lifting it up at the bottom, I quickly walked out of my bedroom. “Just put the book and bottle by the door—”

“You want me to what?”

Urgh
. “I’m having a moment. Just put—”

“Are you crying?”

“No, I’m not crying!”

“Guinevere—”

Annoyed, and without thinking, I pulled open the door. “Eli, I’m not crying.”

His blue-green eyes wandered down the strapless mermaid wedding dress I wore, then back up to my face.

I wanted to slam the door in his face I was so embarrassed, but I knew that would only make it ten times worse.

“Go ahead, laugh.” I sighed, waiting in the doorway as Taigi went up to Eli, placing both paws on his legs.

“I don’t see anything funny,” he replied, handing me the wine bottle and medical textbook I'd asked for before stroking Taigi’s head.

“I would prefer if you laughed.”
It would make me feel less pathetic.
“Thanks for these, I’ll return the book tomorrow.”

I was about to call Taigi back inside when I remembered. “We’re friends, right?” I asked, though it felt odd for me to call him just a friend.

He looked up from Taigi. “I
guess
.”

“So we can help each other without judging, right?”

“Just spit it out.”

“This is so embarrassing…”

“Guinevere, you are standing in front of me in a wedding dress. What could possibly be more embarrassing for you?”

He just had to ask.

“I can’t get it off.”

“You what?” he asked slowly.

“The wedding dress. The stupid wedding dress won’t come off, and it’s getting harder for me to breathe!” I placed a hand on my stomach. The goddamn thing was like an anaconda wrapping tighter every time I took a breath.

He covered his mouth to stifle a chuckle, but he couldn’t take it and laughed outright.

“I thought you said it wasn’t funny!”

“It wasn’t, until you told me you were stuck in it! How does that happen?”

“I gained a little weight, okay…” For some reason, the more he laughed, the better I felt. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Nodding, he came in along with Taigi and put the things he'd brought on the kitchen counter before closing the door.

I turned around, brushing my hair to the side. I jumped slightly when his hand brushed back.

“You okay?”

“Your hands were cold. I’m fine. Is it coming down?” I asked, feeling him tug harder.

“This is really stuck.” He braced a hand on my waist, trying to pull the zipper down. The dress had to be cursed because I didn't feel it getting any looser.

“Can’t you just rip it?”

“With my hands? Are you serious right now?” He paused in his attempts.

I grinned, trying to hold in my stomach. “What, you aren’t strong enough?”

“If any man can rip a wedding dress off you, please consult a physician before continuing your relationship.” His hand shifted onto my shoulder, and once again he tried. “Guinevere, I don’t know what to say to you, but this thing isn’t coming off.”

Lightheaded, I had to brace myself against the kitchen table.

“Guinevere!”

“I’m fine, just felt dizzy for a second—”

“You’re turning blue, you are not fine. Hold on.” He let go of me and reached toward my knife set, taking the scissors.

“What are you doing—”

“What does it look like? I’m cutting you out of it.”

“No—”

Ripppppp.

I took a deep breath, holding the dress up and turning around to face him. “You cut it.”

“Can you breathe now?”

I nodded, but looked back down at the gown. “You cut it,” I repeated, almost in shock.

“Didn’t you just ask me to rip it?”

“I knew you couldn’t… Thanks?” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“You're welcome.” He put the scissors back and headed to the door.

“Wait.”

“What now? Are you stuck in your bra?”

I clutched the dress back up to go to my bedroom. “I just need to ask you a few questions about the hospital real quick. Give me a minute.”

After running back into my room, I let the dress fall to the floor after I closed the door, donning jeans and a basic t-shirt before coming back out. When I did, he was already opening the bottle of wine.

“No!” I rushed out, but it was too late.

He poured both of us a glass.

“What? Did you want to drink the whole thing yourself?” His eyebrow went up and he held out the glass for me to take.

