“Because she asked to be put on a different floor and a different rotation than you. Why were you on peds anyway?”
“I was called in for a consult by Dr. Handler.” Pinching the bridge of my nose again, I tried not to think that her request meant she didn’t want to see me, either.
“Sweetheart, just avoid her until…until looking at her doesn’t hurt anymore.”
I couldn’t deal with this. Why had I gotten involved with someone I worked with? Never. Again. With nothing left to say, I just moved to the door.
“Eli,” she called.
I had to stop. Not looking back at her, I said, “Yes?”
“Believe me when I say, the moment she slips up in any way, the moment I can say she isn’t good enough to be at this hospital, I will have her out of here as quickly as possible.”
She was trying to comfort me, but it wouldn’t work. I knew Hannah wouldn’t screw up, at least not big enough to get her fired…
Well, I thought I knew her.
“Sorry for bothering you, chairwoman. I’ll come over for dinner later in the week.” I tried to give her a smile before closing the door behind me.
I hated this. I hated how I was torn between never wanting to see her again and hoping to run into her one more time.
Why was I like this?
Guinevere
“You can do this,” I said softly to myself, staring at the five-star restaurant in front of me. I gripped the present in one hand, smoothing down my dress with the other before taking a deep breath and stepping into what I knew would be the mouth of hell itself. Reason told me I should avoid this place at all costs, yet I knew I couldn’t.
You’re going to be fine.
When I walked in, I noticed the place looked like an 18th century palace. Everything was either gold, white, or beige, with the exception of the blue sky painted on the ceiling, where fat angel babies danced on clouds, with harps…yes, the baby angels were playing harps.
This is so like her.
“Gwen!” She stood and waved from the table filled with other women covered in pearls and diamonds on their wrists, necks, and ears.
I almost felt the need to take the cuff earring off the top of my ear before I moved forward.
At the table, she pulled me closer to her, kissing both of my cheeks. “Gwen, you look so artistic! Guys, this is my friend, Guinevere Poe, she’s a famous painter.”
Stevie, what happened to you? I smiled at the people she was trying to show off for before sitting down.
“Guinevere Poe?” A woman with long, styled brown hair raised a cosmopolitan to her pink lips. “I’ve heard of you. Stephanie, I didn’t know you were so big into the art scene.”
“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.