sweetheart

eight

Chapter Eight | Elara

By the time Daniel arrives, Lola is already brimming with energy and Arlo is pacing the room. He doesn't even have time to take off the jacket before they start attacking him with their observations.

"Daniel, hablamo' con el tipo, y bro!" Arlo starts them off and I shake my head, my hand coming up to my face as Lola keeps the debrief going. (We talked to the dude and bro!)

"El e'ta enamorado de ella. Tu porque no lo vi'te, Elara don't shake your head at me like that," she points a finger at me her tone serious. (He is in love with her. You just haven't seen it.)

I let out an exasperated laugh, "El no e'ta enamorado de mi. El, lo ma' que e', e' un amigo. Se estan pasando de bien." (He is not in love with me. He, the most he is, is a friend. Y'all are doing too much).

"Bullshit," she objects with a palm in my direction before telling him all about how he called me his favorite patient and I called him my favorite doctor. Arlo informs him Gabriel and I agreed to have lunch together and that they would make themselves sparse to make sure I had maximum opportunity.

"E' solo un almuerzo," I protest. (It's just a lunch.)

"E' solo un almuerzo, your mother, I don't wanna hear it," Arlo objects from beside me, Lola and Daniel sitting on the edge of my bed.

I sigh and glance at the clock reading 10:30, praying he maybe forgets.

***

By the time, 11:42 comes about, I am suddenly anxious and my siblings have deserted me to go get lunch on their own.

I don't see but I hear Gabriel speaking and I bite my lip before realizing who he was talking to. The recognition is like ice to my body and I let out a deep exhale knowing that despite my sibling's beliefs, at the end of the day, he liked Samantha. We were just friends and that was entirely ideal.

My brain wants to argue the point of physical touch but I don't let it. I could figure out the motives behind that later.

"You said you wanted to catch up, how about lunch?" she offers him.

"Sounds good, how about I meet you in the break room in ten?" he says, and by the way his voice sounds I know he is smiling.

My brain stills in a rare moment of slowed thought and I find myself completely retreating into her. Dissecting the words, their potential implications, wondering just exactly what the point was of it all, and then deciding that it was not my business and I should in fact be happy he found a better offer.

I tuck in the fact I was looking forward to spending semi-unrestricted time with him into a corner of my brain. The last thing I needed as the nurse on watch rolled my table to me was wondering what it would have been like to ask questions that would have allowed me to know more of him.

What his favorite color was or what his family was like. Or if he lived alone or if he had a best friend.

I sigh and blink twice, grounding myself by touching the back of my neck and digging my middle fingernail into the skin of my thumb, deciding that being in my head was going to make everything worse and slowly coming back.

My fingers clutch around my safe spoon and I dig into the bolognese pasta on the menu today with no one to accompany me except the steady hum of monitors on the floor and the soft chatter of people in the halls.

***

I am looking at the tile ceiling, wondering if two of the pre-printed indents were twins when Dr. Matthias comes in, positively beaming. "My darling Elara, how are you?"

"Ms. Varese is fine, and I'm doing okay. How are you, Dr. Matthias?"

He stops looking over my chart at my neutrality and shifts his attention to me. I exhale quietly and promise myself I will get to the bottom of this tile pattern by tomorrow before looking at him.

His skin seems flushed for what feels like for all the wrong reasons.

"What's up with the formality?"

"It felt," the word comes to my brain and I know it will have the direct impact I would like to cause with just how layered it seemed to be in our connection, "appropriate."

He looks at me for a moment longer before placing the chart back in its slot on the wall and the nurse on watch says she's gonna go get a coffee. He nods and comes to the side of my bed, his expression closely guarded.

"No witty humor tonight?"

"Guess not. How was your lunch?" I ask as I get up to stretch, his presence too close for the withdrawal I was conducting.

The bed between us still doesn't feel like enough space. It feels even lesser when his eyes flicker in realization and he seems to lean forward into my body. As he opens his mouth to speak I let out a huff that resembles a humorless laugh and turn around, lifting my arms above and behind my head to crack my shoulders.

"Elara," he begins but I wave him off before tensing and untensing my leg. My fingers come up to my hair and I tug on my hair tie so my curls fall on my shoulders.

"Don't sweat it. I understand," I say as I massage my scalp and shake out my curls so they return to their original form. I flex my arms and crack my fingers before rolling my ankles, "You got a better offer it's okay."

I finally turn around, my face the picture of perfect indifference, and hold my hands behind my back. My eyes meet his and I don't waver when he breaks the contact, unable to bear it.

He looks down at the bed and I watch his chest rise and deflate as he tries to fix the situation. "Elara, no, listen. I am so sorry, it completely slipped my mind with everything going on," he sighs, knowing it still isn't justification enough, and squeezes his eyes close a brief moment before speaking again, his eyes unnervingly vulnerable. "She was not the better offer."

My tongue slides over my upper teeth before I reply, "Sure, if you say so."

"Elara-"

"Ms. Varese is fine."

"I am sorry."

"I accept your apology."

"Bullshit."

I hum in amusement at his momentary loss of composure. "It is genuinely okay, I do not care what you do with your free time. I just wish you would have at least given me a heads up so I wouldn't have looked forward to it."

"You looked forward to it?" his voice turns soft. His eyes search mine but I know he will find nothing.

I am correct.

He exhales in defeat.

"I'm sorry," he tries again.

"All is forgiven."

"You are hurt."

"Again, I could not have cared less," I sigh.

"Then why are you acting different?" he objects.

"Different how?" I tilt my head.

"You're not being you," he motions to me with both hands.

"You do not know me so how do you know what that looks like?" I inquire, genuine curiosity etched into my features.

"Sweetheart—"

"—Do you call all of your patients sweetheart?" my tone comes off a bit condescending without me fully meaning it to.

"Only the ones I like," he replies, not missing a beat.

The words hang in the air between us for long enough that he starts blushing softly. I shake my head, taking the work of explaining off of him, "Liar."

"Believe what you like."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Great."

"So lunch tomorrow?"

"I'd rather live."