-Day 34-
She wants to go back to Imperial Wok, so I meet here there at 12:30. This time we meet in the parking lot, since we've arrived at the same time.
I had spotted her car when I pulled in and parked beside her.
"Hi," I say, "looking for someone to have lunch with?"
She stops, looks me up and down, and says, "I suppose you'll do."
I laugh and pull her into my arms. "Come here, you," I murmur, and kiss her hello. I take a little longer than I intend.
Someone honks at us. We have to stop doing this in parking lots. Guinevere starts giggling, so I release her but take her hand as we walk to the restaurant.
"You seem to be fully recovered from last night," she says.
"I suppose so," I say. She doesn't need or want to know exactly how I dealt with my frustration. It's still lingering a bit, if I am honest.
I briefly wonder if she…
No. Do not even think about that, because if you think about it, you'll start picturing it, and that would be Bad.
We are led to a table, and I peruse the menu. Then I decide I'm going to get an order of those excellent dumplings as my lunch. And maybe some egg drop soup.
The waitress appears almost immediately, and since we've both decided already, we just order everything right away. Guinevere orders the orange chicken lunch combination, which comes with fried rice and an egg roll, which she says she'll share with me.
"Arthur," she says hesitantly.
"Something wrong?"
"I'm… getting nervous about the dinner tomorrow. I mean you say it's no big deal, but… you have to understand that my world has never included fancy industry dinners."
"Guinevere, you'll be fine. More than fine, you'll be wonderful," I say, reaching across for her hand. "You don't even have to do anything. Just be your normal, charming self, and you'll be fine." I squeeze her hand and she smiles. "Or, if you prefer, just say nothing and be my arm candy," I add, teasing now.
She laughs even though she's trying to look annoyed. "Arm candy my arse," she says, pulling her hand away in mock irritation.
I snatch it back and bring it to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "Of course you're more than arm candy," I say.
"Good. Thank you," she answers, a bit haughtily. "I'm still worried about your father, though."
"Don't worry about him. I really laid into him that day. I think he was surprised, actually." I know I was. "He'll behave, I promise."
"Because there will be other people around, right?"
"Partly. But I think he actually feels bad about saying what he said in front of you."
"But not in front of you," she says.
"No, he doesn't feel bad about saying it to me at all, and I don't really blame him, to be honest," I say, looking down at my placemat. It's one of those kinds with the Chinese Zodiac on it that you see at almost every Chinese restaurant.
"You need to stop beating yourself up, Arthur," she says gently.
"Working on it," I say, half-smiling at her. So she really doesn't care about my past. That should make me happy. It does, but it also makes me sad. Because she's doomed to be part of my past.
"So," she says brightly, apparently changing the subject. "What can I expect tomorrow night?"
"Well, there'll be cocktails, then dinner, then speeches, and finally awards."
"What kind of awards?"
"Um, Excellence in Architectural Innovation – that's for the really edgy stuff, I don't go in much for that, Excellence in Architectural Philanthropy—"
"Doing things for charity," she supplies.
"Yes. And the Architect of the Year, of course. Father's won it seven times."
"Are you up for that one?"
"I'm not up for any of them," I say. "I haven't been around long enough to have amassed a body of work. This rec center is the first major thing I've done."
"Really? What about the emergency ward at the hospital? That's pretty major."
"Okay, so this is my first complete building."
"Oh, I see."
Our food arrives, and the dumplings are as good as I remember. The soup is excellent, too. I hadn't tried it last time. They even gave me little fried wontons crisps, which I drop into my soup and scoop back out with my spoon to eat.
"Um, speaking of the rec center, they're actually going to be unveiling the plans and model at the dinner," I say.
"Really? Arthur, that's amazing! Why didn't you tell me before now?" She's very excited about this.
I shrug. "I was going to let you be surprised," I say. "But something's come up, and I need your input."
"Oh? What could you possibly need my input for?"
"Um, well, you know the reason the strip mall was demolished was because it got hit by the wyvern attack," I say.
"Yes."
"Well, I was thinking that we should, you know, dedicate at least part of the rec center to the memory of the firefighters and first responders that died in that attack. I talked to Annis Carlin about it on Tuesday night, and she thought it was a wonderful idea. So did George Rodor."
"Oh…" She puts her fork down and picks up her napkin. She's crying.
"Don't cry, Guinevere," I say softly. "If… if it's too much, or you don't want it…"
"It's wonderful, Arthur," she says. "It's perfect. It's just… such a surprise, that's all."
"I know Elyan did more work at the hospital than at the strip mall, but…"
"Thank you," she says, sniffling. She stands suddenly and comes around the table, where she deposits herself in my lap and hugs my neck tightly. "Thank you," she repeats in my ear.
Wow. I didn't know that this would have such an effect on her. I think I'm very glad I chose to tell her now instead of springing it on her tomorrow night.
