That Thing Between Eli and Gwen (13 page)

“And your father?”

“My father is an astronomer. He teaches at the university, too, but during campouts and bonfires, he becomes the chief Native American storyteller. He's half Iñupiat, half English. So technically I’m part Native American, English, and South African.”

He nodded his head, thinking for a moment. “I always tried to trace where our family came from, but as far as I can tell we’ve been in America for generations. I suddenly feel the urge to look into it more.”

“You should.”

“So both of your parents are scholars and you're the artist…the rebel. You don’t have siblings?”

I wished he hadn’t asked that. Spinning the glass in my hands, I drank the rest of it before answering. “Not anymore.”

Thankfully, he didn’t pry.

Eli

Taking off my shoes when I got back into my apartment, I fell back on my couch. I couldn't stop wondering…I wanted to know more, but I knew I couldn’t press, not when she was trying so hard to smile about something that was obviously hard. I was starting to realize she had two smiles: her genuine one she gave when she really was happy, and then the other one, her shield. If she felt hurt or upset, she smiled and tried to push it away.

She looked beautiful in that wedding dress—what am I thinking?

“Obviously, I had too much wine,” I muttered to myself.

“Where?”

Sitting up quickly, I watched my little brother come out of
my
bedroom wearing
my
shirt, even though the sleeves were too long.

He just rolled them up his arms.

“What are you doing here, and why are you wearing my shirt?”

“I spilled beer on mine,” he replied, walking into my kitchen and grabbing
my
last beer. “You should get more of these.”

“First question, you still haven’t answered it.”

“Mom’s having the Van Allans over. You know I hate those people.” He pushed my feet to the side and took a seat on the couch.

I hit him upside the head with a pillow.

“Hey!”

“Have you thought about getting your own place?”

He looked at me like I had lost it. “And leave Mom all alone in the house? Aren’t you the one who told me to take my time leaving? Plus, I like it there.”

Saying nothing, I shifted, placing my feet on the coffee table instead.

“So why were you drinking Dad’s wine? You usually save that for special occasions.” He lifted his legs up as well.

“Guinevere needed a bottle for the Van Allan wedding tomorrow. Apparently, she’s friends with Nathaniel’s bride. But we ended up drinking together, again.” I took the controller, turning on the television.

He kept staring at me.

“What?”

“I’m just processing.”

“You do that,” I muttered, leaning back.

“Okay, so you drink Dad’s wine with someone outside of the family not once, but twice? What is this thing I see between you two?”

“Friendship, that’s it. The first time I was a jerk and trying to apologize, this time she asked. I thought it was the least I could do after she bought me shoes—”

“She bought you shoes? Eli, come on, don’t lie—”

“We are just friends. We don’t see each other in any other way than that. It would be odd if we did. We are the only two people who understand what it feels like, so we talk. Get your head out of the gutter.”

He pursed his lips, drinking slowly.

“I mean it, Logan.”

“I didn’t say anything. I was just thinking how, when I was trying to be friends with her, you told her to stay away from me—”

“Just watch TV and shut up.”

He did, but only for about two minutes. “So…does that mean you’re coming to the wedding? She is going to be there.”

“No. Why would her being there matter to me?”

He shrugged. “I mean, you aren’t going because it will bring up memories, but she has to go. It sucks that she’s going to have to go through that alone.”

“She’s a big girl, Logan, but if makes you feel better, you can dance with her if you'd like.”

I am not going.

Chapter Eleven

Something New and Old

Guinevere

Bridesmaids dresses were supposed to be ugly.

Yet the dress I wore—and had spent almost a thousand dollars on—was probably better than any of the dresses I owned. The elegant one-shoulder red dress made me feel classy. Stevie had even picked out jewelry and shoes she suggested to go along with it. Yes, it was expensive—well, to me it was—but I had taken what Eli had said to heart and decided to splurge this time around. My longtime friend was getting married, she wanted her day, and if she wanted her girls to look as close to human perfection as possible, then fine. I would get my hair, makeup, and nails professionally done, and I couldn’t even lie about it not being fun. I felt a like a Barbie, but in a good way.

