Remember the Skittles from chapter 1? Remember the park from chapter 17? Remember Elsa's thoughts on Anna Karenina from chapter 8? Fun fact: the first scene of this chapter was meant to be in chapter 12 - their first Valentine's Day together - but I decided to take it out and have it fit as a flashback scene (yes that's how far in advance I'd thought about them breaking up).
The songs used at the end of this chapter are Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen, and Beyond by Leon Bridges. As always, big THANK YOU to everyone. And now, lo and behold, the much awaited reunion...
The room was warm and quiet, lit up by the pale hue of winter coming in from the window. Snow fell gently; specks touched the glass, gathered at its sill. From the other side of the room's door, in muffled sounds, audience laughter could be heard: Rapunzel and Eugene were watching TV. Laziness permeated the air, a low and soft purr that made breathing grow slower and the eyelids feel heavier.
Elsa let herself be carried away by time's stillness as she weaved her fingers through Anna's hair, her girlfriend's head resting on her lap. A journal lay discarded on the carpeted floor of her bedroom; a pen not too far from there. The book Rapid Interpretations of EKG's and a yellow notepad sat on the other side of her, forgotten as well. From where Elsa sat, she noticed a lonely green Skittle under the desk before a yellow one crossed her line of sight. It traveled up, then down, hitting Anna in the teeth.
"Ouch."
"You're so bad at this," Elsa smiled.
"Like you're any better."
"Better than you."
"Shut it."
Elsa laughed as she caught with her hand the next Skittle Anna tossed in an attempt to catch it with her mouth. It made the girl pout.
"Shouldn't you be writing?" she asked.
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"I can't study when you keep hurling Skittles all over my room. Who's going to get them out? Not you, that much I know."
Anna giggled as she began to sit up in order to reposition herself with a leg on each side of Elsa. "Why are you so mean to me?"
"I'm being realistic," she retorted, hugging her arms loosely around Anna's waist.
"Being realistic is overrated."
"Being realistic is part of my—" she was quietened with a kiss. Lips wrapped around her lower lip, sucking gently, as heat spread through her body and pooled between her legs. Her hands settled on Anna's hips, squeezed with wanton, pulled her in with sudden urge.
At this, Anna pulled back. "You should be studying," she repeated.
"I hate you."
She hummed, unconvinced. The Skittles in the packet rattled as she began sorting through them before pulling out an orange one and placing it close to Elsa's lips. A peace offering.
"I don't know how you can like the orange ones," Anna pointed out when she accepted it.
Elsa ignored the comment as she managed to kiss the hand that was already pulling away. "You know," she said instead, "I used to color code Skittles when I was younger."
"Younger as in..?"
"Ten, I think."
"How come you don't do it anymore?"
She shrugged. "I don't eat much of it, and I only like the orange ones anyway."
"So you would just buy them to fulfill your quirky habit?"
Elsa snorted. "No, silly. Rapunzel ate them. She hoards them just like you."
"Ah," she drew out. "A woman after my own heart."
"Yeah. Too bad she's straight and you had to settle for the cousin."
Anna threw her head back in a laugh while Elsa watched, entranced and in love. She relished days like this where it was just the two of them, speaking of nothing in particular and feeling absolutely everything. Warmth, she realized then, had not been coming from the room, but from within her.
"You know," Anna said, running a hand down her arm, leaving goosebumps on its wake. "Something tells me you and I would have ended up together, regardless of whether or not Rapunzel had been a gay."
"A gay?"
"Yes."
"You're not helping your case, baby." Anna shushed her with another orange Skittle. She accepted it because to struggle against it would have been fruitless. "So that's what you think?"
Anna tossed a yellow candy up but it hit her cheek rather than falling into her open mouth. It fell onto the carpet, bounced a little, then landed under the desk. The two made eye contact, Anna gave her a sheepish grin. "You don't?" she asked, picking the conversation back up.
"I asked you first."
She rolled her eyes playfully. "Yeah, I do. Or at least I'd like to think so."
"Why?" Elsa prodded.
"Why are you so curious all of the sudden?"
Elsa shifted her hands higher up to where Anna's ribs were, right on the spot she knew she was the most ticklish. She pressed gently, causing the girl to giggle and squirm. "Okay, fine!" She tried to pry herself away from Elsa's hands. "But I'm warning you, this is probably one of the cheesiest things you'll ever hear."
"I don't mind cheesy," she told her, moving her hands again so that they could settle behind her back.
Anna paused. She asked: "Do you believe in fate?"
"Yes."
"Right." She shrugged. "So there you go."
Elsa laughed a little. "There you go what?"
Anna leaned in to bury her face in the crook of her neck. She groaned, making Elsa laugh harder. It was hard thinking this way, when Anna was still straddling her and being nestled in her arms. But Elsa wanted to hear what she had to say, no longer out of curiosity, but because she sought to know whether Anna thought the same way.
The girl mumbled something against her neck, warm air spreading over her skin. "What's that?" Elsa asked.