"You're welcome," I say, holding her a few moments, stroking her back, indulging myself a little. "People are staring, you know," I finally say.
She giggles, kisses me once, and returns to her seat. "They probably think you just proposed or something," she says.
"Ha, probably."
"Everything all right?" our waitress appears, a hopeful look on her face. She looks pointedly at Gwen's left hand.
"Fine, thank you," I say.
"He just had good news for me, that's all," Guinevere says, dabbing her eyes with her napkin again. "No one's getting married," she laughs.
"Oh. Now I owe Lin five pounds," she says glumly. "How is everything with the food, then?"
"Very good, thank you," Gwen answers and I nod my agreement.
"Should have lied. You would have gotten free dessert," she smiles at us and goes off to refill my drink.
We're still chuckling, but I need to get off the topic of marriage quickly. We've only been together 34 days. Surely she can't be seriously thinking about marrying me.
Surely I shouldn't be thinking about marrying her…
No. I cannot be thinking of any such thing.
"So, um, Annis and I were thinking maybe we could call the gymnasium the 'Firehouse One Memorial Gymnasium.' Or some such," I say. "And then there'll be a plaque somewhere, either just outside the doors or inside them, listing the names."
"Oh, that would be perfect," she says, smiling.
"He was in Firehouse One, right?" I ask.
"Yes," she says.
"Annis and George said that they would convince the rest of the council. They didn't seem to think it would be a problem," I say.
"I should certainly hope not," she says. "Those men are heroes."
"Yes, they are," I agree. "And they deserve more than just a gymnasium named after them, but I can only do so much, you know."
She takes my hand across the table. "Thank you so much, Arthur. You have no idea what this means to me, that you would think of doing something like this for them."
"You're welcome," I say. It does feel pretty good. Maybe I should strive for that philanthropy award instead of Architect of the Year. Certainly seems the more noble option. "How's your food?"
"Really good," she says. She spears a hunk of chicken with her fork. "Try." She offers me the piece and I take it from her fork, allowing her to feed me.
"Mmm, that is… whoa…" It goes from both sweet and savory to spicy in a heartbeat, and I wasn't prepared.
She laughs, clearly amused as I reach for my water and drink.
I forgot that her tolerance for spicy food is higher than mine. She mentioned it when we had our picnic, and I remembered last night when I got curry again, but it slipped my mind today.
"It's not that bad," she says, taking another bite just to rub it in.
"No, it's not, but it was just worse than I was expecting, that's all," I say.
"Wimp," she teases.
"Am not," I say petulantly.
She laughs again. "Okay, you are too cute when you pout, stop it…"
xXx
"What are you doing tonight?" she asks me outside, standing between our cars.
"Last minute stuff for the dinner tomorrow, unfortunately. Hell of a way to spend a Friday night, I know. But if I'm not there, they'll bugger up my model," I say, pulling her into my arms as I lean against my car.
"I'm sure they wouldn't," she says, resting her chin on my chest to look up at me.
"You have no idea," I say. "I wouldn't trust them to set up a plastic Christmas tree, much less my model."
"It's your baby," she says, and I nod. "I can't wait to see it in person." She slides her arms around me and hugs me.
It feels so good, just standing here like this with her in the warm spring sunshine. In a parking lot.
I lean down and kiss her, softly at first then with more need, more desire, and, as always, she returns my ardor.
She's a little spicy right now, but I don't care. Her innate sweetness still comes through, the sweetness that I crave like the addict that I am.
And this time no one honks at us.
"Have a good afternoon," she breathes, once I finally release her lips.
I groan. That's right. I have to go back to work. "Yeah."
She laughs and steps away slightly. Then she steps back. "One more," she says, lifting up on tiptoe, kissing me quickly but thoroughly, and then turns, her hand on her car door.
"What time are you picking me up tomorrow?"
"The dinner's at seven, so… three?" I grin at her.
"Arthur," she sighs.
"All right, I'll be there around 6:45. Maybe 6:30."
"6:45," she tells me with a smirk. She knows I'll be there at 6:30 anyway.
xXx
I get home after ten again. I'm very glad I was there to make sure my model was set up properly. It may have been upside down and inside out had I not been there.
I collapse into bed. Thirteen hour work days are not my thing at all. As my eyes drift closed, my phone beeps on my bedside table.
G: Sweet dreams, Arthur. Thank you again.
A: You're very welcome. And thank you for remembering.
G: Always.
I stare at that lone word and my throat tightens. It's such a small word, but it carries so much weight.
She does not know that her "Always" will turn into "Never Again" in the blink of an eye. I cannot think about that day.
I cannot think of the look of betrayal in her eyes, the pain on her face…
How can I do this to her?
And how, in God's name, can I let her go?