“No, Stevie’s wedding is tomorrow and I was going to give it as a gift.” I sighed, taking the glass from him.

“You didn’t think of anything else?” He followed me into my living room, taking a seat with me on the floor near the window again.

“I did, but Stevie…Stephanie now, might not like it. I was thinking of something more sophisticated, so I was going to give the wine to Nathaniel, and give her some earrings,” I said, handing him a pillow.

He placed it behind his back as he drank. “Do you mean Nathaniel Van Allan?”

“You know him?”

“New York’s elite only mingle with one another. My mother’s been ‘friends’ with Mrs. Van Allan for years. We were both invited, but she just said she would go on her own.”

The way he said friends made me wonder how he, from one of the elite families, could be so down-to-earth and relaxed. Yes, he always dressed well, and yes, he owned expensive things, but he never came off as being a snob, at least not anymore. Even in the beginning, when I’d seen him as Dr. Asshole, I still understood that he was acting that way because he was angry and hurt. He genuinely did care about others; I could see it the day I was at the hospital.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I shrugged, drinking before speaking. “I was just thinking that you aren’t like them. You don’t care what other people think. Sebas—
he
…”

“You can say his name, Guinevere. He isn’t Voldemort.”

I giggled. “Well, Sebastian cared a lot. He wanted everything to be…high class. When I was dating him, I knew he liked finer things, and he liked to show off how well he was doing. That he wasn’t ‘just a trust fund baby’. I felt awkward and a little put on display sometimes, but the good outweighed the bad.”

Or at least, I had thought it did.

“Was he the one who picked out that dress for you?” He gazed at the city outside the window.

“How did you—”

“A tight, sparkling-with-crystals wedding dress does not seem to fit your style at all.”

Even though I agreed he was right, I was a little annoyed. “He didn’t really pick it out. He knew the owner of the bridal store I went into and had them bring out the very best and most expensive dresses. We had gone to other weddings before, and I knew which dresses he thought were ugly. I tried to pick one I knew he would like…wow, that sounds awful. But I can be girly, too.”

“Never said you couldn’t. It isn’t awful, just meant you really wanted to look nice for him. There isn’t anything wrong with that.”

“I’m glad you cut me out of it.” I smiled into the glass. “I would have held onto it like it meant something. I should have thrown it out weeks ago, or at least sold it to someone else, but with Stevie’s wedding tomorrow, I just…I don’t know. I just wanted to wear it one more time.” I was sure there was someone out there that would have fallen in love with it.

“The answer to your non-question about me not being like them is: my father,” he replied.

It took me a second to remember where the conversation had started.

“I don’t care what they think because they don’t matter to me. When my father died, I learned how superficial a lot of them were. Sure, they came to the funeral, held my mom's hand and whatnot, but I remember someone asking,
Who is he again? What did he do? Where did he live?
A few months later, some of the wives even tried to set my mother up. I guess to them, she should have moved on already. I just…I just wanted to hear stories of my father from them. Things they remembered as friends. But then I realized they never did anything more than go to the same parties. It was only the patients he helped that talked on and on about him. I think that’s one of the reasons I wanted to become a doctor so badly.”

“If your father saw you…” I started.

He turned to face me.

“If he saw you the way I did when I came to the hospital, I bet he would be more than proud. For a second, even I was like, 'Wow, so this is what he does every day.' I thought I wanted to do it, too. This coming from the girl who failed chemistry three ways to Sunday.”

He snickered. “Really? I thought I was only 'kinda cool'.”

“I scratched it out, didn’t I?”
Damn note
.

He laughed, and so did I.

“So, your father was a surgeon. Your mother is a surgeon and chairwoman of the hospital. You are a surgeon, and your brother’s working on becoming one, too. I’m almost too intimidated.”

He raised his head high.

I rolled my eyes.

“What do your parents do?”

“My mother teaches African American & African Studies and history at the University of Alaska. She immigrated to California from south Africa when she was four and worked her way up the coast.”