Anna pulled back. "I was saying," she began again, "That I think we were meant to meet that night. And if not that night then eventually, at another time." She reached for Elsa's hands and interlaced their fingers. It was this on which she focused as she continued to say: "It might sound dumb and pretentious, but I think we fit. I think we were meant to be in each other's lives one way or the other."
She squeezed her hands so that Anna would look up. As soon as she did, Elsa gave her a soft, lingering kiss that lasted enough seconds for her to sigh through her nose. It grounded her, yet shook her to the core.
When they finally parted, Elsa smiled against her lips. "You'll always have me."
The park is swathed with the laughter of children. In the distance, a labrador runs across the green lawn, chasing happily after a tennis ball while the breeze sweeps over the grass on which they step. It is a warm, early afternoon, but the sun doesn't burn Elsa's skin as they walk quietly through the park, only exchanging words when it comes to deciding where to sit. Brief sentences separated by awkward pauses; Elsa's heart beats and thrums blood in her neck as if it were trying to fill in the silence.
She feels as though she were seeing Anna for the first time. Yet, everything about her is achingly familiar. Like the way she treads on the grass not in a lineal path but irregularly, taking large and small steps so as not to squash the tiny flowers that sprout randomly across the field. Or the way she nibbles at her lip, looking down; the way she has her hands buried deep inside her pockets because she doesn't quite know what to do with them. The way loose strands of hair fall over her forehead and the way she so often doesn't pay them any mind.
Elsa wishes she could reach out and tuck them back behind her ear. To smile and say: How I've missed you. But of course, she doesn't. Because there is an ocean in between them; deep, cold and terrifying. And Elsa doesn't want to swim through it thinking she's alone.
They reach the picnic tables and choose the one farthest from the main lawn. They have distanced themselves from the sound of children; the happy labrador and its family of three. They sit across from each other, exchange looks, tentative smiles, and silence. Time and distance weigh heavily on them and, like unwelcome guests, they sit at the table too. They prevent them from speaking freely, from even finding the means to begin.
Unable to bring herself to speak just yet, Elsa watches Anna trace circles on the rough wooden surface of the table, perhaps, too, thinking of the right words. For some reason this takes her back to one of the many scenes she'd made up in her mind; the one where they met again outside that coffee shop, where the breeze picked up and the rest of the world came to a standstill. She'd thought about kissing Anna too, just like they did in movies. But now, sitting across from her, Elsa almost feels like laughing. How foolish that had been; how far away from reality it all stood. The simplest of images are sometimes the hardest to recreate; people dream up the end result but rarely consider the path that will take them there. And Elsa realizes this now. The universe doesn't work that way: it will not hand this back to them.
So she takes a deep breath, and decides it's time to begin. "How—"
"I—"
They stare at each other. Anna laughs nervously. "I'm sorry. Go on."
She bites her lip. "I was just... going to ask how you were."
"Oh, right." She clears her throat. "I'm... okay, I guess. What about you?"
Elsa wills herself to relax a little, to ease the tension that is beginning to accumulate on her shoulders. Words are starting to rush towards her mouth, stumbling on one another, making up an incomprehensible series of sentences that don't leave her lips. She fixes her eyes on Anna then, and finds that she is patiently waiting for an answer.
"I'm well..."
At this, Anna gives her a sad smile. "That's good to hear," she says.
Elsa doesn't know how to proceed, so she looks away for a moment. There is a kid not too far away from the picnic area kicking a soccer ball with his father. The kid's face is serious, resolute, and Elsa has a feeling this isn't just a weekend pastime for him. For a second, she pictures herself coming up to him and saying, Don't sacrifice one dream for another.
She turns back to Anna, who doesn't seem to have stopped watching her. "How are things at the hospital?" she asks her.
On her lap, she wrings her hands. She doesn't know how much detail she should add to her answers. She doesn't know how to do normal when it comes to Anna anymore. It'll take some time, she hears a voice tell her from the back of her mind. It sounds a lot like Theo.
"They're good," she says, "I'm working on my fellowship now."
Anna tilts her head. "Congratulations," she tells her. "How much longer now?"
Elsa can't help but flutter her eyes closed. How many times did Anna ask her this when they were together? How often would Elsa shake her head at her playful impatience, pepper her with kisses and give her an answer? "About two more years."
"They'll fly by."
"Just like they always do."
There is a laden pause through which Elsa has to push through in order to continue. "How about you? Any upcoming works?"
Anna shakes her head good-naturedly. "Apart from the short stories and articles I've been publishing at work, not yet. But I'm not... discouraged I guess is the right word. I can't say impatient 'cause I'm working on that too."
One of her statements catches her attention until Elsa realizes she's known about this through her conversations with Rapunzel. "So you quit, huh?"
"Oh yeah," Anna says, slightly more at ease. "I couldn't stand it anymore."
