“Are you all right?” she asked, drawing my attention back to her.
“I’m fine, I just spent the morning talking to college students about how awesome it is to be me.” I forced a laugh, which sounded a lot more pitiful than I'd hoped.
“Maybe this will make your day just a little bit better.” She slid the document over to me. “All we need is your signature, and you will be released from your contract. They agreed to all of our terms and even gave you a bigger severance… Why don’t you look happy?”
I hadn’t realized I'd stopped breathing until she spoke to me directly. Taking a deep breath, I placed the cup on her desk and grabbed a pen. “All I need to do is sign this, right?” I asked, reading it over.
“Yes, they’ve already signed.” When she said they, she meant him.
I stabbed the pen right in the middle of the paper before dragging it down, ripping it until the end.
“What are you doing?”
“Did I do anything wrong?” I asked her.
“What?”
“Did I do anything wrong? I don't think so. So why am I the one running? Why do I feel like the other woman, being paid off, told to keep her mouth shut, to accept the money and disappear?”
“Gwen—”
“How much longer do I have on my contract?”
“Five months, but Gwen—”
“I will work until it’s over, and only then will I leave. So call him up and tell him I will be awaiting the next project.” I rose, grabbing my things.
“Gwen! Stop for a second.” Katrina walked in front of me. “I understand what you are saying, I really do, but you shouldn’t let yourself go though that kind of emotional abuse for the sake of your pride. There is nothing wrong with closing the book on him and all of this. It’s not running.”
“To me it is.” I felt like I should be ashamed of something. “I’m closing the book and putting this all behind me, and I need to do that from a position of strength. Five months. I can handle that—it’s not like I’m there every day. It could be only three or four shoots. Thank you for your concern, but please just do what I asked and let them know.”
“Okay, I’ll make the call.” She moved out of my way.
“Thank you,” I said heading out. I somehow managed to keep my head until I got into the elevator. Alone, I rested my forehead against the wall.
Not only was she beautiful and classy, but also extremely intelligent. How do you compare to that? His voice replayed in my mind, like a knife to my soul. Worse, no matter how deeply I was hurt, I couldn’t be angry at him. What did I care if he didn’t think I was good enough? I didn’t even really know him, and he didn’t know me. It was good he thought so highly of her; he had wanted to to marry her, that’s how he was supposed to think. Your spouse is the person you are supposed to devote the rest of your life to; shouldn't they be the most perfect person to you? She was his person. If the situation were reversed, I could have said the same thing. What hurt me was the fact that Bash, my person, thought I was no good either. Bash knew me, he had seen me at my best and worst, and in his eyes, I was still not good enough.
Heading toward my bike, I tried to focus on the people passing by instead of my dark thoughts. I reached into my purse, pulled out my camera, and balanced myself on my bike as I took a couple of photos. The world looked so much better through a lens. Maybe it was because I could freeze time for a second and take a good look at the people around me.
New York is so crowded, everyone in a hurry, brushing past people but rarely making connections, rarely truly seeing each other.
Plunging forward, I enjoyed the breeze as I headed back home. It was a short ride back, thankfully. I had the urge to paint again. Making it to my building, I lifted my bike toward the entrance when a little girl ran past me, dropping her teddy bear and almost knocking me over. The bear's arm was torn, one of its button eyes was missing, and the stuffing was falling out of the back.
“I’m so sorry. She's really excited.” A dirty blond-haired man whose five o' clock shadow was working on becoming a beard ran up to me, looking me over through the thick-rimmed black glasses perched on his nose. He was cute in a nerdy kind of way.
“It’s fine. Here, she dropped this.” I handed him the bear.
“You’re the new tenant in 34B, right?” He outstretched his hand. “I’m Toby Wesley. I live in 32C, two floors down. Nice to meet you.”
“Guinevere Poe, but you can call me Gwen. Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand.
“DAD!” the girl yelled from the front door.
“Welcome again,” he said before quickly running after his daughter.
I laughed at the sight of the bear hanging helpless under his arm before heading to the elevator. The last thing I’d expected when I got to my floor was to see Eli resting against his door with a bottle of wine in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. He had changed out of his tailor-made suit into dark jeans and a button-down shirt.
I said nothing, wheeling my bike to my door. He didn’t look at me either, making me wonder again how in the hell I had ended up having him as a neighbor.
“I’m sorry,” he said as I put my key in the door.
Turning back, I checked to see if anyone else was in the hall.
“Yes, I’m talking to you.” He pushed himself off the floor and faced me. “I’m sorry for what I said, it was… I was an ass. I’m here to call a truce.” He lifted the wine for me to see, along with the bag.
Looking away, I opened my door. “I’m fine—”
“I know you aren’t.”
I felt myself getting irritated again.
“I know you aren’t fine because I’m not fine. We say that because we really don’t know how we are feeling at any given moment, and that’s just too hard to explain to others.”
I peeked back at him.
He once again lifted the bottle.
“Aren’t you a doctor? Shouldn’t you be working or something instead of drinking in the middle of the day?”