I walked into the waiting room looking for the rest of her bridesmaids, and when the four of them looked to me, their mouths—well, all except for Josephine—turned up in the widest grins, so I took it as a good sign.

“Gwen, you look amazing!” One of the women gasped, coming up to me. “From now on, just walk around in red. It is definitely your color.”

“Thank you. I was trying my best.” I laughed.

“Ladies.” Josephine stepped up. “Stephanie will be coming out any second. Let’s remember it’s her day.”

Their smiles dropped, and they took a step away.

I wanted to ask Josephine what I had done to make her so angry with me, but then again, I remembered that after that day I was never going to see her again, so I really didn’t care.

“Ladies.” Stevie’s mother came out of the dressing room, holding the doors closed behind her with a smile so wide it could crack her face. “May I present to you, the future Mrs. Van Allan!” She pushed open the doors.

Stevie turned to us, and in my head it was like she did it in slow motion with romantic music and lighting, that’s how beautiful she looked. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun with a red rose in it, and she wore the best princess wedding gown I had ever seen, with little lace and sparkle accents.

“Gwen?” she called out to me.

I realized I was the only one who hadn’t moved close. “I’m sorry, I’m just in awe right now. You look so beautiful, Stevie.” I finally walked up to her. “So beautiful I’m going to cry.”

“Don’t cry! If you cry, I'll cry.” She laughed, hugging me.

“Oh, and we can’t have that.” Stevie’s mom came up, giving me a small hug as well. “We are already running late. Hurry girls.”

Eli

Why am I here?

No, honestly. Why?

Ever since I had entered the hotel, I kept wondering, why?

Logan grinned beside me like he knew something I didn’t, and my mother was proud because I wasn’t afraid of a wedding…which, as a grown man, should not have been that surprising, but whatever. For some reason, that afternoon I had put on the best suit I owned, polished my shoes, and combed my hair…like I was going to prom. Nevertheless, I was there, at Nathaniel and Stephanie’s wedding, sitting on his side as everyone chatted about how wonderful the wedding hall was. In my mind, not only was the place annoying because the air smelled like one too many damn roses, but it also looked pretty modest in comparison to a lot of the things Hannah had done for ours.

“Oh, don’t they look nice?” My mother smiled at Nathaniel as he and his groomsmen walked in, taking their place at the front under the arch of white and red roses.

“I guess. With those tails, they look like stuffed penguins,” I muttered.

She elbowed me. “If you were going to be sour, why did you come?”

Good question.

“He wants to see someone,” Logan whispered.

Reaching behind my mother, I smacked him on the back of the head.
Bad answer.

“You are both grown men, can you act like it, please?” She smacked both of our legs. “Lord in Heaven, help me.”

“Sorry,” we both said, though I still glared. He kept trying to tell me something was going on between Guinevere and me, and in all honesty, it wasn’t. I thought of her as a friend, nothing more, nothing less.

“Oh my god, is that Gwen?” my mother whispered when we all stood up at the sound of the music.

“Can’t be,” I said to myself, watching the person come forward. The Guinevere I knew wore little to no makeup ever, her brown hair was always down or to the side and she didn’t think that much about it, and she barely ever wore jewelry other than her feather earring cuff…which was on that woman's ear.

“It’s her,” I whispered.
Just a dolled up version of her.

“She looks amazing,” my mother said as she walked right by us.

“Yeah.” For some reason, trying to think about it made my head hurt.

“The bride is that way.” Logan snickered behind me, and I knew he meant for me to stop looking at Guinevere.

We are just friends.
And what kind of friend would one be if they didn’t think their pal had the ability to be attractive sometimes?
She looked nice, and there was nothing wrong with saying it or thinking it. I noticed Logan had switched places with my mother to do what all little brothers are born to do: annoy the hell out of me. But, I cut him off before he could say anything. “People like you are the reason why men and women can’t just be friends without anything else going on. She looks nice. You’re thinking it too. What is the big deal?”