She nods slowly, almost approvingly. However, she can't keep away the brief pang of bitterness that surges up in her. She thinks of asking Anna why she didn't do this sooner, when their relationship was still salvageable, but she stops herself before she can fully entertain the notion. There is no point in reopening old wounds, in bringing up the unchangeable. There is no place for weary resentment in Elsa's heart anymore.
"I'm happy for you," she says instead, knowing that she means it.
"Thank you," Anna whispers.
Elsa looks away again, her eyes searching for any signs of the labrador, as if by finding it she could be able to retain some of its comfort. But she doesn't: it is long gone. What else should they be talking about? she wonders. Should they be talking about the definite past, about the uncertain future, or about the strange present in which they now find themselves?
"There's a lot..."
"I'm sorry?"
Realizing she's spoken out loud she repeats herself, "There's a lot we should be talking about."
Anna exhales. "Yeah..."
She glances down at the hands on her lap before she speaks quietly: "I don't know what to say."
"Neither do I," Anna admits softly, "But..." She pauses. Elsa notices the struggle behind her eyes, the knitting of her brow. "Can I ask you something first?"
"Sure," Elsa whispers. She thinks she should be bracing herself for whatever question Anna is about to ask her, but she doesn't. There is no energy left in her for this kind of struggle; no walls that need to be taken down. All she wants is to find the current and let herself be carried by it.
"The text I sent you," Anna starts. "If Theo hadn't... you know. If she hadn't asked you to, would you have decided to never speak again?"
The air leaves her lungs in an imperceptible sigh. The hesitation in Anna's eyes, the fear of a certain answer, makes Elsa's heart ache. She realizes just now how important this question is to the both of them, despite never having thought of it herself. Whatever she chooses to tell Anna will end things completely or allow them the opportunity to start over. But the truth is that while Elsa has her own reserves about simply starting over, the real answer had never been in question. She wants Anna in her life.
So she speaks with the truth, because to lie at this point; to pretend; to hide behind the fake comfort of silence, would be to disregard the last three years of separation as nothing but a waste of time.
"I would have," she states. Across from her, Anna breathes out a sigh through her nose. Her relief is palpable, but Elsa has not finished speaking. "I kept reading your text," she admits, "But every time I tried to type a response I kept getting stuck in my own words. I felt like I needed time, and then I just wasn't sure what to tell you."
"Do you still feel like you need time?" Anna asks her.
She pauses. "No," she says, "I think we'll never move forward if either one of us keeps asking for time."
Anna nods slowly. Her hand twitches over the table, moving towards Elsa before she retrieves it by resting it on her lap. "Is that what you want then? To move forward?"
It suddenly occurs to her that Anna has been doing all the asking. "What do you want, Anna?"
A softened expression appears on her face. "I already told you... And I meant every word I said."
She nods slowly. "Okay..."
Anna shrugs lightly before she resumes tracing patterns on the wood. "Then again, moving forward can mean a lot of things, can't it? It can mean that we both agree to go our separate ways. Or that we move forward by staying friends. Or that... you know. We move forward and see where this takes us."
Elsa watches her for a moment. When she thought about seeing Anna again, she would often come up with visions in her mind. She would think about what it would be like to run into her in the train or at a coffee shop; in Union Square or in Washington Square. Each and every time she would think about all the things they would say to each other to fix this. Yet, sitting across from Anna now, she cannot recall any of these visions, any of the words she should have said by now. But perhaps, she thinks, it is for the best that all of this has left her. Because things have changed, and because there are certain obstacles standing in their way; obstacles that must be brought up and talked about if the two of them can ever decide on their definition of moving forward.
Suddenly, flashes of a nightclub scene begin passing through her mind. A crowd of people where Anna stands out as if under a spotlight. A stranger in her arms. A kiss. A dropping of her stomach.
Elsa breathes out a heavy sigh before she confesses, "I saw you the night before."
Anna frowns. "The night before what?"
"The night before you texted me," she says, "I saw you."
It takes a beat for Anna to realize what she's meant, but when she does, regret clouds her features. "At the club?"
She nods. Anna says: "You saw what happened is what you mean." When Elsa nods again she takes a deep breath and, without looking away, she tells her, "I'm sorry, Elsa."
It is then that it strikes her: Anna has matured. Three years ago, she knows Anna would have looked down, mumbled an apology and hunched her shoulders in regret. But there is something in the way she's apologizing now that not only shows that she is genuinely sorry, but that she's owning up to it, fully and without hesitation.
"You don't have to say sorry," she finds herself saying, "That's... not why I said it. But you should know I saw you and you should know as well what I felt in that moment."
Anna places her forearms on the table, leaning closer. "I was planning on telling you. Especially because it didn't mean anything... You know that, right?"
Elsa smiles a little. It doesn't surprise her that she was—Anna has never been one for lying or concealing things—but the statement brings about a sense of ease that she doesn't wish to ignore, let alone suppress. She will not lie to herself: it feels nice knowing Anna still finds her worthy of the truth.