“I should be, but I’ve clocked more hours than our hospital will allow. I was working nonstop for a month when I should have been on my honeymoon,” he answered truthfully.
His eyes…his eyes were like mine: broken. The scary thing about reality is all of our monsters are humans…humans who have the ability to make you drink with people you don’t even know.
Unlocking the door, I held it open for him to enter, placing my bike by the door.
“You still don’t have furniture,” he said, looking at the open space.
He was right, my apartment was bare. My living room had nothing but a television mounted on the wall and my large window overlooking the city, with a pillow next to it where I usually sat. “Less furniture, more room to work,” I replied, taking off my shoes and heading into the kitchen. “But, I do have wine glasses.”
“You don’t have a studio or something?” His eyes gaze still wandered.
I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. “I do, but a lot of my inspiration happens when I’m home. It’s much easier to just grab a canvas here than running to my studio. I save that for bigger, planned projects. Why?” I handed him the glass and bottle opener.
He shrugged. “I’m still figuring out how you make a living off that stuff.”
“That stuff is my life's work…”
“Not trying to be an ass, just asking.” He pulled crackers from the bag and uncorked the wine, then poured a glass for each of us.
So, being an ass is just his default setting. Taking the glass, I walked to the living room and took a seat where the window met the wall.
He followed, walking around Taigi, who lay near the door, foot kicking as he dreamed. Eli sat on the floor in front of me, but neither of us spoke. Then Taigi decided to fart, and the look on Eli’s face got me laughing.
“That’s one way to break the tension,” he muttered, shaking his head at my dog. “I honestly didn’t think past the ‘I’m sorry’ part. Actually, I thought you'd close
the door in my face.”
“I was tempted to,” I said, and drank. Oh, shit, this is delicious.
“Good, isn’t it?” He grinned.
Frowning, I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Then why are you still licking your lips?”
Damn him. “I should have just closed the door on you.” I drank some more.
He leaned against my window before sipping again. “Why didn’t you?”
“Honestly?”
He nodded.
“I couldn’t after you told me you worked when you were supposed to be on your honeymoon.”
“So, pity again.” He grimaced, finishing off the glass and pouring himself another.
“I’ve never pitied you, how can I? You and I are in the same boat. It’s more like understanding. Just like how you knew I wasn’t fine.”
Again, we were silent for a moment.
“You know,” I said softly, finishing off my glass before speaking again. “I mean neither of us has actually been properly introduced yet. I know nothing about you.”
He filled my glass. “My name is Eli Davenport, I’m 6’1 and a half, 184 pounds, age 31 as of two days ago, born on June 23rd. I’m also a neurosurgeon at New York Presbyterian. I have a younger brother who introduced my fiancée to her lover, and she ran off with him on our wedding day. Nice to meet you.”
I laughed, sitting straighter in order to introduce myself. “Guinevere Poe, 5’9 exactly, my weight is not your concern, age 24 since February 13th. I’m also a painter and photographer. My fiancé took me as his date to a wedding only to run off with the bride, leaving me with no way of getting home. Nice to meet you, Eli.”
“Cheers.” He held up his glass and after clinking them, we drank.
“Okay, this is really good.” I lifted the bottle to read the name. “Red Savannah Sun? I’ve never even heard of this.”
“That’s because it was made by my father and isn't sold in stores.” He took the bottle back, once again pouring. “By the way, you are a lot younger than I thought.”
I noticed he changed the subject quickly, but I didn’t dwell on that. “How old did you think I was?”
He glanced me over. “28 or 29—”
“29!”
“A decent 29?” He tried to save himself. “In my defense, you were giving life advice to college students like you were so much wiser. You probably graduated what, a year ago?”
“Try three.” I pouted, drinking. “How old is she?” I knew I was walking on thin ice, but for some reason I really wanted to know about her.
“31.”
I grumbled, falling back against the wall.
“What?”
“Bash is 27. Don’t guys usually want the younger woman? She must be something.”
He tensed at Bash’s name for a moment before pulling out his phone.
I saw the photo of Hannah and him as his background. They were embracing, laughing. He didn't look half-bad with that smile on his face.
He held it low enough that I watched as he opened the settings menu, trying to change the photo but stopping at the last step.
“Urgh, I am pitiful,” he scoffed, slamming down the phone.
“We both are.” I lifted my phone to show him the photo that was my background.
“Is that—”
“The photo you sent me after you kicked his ass? Yes, yes it is.” I smiled at the image before frowning. “I get a little satisfaction every time I look at it, but doesn't that just mean I’m hanging on? I’ve moved, cut off all contact, even managed to leave behind some of the gifts he gave me, yet I’m still hanging on.”
He took the phone from me and handed over his. “Change the picture, and take satisfaction in the fact that they won't be together for long.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I’ve thought about it a million times since they ran off. When could they have been together? Hannah is just as much a workaholic as I am. Between us and the hospital, she didn’t have much free time, so how could she have had another relationship? Then I realized it probably wasn't a relationship, just sex. It must have been really exciting, sneaking around, worrying about either of us finding out. But a relationship based on nothing but sex and excitement can’t last. Any two people with working organs can have a great screw, but believe me, that doesn’t change how empty and meaningless it really is. They may not realize it now, but one day it will hit them.” He glanced up at me, showing me the newly changed screensaver of a baby panda. “Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.”