He said nothing.

I smirked.

“I was just going to ask if you had gum,” he whispered with a smile.

Trying my best to ignore him, I looked up front. For some reason, most likely because I didn’t know Nathaniel or Stephanie that well, my eyes kept drifting to the only person I did know, standing up front in red. She didn’t look fazed at all, just smiled a small, real smile for her friend. When her eyes shifted and looked out over the crowd, she finally noticed me. Her smile grew, taking up her whole face.

She looks so silly right now. Jeez.
Anyone who saw her would think she had won the lottery or something.
Lifting my finger, I pointed at her to look back where she was supposed to be looking.

She made a quick face before looking back.

Guinevere

“I’m so happy you’re here,” I said, all but running up to him now that I'd finally managed to rip my face from the photo session as everyone entered the reception hall.

 “Why?” he asked casually as the woman in front of the seating chart table handed him a place card with a key dangling from one of the edges.

“You know why. I know you didn’t come for me, but I’m glad someone else is as—”

“Miserable?” He smirked.

“Not miserable, just…” I wasn’t sure how to put it into words, really. I didn’t want him to hate it there, but—

“I understand, Guinevere. Don’t think so hard, you'll pop a vein.”

“You know I’ve always wondered, is that really possible?”

He shook his head, searching for his table.

Shifting my head to the side, I looked him up and down. He wore a black bowtie with a classic-fitted black tuxedo that had a nice sleek lining. “You look nice.”

He stopped, looking back at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. So do you. You put in a lot of effort, it—”

“Hey, I can doll up like the best of them. Tonight, I won’t even drool.”

He snickered.

I walked with him.

“Where are you sitting, at the head table?”

“No, the head table is Nathaniel and Stevie, plus both their parents on either side. I’m at table—” I stopped when I saw my name card on the table next to Logan’s. “Well, it’s here. She must have put me here after I told her I knew you all, since I know no one else.”

“Gwen, are you sitting with us?” Logan spoke up, his mother on his arm and a cocktail in his hand. He was dressed up just like his brother, bow tie and everything.

I had to admit, they were quite a pair. “Good evening, Dr. Davenport, and it’s nice to see you again, Logan. Yes, apparently I am sitting with you all, if that's all right?”

“Of course, and you look absolutely stunning, my dear.” She pulled me into a small hug.

“Stunning? Gwen, you're smokin’.” Logan grinned, hugging me as well with one arm.

“You're not bad yourself.” I laughed when he came around and pulled out my chair as Eli pulled out his mother's. “What gentlemen.”

“I know, it makes me so proud. If only they could always be like this.”

And, like sons, they both groaned under her gaze.

It was funny to watch the three of them.

“How long have you known Stephanie, Gwen?” Logan questioned.

“Since I was six. We met when—well, you'll hear all about that. I’m doing part of their toast, so I’ll save our story until then. Hopefully I don’t panic.”

“Why would you panic?” Eli asked.

I met his eyes across the candlelit table covered in rose petals. “I get nervous when I talk to big groups of people.”

“You did fine when we were at the university.”

“The university?” his mother asked, looking between us.

I nodded. “We basically fought over which is the better career path: art or the sciences. I won.” I grinned.

He scoffed. “If anything, it was a tie, but that is only because you brought up the 'you need me and I need you' argument. I’m pretty sure I got at least a few of them to see reason and come over to my side. Remember how
kinda cool
I am?”

I clapped slowly for him. “I tell you that you are a decent doctor one time and—”

“It sounded more like amazing to my ears.” He drank his water.

“And it goes to your big, egotistical head. Sorry, Mrs. Davenport,” I said to her. After all, the fathead was her son.

“No.” She smiled, looking between the two of us. “It actually reminds me of when I met his father. The man could praise himself. 'Meryl, you should have seen me today, I’m telling you there is no better doctor than me in this state. Meryl, did you see how fast I laid that stitch?' Oh, gosh. I didn’t call him egotistical, I called him Dr. Brainiac.”