"Were you drunk?" she asks out of curiosity.
The girl winces. "Very."
She could almost chuckle. "I left as soon as I saw you kissing that girl... And at first all I could think about was how upset I was that you were kissing somebody else." She begins picking at a chip on the table, choosing not to dwell on her own words for too long. "But then I started thinking that maybe it wasn't about the kiss, but about how much time I spent waiting for you to come back."
"I shouldn't have let so much time get in between us..."
"But you did," Elsa replies softly, "And I did, too."
"'Cause life happens?"
The corner of her lips twitch at the reference. "Because life happens."
A moment passes before Anna speaks again. "What else did you feel that night?"
"A lot," she chuckles dryly. "I was frustrated at you to begin with, because you'd called—apparently drunk—and I spent the whole week trying to figure out what to do about that. Then I was tipsy... then I was angry. At you and then at myself... I felt as if this whole time I had put myself second, with half of my focus invested in my work and the other half spent longing for you, only to find out that you had already moved on."
"But I didn't."
Elsa is surprised by the firmness of her words, but she has no time to respond before she notices realization dawn upon Anna. "That's why you never responded to my text."
"... Yes."
She deflates, sighs, then begins nodding. "I understand."
"You do?" Elsa asks, wanting to know what she has to say about this.
But instead, Anna's gaze connects with hers. It is vulnerable, almost hurt when she asks, "Did you think I wouldn't?"
She averts her eyes, recalling the words Theo had said to her a week ago. Understanding comes with love. It sure does, she wants to tell her, but her nose is suddenly stinging and a knot is forming in her throat. Because Theo had been right. Because what she saw in Anna's eyes wasn't just vulnerability, but love. Because Theo was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.
"Elsa?"
She looks back at her. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, blinking away the traces of tears welling up in her eyes. She tries to get back on topic. "I just... don't want us making the same mistakes."
Again, she sees Anna's hand move and curl into itself. She wonders, if they were to touch, would she want to pretend the last three years never happened?
"I don't want you to put yourself second," Anna murmurs.
"Isn't that one of those things that's easier said than done?"
"Definitely, but... you have my support, Elsa. If you need space I can give you space. If you wanna talk about it, we can talk about it. Or if you need me to lend you some self-help books I can do that too. I have a bunch at home."
She feels like laughing, but somehow she feels too tired to muster the energy for it. "I think taking it slow will be fine."
A tentative smile grows on her face. "Yeah?"
She reciprocates it. "Yeah."
"Things have changed," Anna tells her. "But I'm not going anywhere this time. You said you don't want us making the same mistakes again and you're right. No more bottling things up, no more staying quiet, no more distancing myself from you. That's not me—it's never been me. So I'm here now, no matter what."
A sigh leaves Elsa's lips as she takes this in. Outside of this space they've made for themselves, father and son continue to play, and the trees continue to whisper with the wind. The sun shines, but doesn't burn.
The universe, it has never cared for hardships, for losses or gains. It never smiles and extends its hand to give you what you ask for. Work for it, it tells you before giving you its back. It pretends not to be looking, but it knows when you're ready. And while Anna may be, Elsa knows she isn't. Call it self-worth, or giving herself the time, the space, and the value she deserves. She can't give it a name; all she knows is what her heart is asking for.
"Can I ask you something?" Elsa says softly.
"Of course."
She pauses. "How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"If you didn't move on," she says, "How was it that you dealt with this?"
Anna processes this before she chuckles embarrassedly. "I didn't fare much better than you if that's what you think. But I guess I did have a way of coping."
"What was it?" she asks, more curious now than before.
She ducks her head shyly. "The truth?"
"Please."
Raw honesty swarms in Anna's eyes when she finally responds. "I wrote about you."
Today had been one of those days that made Elsa consider canceling. Coming home from the clinic, she'd felt more than ready to change out of her clothes, order take-out and watch a movie. The temptation had been there all along, calling out to her from the sofa in her apartment, from the bed as she dressed up rather than down, even from the kitchen where she could have been unpacking her Thai food if only she had decided to stay in.
But Elsa didn't. Because dinner at an Italian restaurant sounded particularly nice as well. And it had been, no matter how much Elsa thought she would reminisce her comfy couch and her lousy dinner choices throughout the night.
She'd let Tracy choose the place. One, because according to almost everyone who knew her, Elsa had no social life and thus had no real knowledge of what a 'cool' spot in the city looked like (she did—just didn't actually attend most of them—and what was wrong with that?). Two, because Tracy was well-versed in point number one.
Elsa had not regretted going out as much as she regretted agreeing to dessert, but decisions had been made and consequences must be lived with. All she had to do was walk it off: regret and burp every other step. Groan, complain out loud. Repeat.
She stands outside the restaurant watching Tracy pull a cigarette out of the blue American Spirit pack she had in the pocket of her jean jacket.
"I thought you quit smoking," she comments.