“Then I’ll tell myself that as well,” I replied, changing the photo for him.
“Shamelessly promoting your own work, I see,” he said when I handed the phone back. I had changed it to one of my oil paintings of a child standing in the rain.
“A girl's got to eat,” I joked, accepting my phone.
No matter how badly Bash and I had ended, at least I could never say our relationship had been empty or meaningless.
Eli
Groaning, I rolled over and reached for my phone as it buzzed and vibrated on the floor. My head felt as if it would break open.
Urgh, I drank way too much. “Dr. Davenport,” I yawned into the phone.
“Eli, where are you? Are you all right?”
My mother sounded a lot more worried than she should have, seeing as how I was a grown man. “I’m fine, Mom—”
“Then did you just forget about our brunch?”
“No, our brunch, that’s not until…” I tilted my wrist to see the time: already quarter to noon. “Shit—”
“Why are you so loud?” said none other than Guinevere, curled up in a ball beside me on her living room floor. Her dark brown hair covered half of her face, and drool leaked from the corner of her mouth.
That is definitely attractive, I sarcastically thought to myself as I sat up, my back aching from lying flat on the ground.
“Who was that?” My mom was still on the line.
“Mom, where are you now? I’ll come meet you in twenty.”
“I just got to your apartment—”
“What?” I yelled as I ran toward the door. I had hoped to meet her halfway, but when I opened the door, there she was, dressed in a soft peach suit, her hair tucked behind her ears. With the phone still in one hand and a plate of freshly baked muffins in the other, she turned, staring at me in confusion. “Why are you—”
“What are you yelling about so early in the morning?” Guinevere stumbled out of the living room, coming to stand beside me at the door. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, her dog walking over to rest beside her.
I stared at her, speechless, before glancing back to my mother, whose eyes widened in realization; I did not like whatever she was thinking right then. “Mom, this is Guinevere Poe.”
When I said ‘Mom’, I saw Guinevere’s head snap toward my mother.
“Wow, this looks really bad. We were drinking last night—no, I mean—crap, nothing happened.” She rambled on, quickly making me want to bang my head against the beam of the door and beg her to shut up.
My mother took a step forward, a grin growing on her face. “Wait, did you say Guinevere Poe? As in the artist?”
“Yes,” I answered. “And I’m sure she has a lot of work to get back to.”
“Yeah, a lot of work,” she repeated.
I stepped out of her apartment. “We should get going …”
“Wait.”
My mother broke away from me as I tried to lead her back to my place.
“We were just going to have brunch at the coffeeshop on 5th. Please, join us. I’ve been trying to get into your studio for weeks, but it’s damn near impossible.”
“I’m not really presentable.”
I’ll say.
My mother laughed. “Presentable? Who are you presenting yourself to? You look lovely.”
I coughed at that.
Guinevere glared at me before returning her attention to my mother.
“Don’t mind him, he’s worried I’ll embarrass him. But, I made muffins.” She gifted one to Guinevere, whose stare drifted to me as if to scream for help.
I opened my mouth to say something…anything, but nothing came to me. Clasping my hand over my mouth, I shook my head, not really sure what to make of the situation.
Why did we fall asleep? We had drunk and talked all night about our crappy lives… I vaguely remembered going back for more wine before everything became a blur.
“Okay, how about I meet you there in a half hour, if that's all right?”
She'd caved…the weakling.
They chatted for a second longer before my mother let her go, and I opened the door to my apartment. When inside, she hit me on the shoulder.
“Mom!”
“How can you be next-door neighbors to Guinevere Poe, knowing full well I’m in love with her work, and not say a word!”
Rolling my eyes, I walked into my kitchen, grabbing an aspirin and water. “Because she isn’t Guinevere Poe to me. She’s the fiancée of the man who ran off with Hannah.”
“What? That was her?” she whispered slowly, taking a seat on my couch, most likely as the whole scene replayed in her mind.
“You mean the second most-humiliated person on my wedding day? Yeah, that was her. Sebastian Evans was her fiancé.”
“This city is too damn small.”
It really was.
Chapter Five
Background Noise
Eli
I almost didn’t recognize Guinevere when she entered the café. Her hair was styled and curled nicely, and her red cotton shirt hugged every curve of her chest, making her stand out in an odd sort of way. Maybe it was because I had never seen her in heels that her legs looked longer under the white skirt.
“What?” she said, glancing down at herself when she reached our table.
“Nothing, it’s just the first time I’ve ever seen you look nice,” I replied, drinking my coffee.
“How is it possible for you to both compliment and insult me at the same time?” She frowned, about to take a seat, when my mother returned. For some reason, she stood back up again.
“Please don’t mind my son, I’m not sure where his manners have gone,” she said, placing a steaming cup in front of Guinevere. “I wasn’t sure what you took, so it’s just a cappuccino. I hope you don’t mind me ordering, the line was getting long.”