That Thing Between Eli & Gwen

“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.”

“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.