Tracy raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Me too," she mumbles through the cigarette between her lips. She lights it up, inhales deeply, then tilts her head away from Elsa. The smoke that leaves her mouth forms a cloud, like gray tendrils spreading in the night. "Don't doctors have the tendency to point out how bad this is to a smoker?"
Elsa rolls her eyes. "It literally says in the package."
The girl chuckles. "I doubt people who smoke like to spend time reading that reminder."
"Well," she says, smirking, "That's not on any of us anymore, is it?"
Tracy hums as she takes another drag. Again, she blows away from Elsa, this time taking a step back. "I barely started again. Nerves and all that."
"You? Nervous? I thought you were incapable of feelings."
"I catch those from time to time."
For a moment Elsa watches her study the cigarette tucked between her index and middle finger. "Why are you nervous?" she asks her.
Tracy's face turns into an expression of distaste. "I've been thinking about quitting, once I get back from my trip."
"Why?"
The tip of the cigarette lights up angrily. Tracy exhales, "Why not?"
Elsa shakes her head and shrugs. She doesn't have an answer to that.
"You know it's funny," Tracy then says. "It seems so simple for people like you. Professionally speaking, at least. You go through nine, ten years of studying and practicing, but you know what's on the other side of those nine, ten years. All you gotta do is make one decision and commit to it. Did you ever wish to become anything other than a doctor?"
The first thing Elsa thinks of saying is Yes, back when she was a kid she wanted to be a chef, and then she wanted to be like her daddy, and then she wanted to be like her momma. But what kid doesn't jump from one dream to the other like it's a game of hopscotch?
"Not really."
Tracy nods as if she had been expecting this exact answer. She exhales smoke through her nose this time before she smiles and says, "Some of us don't get to have that kind of satisfaction."
The statement strikes Elsa with a dreadful sense of déjà vu, dragging her back to one of the many arguments she had with Anna soon before their break up. Accused of the lack of time in her hands and fired up by her inability to change this, Elsa had grown defensive. At least I'm doing something, she had said with bitterness sprouting from her like bile up her throat. Anna had looked hurt, stunned to silence. It's so easy for you to say, she'd coldly responded as she gathered up her things. Try being in my shoes for once, maybe then you'll understand how lucky you are.
Elsa gulps harshly, the stench of cigarette bringing her back to the present. She spent so long attributing Anna's response to a defensiveness meant to equal her own. But now, standing so far away from this memory and hearing something so strikingly similar dressed as if it were the most simple of truths, Elsa is beginning to realize how wrong she had been; how little she had actually understood.
Tracy drops the burnt out fag on the sidewalk and crushes it with the end of her boot. "You okay?" she checks in.
Elsa blinks a few times. "Yeah," she responds weakly, recuperating. They begin to walk away from the restaurant without deciding on another destination. "So what would you do if you quit?"
"I have enough money saved up to travel for a while."
"But you can't possibly be thinking about traveling for the rest of your life."
"Why not?" she defies again. She gives her a smirk. "Maslow never said anything about not reaching the top of the pyramid through traveling."
"I guess," she replies with a shrug.
"I have a friend who did just that. He packed a bag and began traveling. He spent who knows how many months in a silent retreat in India, joined a theater club in Russia and became a hippie in Peru. He was thirty when he did that, so technically I'm already late."
"So it's a race now?"
Tracy's eyes search hers. "I'm not ready to settle down," she states.
Elsa nods despite struggling to understand this. But perhaps Tracy is telling the truth; perhaps Anna had been right all along. Some people make one decision that echoes throughout the years: a profession that lasts a lifetime. Some people live based on a series of decisions, jumping from one another like it's hopscotch, regretting some, enjoying others. Some spend their lives searching for the means to create as if it were as essential as breathing, because they do not know how to exist without it. In the end the point is the same: to be happy.
"I guess... yolo then."
Tracy guffaws. "Did you just say yolo?"
"It sounded fitting."
The girl laughs some more. They continue walking until they reach Union Square, weaving their way through the evening rush, the clueless tourists, the foolhardy New Yorkers. Within the park, the city dims. The buzz quietens, becomes an incomprehensible series of commotions. And Elsa brings up something she had been considering on and off all night.
"I saw Anna the other day," she says offhandedly.
"Oh," Tracy responds, her face switching from surprised to smug in the span of a second. "Should I say congratulations or not yet?"
"Not... yet?" she chuckles dryly. "You make it all sound so formal."
Beneath the warm lampposts of the park, Elsa catches a smirk. "I'm happy for you, is that better?" When Elsa does little to respond, she adds: "It took you guys long enough."
"You think that?"
"Why wouldn't I think that?" Elsa bites the inside of her cheek and averts her eyes, getting a disbelieving laugh out of Tracy. "It would be pretty stupid of me to be pinning after you after all this time, don't you think?"
"That's exactly what I did with Anna," she mumbles, redirecting the stupidity of it all towards herself.
