“I don’t want to talk about that,” I said, mopping up the blood and squeezing it out of the wound. If I wasn’t already an expert in little cuts this would have hurt even more.
“We need to,” Hiro said, coming into the bathroom injury free. “You love her.”
“Don’t,” I said.
“She loves you.”
“It’s not that simple,” I argued, slobbering antiseptic all over a cotton bud, which was impossible to do with one hand. Thankfully Hiro was a good friend and took over. He glared at me as I proffered my injured hand.
“It is,” he said, pushing the antiseptic bud into my hand. Ow, ow, owwwww!
“Hiro,” I said in a low voice, as I adjusted to the pain. “She doesn’t love me. She said so.”
“So did you,” he pointed out, rubbing the cotton over the wound and making my eyes cross. Thank god he never became a doctor, because this guy was rough.
Suddenly, I was struck with the memory of the last injury I had on this hand. I remember sitting on a cold stone bench with her, our foreheads touching, her hands warm against mine as I bled all over her. How did I not pass out then?
“If I pass out, will you carry me to the infirmary?”
“Sure,” she laughed, leaning forward and brushing her lips against mine. Looking back on that moment, with my blood in her hands and my forehead against hers, I thought it was perfect.
Shit. I loved her. Claudia and Hiro wanted to fight for it, and so did I.
I loved her.
I would be an idiot if I didn’t try. Again.
* * *
I went to the only place where I could think to find her. The Library of Congress was closed, but there was one more place that Beatrice went to when she didn’t want to be found. It was six in the evening on a Saturday in spring, so I parked my car near Constitution Avenue and walked into the National Gallery’s sculpture garden.
* * *
“I’ve been coming here since I was a little kid,” Bea declared, practically skipping as we entered the park from the back. The six-acre sprawl dedicated to the National Gallery’s collection of sculptures was practically bereft of people on a chilly December Tuesday, but from the look on Bea’s face, she was absolutely delighted.
The sculptures here were leaning towards modern art, so we were greeted by a rough, stone and glass mosaic depicting the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, a large slanted thing that I recognized as Odenburg and Bruggen’s Typewriter Eraser Scale X from one of our appreciation classes, and the biggest spider I had ever seen. The cold winter made them seem scarier and crueler.
“I can’t imagine why,” I said, and she led me towards the large expanse in the middle, where they had set up an ice skating rink for the holidays.
“Oh no,” I said immediately, backing up slowly. “I am not down for this. Have we not established that I’m the clumsiest person…ever?”
“You’ll be fine,” she smiled. “I’ll hold your hand, you big baby.”
Lo and behold, I fell down five times, taking her down with me twice. But there was a moment when were both lying on the smooth sheet of ice, our butts freezing where she smiled at me, and it was so bright and beautiful that I sighed.
“I love you.”
* * *
I looked up to find that the skating rink was replaced with a fountain while it wasn’t winter. Sure enough, I found her sitting by the side, her hands stuffed in her pockets and staring gloomily at the giant spider while tourists and families walked past her. I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my lips. I walked up to her.
Beatrice
I had no idea how he found me in the Sculpture Garden, but I wasn’t surprised that he had. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I looked up at him, and brushed a tear from my cheek. I half expected him to make a barb about the ice queen finally melting from the inside, but he said nothing.
Ben stopped by the edge of the fountain, his eyes fixed on me the entire time.
We stood there for what felt like eternity. I don’t know what he wanted me to say, and I was still trying to formulate what I needed to say. I needed a breath of fresh air, he just looked like he needed a paper bag. Seven in the evening and the sky was still bright, just now turning to that pretty pink glow of twilight. He was looking up at it, and I could tell that he was trying to map out the colors, figure out where the pink ended and the blue began.
What did he want from me? A flash mob? Flowers? To throw caution to the wind and leap into his arms? That wasn’t us. We were all about the small moments, him and I. Ben and I loved fixing each other up when we were hurt, we loved falling down while ice skating. Ben and I went together. That was that.
“So…” I said, breaking through the tension like hot knife on butter. He turned to me so fast I thought he would get whiplash.
“Yeah,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So.”
“I only said I loved you because I felt sorry for you,” he said immediately.
“I only said it because someone said you were dying of syphilis,” I joked.
Ben turned to me then, and his eyes were so playful and bright that I wanted to know what he was thinking at that exact moment. We were the same height, and all I had to do was peer a little closer. He reached up a hand and brushed stray strands of hair against the side of my head.
“Can we stop for just a second?” he asked me. “Because I’d really like to kiss you now.”
I laughed.
“Oh really?” I asked. “You think a corny line like that would ever get me to…”
But his mouth was already on mine, and I closed the gap completely.
So here we were, right back where we started. In a gallery full of weird statues, kissing in a public park. Maybe someday we’ll stop arguing over our favorite artists, our friends, or how we worked. Maybe I would never have any of my designs on Liberty. Maybe Claudia and Hiro were never going to last a year. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and realize that Ben was a snorer.
But if I was going to spend the rest of my life like this, I wouldn’t mind at all.
The End
Acknowledgments
As some of you may notice, this was first published as s story in the #JustWritePH For Love bundle under the title ‘Sigh No More.’ I’ve been enamoured with this plot for some time, and I’m so happy that it’s in your hands now as a full book!
I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. Much Ado About Nothing is my favorite Shakespeare play, and I have been itching to do a ‘modern version’ of it, especially after I devoured the Kenneth Branagh + Emma Thompson and David Tennant + Catherine Tate versions of the play.
I largely credit my love of Shakespeare to my mom, who let me buy A Midsummer Night’s Dream at age 11 without me knowing what it was. She also bought a compendium of Shakespeare’s plays written for children a year later, and we still treasure that book today. After a trip to Washington to visit my aunt, I knew this was the story that had to be written, and it had to be dedicated to her.
Thanks to Tita Ces and Tito Sonny as well as our Enriquez cousins for hosting us! We had the best of times in Washington, eating all the food and drinking all the Silver Diner milkshakes!
Bea’s feisty nature is based very loosely off of my sister Frances. I hope she likes it.
Gabbie was on the Washington trip with us, and we we were both practically in tears when we stepped into Serendipity 3. She was the inspiration for Claudia.
Then there’s Roselle, who claims this is ‘her favorite’ among my books, just because ‘Ben is so dorky and cute!’ I hope she always thinks this way.
Thank you finally to Layla, who edited this thing at 2am and pushed for ‘We Go Together’ as the title.
About the Author
If you ask Carla de Guzman what she does for a living, she will tell you that she’s not quite sure.
By day, she works at a consultancy firm and writes for a lifestyle website. By night, she’s an author and an artist, spending her m
idnights at her desk and making these silly love stories. She loves to travel, coming home to her dog Kimchi and spending her weekends having dinner with her crazy family.
She’s currently on a quest to see as many Impressionist paintings as she can, and is always in search of the perfect pain au chocolat.
Say Hello!
@somemidnights
somemidnights
www.somemidnights.com
[email protected]
Other Books by Carla de Guzman
Cities
Marry Me, Charlotte B!
* * *
Upcoming Books
If The Dress Fits
The Lady in Pink
We Go Together Page 9