"Yeah, but it's different." Tracy tries to catch her eye. "You do see how it's different, right?"
"Of course I do."
"Good. Then it's time for you to admit that love makes you do some pretty stupid shit, and move on."
Elsa tightens her arms around her midriff. She catches sight of a couple heavily making out, cringes, then asks, "You don't think it's lame?"
Tracy snorts. "Oh yeah, I do. But fuck what everyone says, right? There are worse things you could be doing with your life than thinking about your ex."
Elsa tries shrugging but it comes out dispirited. "I just felt like..." she trails off.
"Like what?"
"... Like an idiot."
"Ah, yes. That feeling." She pats the front pocket of her jacket, where the cigarettes hide, before she seems to think better of it. "Which leads to the million dollar question: How long are you gonna be an idiot for?"
Elsa makes a face. "That's a half-assed advice."
She nods proudly. "It sure is. But we both know you never meant to come to me for advice," she teases. "You came to me because you needed the distraction and someone who wouldn't remind you so much of Anna."
Embarrassed, she bites her lip. "Why would you say that?"
"Because you're easy to read when you're drunk. And because that's literally what you said the first time we went out."
"I'm sorry," she mumbles.
Tracy remains undeterred as she says: "Don't be. I've never been easily disillusioned."
Elsa nods, accepting this, allowing the door to close behind them. Before long, they reach the other end of the park. Inevitably, they eye the bookstore across the street before Tracy asks her if she wants to come along to find a couple of books she can take with her to the trip. Elsa agrees, still stuffed, still somewhat unable to regret being outside.
"You know," Elsa finally says after Tracy opens the bookstore's door for her, "I really couldn't stand you at the beginning."
Tracy scoffs playfully. "Must you remind me?"
"Yes," Elsa drawls. "Your ego needs to be kept in check."
The girl rolls her eyes. "Sure, Jan."
"Why were you so insufferable?"
Tracy glances at her, hazel eyes honest yet eternally, stupidly confident. "Because I wanted what you have," she says. "Probably still would if you rubbed it in my face." When Elsa begins to smile, she picks up a book at random before casually adding: "And because you're hot. Can you blame a stubborn woman with eyes and a libido?"
She pushes Tracy away, the beginnings of a laugh forming inside of her.
The first time Elsa performed a cardiac catheterization had been on the first year of her fellowship. It had felt a lot like internship, except by then she was in her late twenties and had been seven years into her medical education. Dr. Stern, the cath lab chief, hadn't exactly eased the tension with his unnerving stares and his pompous talk of seminars only he seemed to have attended. When she'd first scrubbed in with him, he went rapid-fire through a series of instructions on how to operate the catheter machine. Her hands shook in a fine tremor as he sped through the different ways to flush the catheter, get rid of bubbles, inject X-ray opaque dye into the coronary arteries. "Whatever you do," he'd said, tapping on a small white knob, "don't inject unless you turn this stopcock." She'd nodded, released air through her mouth. She did not feel ready, but a minute later Dr. Stern was already advancing the catheter up the aorta and twisting it around the arch where, with fine finger movements, he inserted it into the right coronary artery of the heart.
"Inject!" he'd boomed before Elsa reflexively stepped into the pedal that released the dye. "Stop!" he yelled. "I told you never to do that!"
Needless to say, it got easier. And as the months went by and she became familiar with every knob and combination, she realized that, like the heartbeat itself, catheterization was mechanical. Of course, Elsa could still sometimes hear in the distant consciousness of her mind a voice shout Inject!, at which point she would have to take a couple of deep breaths, and begin.
Lightly sedated, her magnetic patient, Gerald, is smiling as she inserts a needle into his groin in preparation for the catheter. "It tickles," he mumbles, eliciting a chuckle out of the scrub nurse while Elsa begins to slip her way into the right coronary artery. The act of catheterization is procedural in its nature, and as such, it provides Elsa with a peculiar sense of comfort. When she performs a cath, everything around her often disappears for just a few minutes. The procedure, with her as conductor, is all that matters. She becomes a doer rather than a thinker, and seeing a plastic tube inside the heart quickly ceases to be a shock which, in the end, is the most shocking thing of all.
When she finishes with the angiogram, they transfer Gerald to a stretcher and roll him to the electrophysiology suite, where the defibrillator Elsa had insisted on for weeks was finally going to be implanted. Soon after, Abrams, the exuberant electrophysiology attending, enters the room with a flair. "Honey, I'm home," he exclaims to the nurses. Together, he and Elsa gown, mask and glove. She then goes to tip the table downward to put Gerald's head below his legs so that blood can fill his chest veins to make them more visible. Abrams injects him with local anesthetic. "That hurt," Gerald mumbles, and Abrams tells him to stop talking. "It's dangerous for you," he says, winking at Elsa before increasing the rate of the anesthetic drip.
Throughout most of the procedure, Elsa stands to the side, mostly watching as Abrams begins dissecting through the chest and burrowing a pocket for the defibrillator in Gerald's pectoral muscle. Every few minutes, Abrams steps back from the table and dances wildly to the songs on the radio.
When he begins slipping a plastic catheter into a vessel, he tells Elsa to take a closer look. He then inserts a thin electrode through the hollow catheter, inching closer to the heart, before pulling out the catheter and leaving the electrode in the right ventricle. He does the same thing for the heart's left ventricle and when he finally slips the generator into the pectoral pocket, he connects it to the wires. He steps back again and does a little dance to the beat of Peaches & Herb's Shake Your Groove Thing.
They are done.
In order to test the device, Elsa must induce cardiac arrest ("It's time for you to kill your patient," Abrams has the morbid habit of saying). By delivering stimuli to the heart at a specific rate of milliseconds, Gerald's heartbeat on the monitor soon transforms into waves oscillating at different frequencies: ventricular fibrillation, the rhythm of death. Elsa swallows hard when someone in the room says, "Here we go." She tries not to think of her mother in moments like this. "Five... ten... fifteen." Looking over at Gerald, he is now unconscious. Then, a hard dull thump, as if someone had driven a fist into his chest. The defibrillator has fired. She feels herself breathe again.
A nurse lightly slaps Gerald's face. "Wake up, hon," she says. "It's all over."
When Elsa finally steps out into the hallway followed by Abrams, she is surprised to see that it is almost 1 PM.
"I'm starving," Abrams groans. "Wanna join me for a burger?"
"I'm okay," she responds distractedly. "I should check on a few things anyway."
He flashes her with a grin, already moving away. "You should leave the overworking to the interns," he tells her. And with that, he is gone.
Elsa shakes her head as she watches him leave, thinking that perhaps there might be a dash of truth in his words. She knows she's overworked herself for the majority of her time working at this hospital. But once she starts the day, she's never known how to stop. Accidents never cease to happen; hearts are frail despite their inherent vigor; bodies can malfunction, even those that appear the strongest.
However, and contrary to assumptions, she has no work-related reason to stay here any longer.
She treads towards the locker room in order to pick up her things. Once there, she checks her phone to see if she has any new messages. She'd woken up this morning to find a text from Anna—a question—that she had not known how to respond to. You don't have to ask me these kinds of things, she had wanted to say, but had refrained herself from doing it because tones are tricky when it comes to texting. Would she come off as curt? Annoyed? Upset? Elsa may want time, even space, but she did not want Anna to walk on eggshells. So she had decided to stick to a simple affirmative.
Finding her phone void of anything new, she puts it away. She's done a double take at the date even though she doesn't have to. The day hasn't slipped from her: it never once did. Still, she remains sitting on the bench, debating with herself. How much would be too much? And what would it mean if she acknowledged the date with a gesture? Nothing, she tells herself, It doesn't have to mean anything. And even if it did... aren't they now on the same page?
Decidedly, Elsa leaves the locker room. She passes the cafeteria and sees Abrams already enjoying his burger. How he has the appetite of a teenage boy after surgery is beyond her. She passes by the gift shop, and glances at the items inside. Teddy bears, balloons, cards, books. She continues forward, out of the hospital.
Many things go through her mind as she makes her way down the street, as she enters the shop she'd so often passed by on her way to work, as she picks out what she's there to buy. She wonders what Anna thinks, if she is also experiencing this strange sensation of both impatience and patience; what's inevitable and what is necessary. If she also, truly agrees that slow is best. It is funny, Elsa thinks, that there used to be this sense of urgency when they first met. This desire to talk often and to see each other even more. Was it because they were scared to lose sight of each other? To wake up one day and realize that it had all been a dream; too good to be true?
And to realize that this is no longer the case. That the days since their second first time have gone by without the same kind of urgency, because as painful as it may have been, they have learned to live without the other. That perhaps it is because they have matured, or because slow is best, or simply because they are beginning to realize that life comprises more than just the love they share, no matter how great it might be.
She returns to the hospital in record time, and heads straight to the Cancer Center for the little time that's left of today's session.
In the end, Theo chose chemo. And unused still to the fact that the past two visits have been here and not at the senior center, Elsa has to shake off the unease that begins to crawl up her body at the first turn of the hallway. She feels as if there were still a part of her that refused to accept this, like a trick of her mind she thought herself too smart to believe.
Inside the chemotherapy room, Elsa spots the two of them three chairs away from the door. Theo has her eyes closed as she rests her head on the back of a cushioned chair, her feet propped on a footrest, a catheter connected to the back of her hand. Anna has her back facing Elsa, her nose buried in a book as she reads out loud. Suddenly, someone touches Elsa's shoulder. It is Gaby, the nurse who works at the senior center.
"Hey, hi," Elsa says lowly so as to avoid disturbing those in the room. "How is she?"
"She's doing well, given the circumstances."
She nods. It is nothing she wasn't expecting to hear.
"I wanted to give them some time alone," Gaby says, nodding at Anna and Theo. "But the session's almost over. I had to come back."
Elsa nods again, understanding. They make their way over to where the two sit, and almost as if Anna had sensed them she stops reading and turns around. Unexpectedly, Elsa sucks in a breath. She had not seen Anna since the day in Queens, and even though Anna had asked if she was okay with her coming to the hospital as well—even if Elsa did not think she needed to ask these things—she feels completely unprepared.
At the sudden interruption, Theo opens her eyes. "Hey, honey," she mutters, her voice more tired than usual.
"Hey," Elsa says, briefly snapping out of it. She walks around the chair to give her a loose embrace, painfully aware of Theo's thinning shoulders. "How are you feeling?" she asks, wishing to know straight from the source.
"I'm exhausted," she groans. "So. Damn. Sleepy."
"You can take a small nap on our way back," Gaby comments.
Theo acknowledges this with a grumpy hum just as another nurse approaches them to let them know the treatment's done for the day. She slowly sets about taking out the IV catheter with Gaby's assistance while Elsa steps to the side, where Anna is already standing.
Glancing down at the book tucked under her arm, Elsa asks: "What were you reading?"
Anna appears surprised at the question—surprised, perhaps that Elsa is speaking to her at all—before she shows her the book.
"Oh."
"What? What's wrong with it?"
"It's just... an interesting choice."
She frowns, looking down at the cover of the book. "Anna Karenina is a classic."
Elsa has to fight off a smile. "That, it is."
Anna stares at her with something akin to suspicious amusement as she, too, struggles to ward off the smile on her lips. For a moment, that is all Elsa can focus on.
They leave the room with Theo being slowly guided by the girls' arms. She doesn't need them, she says, but the girls are adamant and Theo seems to have no energy to object.
"I'm sorry for being late today," Elsa says, silently thanking the charge nurse by looking over her shoulder.
Theo tries to wave her off, but can't. So she settles for tapping lightly at the forearm she's using as support. "How did the surgery go?" From the other side of her, Elsa notices Anna lean in to listen as well.
"No issues whatsoever," she says. "I'm just glad he finally decided to go through with it."
"He was stubborn as hell," Theo points out.
"Reminds me of someone," Elsa retorts, getting a shush out of her, catching the amused look on Anna's face.
Theo leaves after she makes them promise that they'll behave, take care and eat well, in exchange of her doing exactly the same thing. Yes, yes, yes, she grunts in response as she gets inside the taxi with the help of Gaby. She promises to get some rest too, says she'll sleep until next Saturday so help her God. The two of them wave goodbye before they watch the car move away from the curb, incorporate into traffic, and slowly drive away.
They stand, some feet away from each other, as if they were waiting for the car to fully disappear, leave Manhattan, drive through Queens and arrive at the center. They stand, without a clue as to what to do next.
"So..." Elsa clears her throat, turns to Anna, and stares.
"I—"
"I brought you something," she rushes out before she can give herself any more time to run.
Anna blinks. "Oh?"
Getting her backpack off her shoulders, Elsa tries to place it on her bent knee in order to unzip it, but something gets caught and she has to fumble with the zipper for an unnecessary amount of time. She then places the backpack down as much off the floor as she can manage, laughs awkwardly when she still struggles for a few seconds, and clears her throat, louder this time. She can feel her cheeks burn as she straightens up, a small box of chocolate truffles in her hand.
"I... Um... Happy birthday." She hands the box to Anna, who remains standing exactly where she is, somewhat speechless.
"Elsa..."
"It's—it's okay. I... It's nothing."
Anna takes a step closer, ducking her head down in order to catch the gaze Elsa has averted. "It's not nothing," she tells her. "It means a lot. So thank you."
Willing herself to let out the air she's been holding, she murmurs, "You're welcome."
Anna gives her a smile, kind and reserved. Sad, because Elsa knows in her bones just how much she longs to reach out and give her a hug in this moment. But just as it came, it is gone, and Anna glances down to hide what Elsa feels.
"I should go too," she hears Anna say below the distant sound of a siren. "I promised Kristoff I would have lunch with him."
Elsa swallows, then nods. Reluctantly, she takes a step away to let her go. "Have fun?"
She chuckles. "I hope so."
The two of them linger until Anna takes a step away. She raises her hand, attempts a wave, then begins to leave. A second later, she turns back around. "Can I call you?" she asks. "Tonight... Can I give you a call?"
This shouldn't surprise her, she tries to tell herself. The question shouldn't warm her this much from the inside out. Yet, Elsa loosens the arms around her midriff and smiles a little when she finally says, "That would be nice."
"Absolutely not, Eugene."
"Oh, come on!" he pleads as they look at each other through the mirror. "It'll be like old times!"
"This is humiliating."
"It's just a Pikachu."
She stares wearily at her own reflection. A Pikachu. She's dressed as a fucking Pikachu. "This isn't what we agreed on."
"No, I know," he says, grinning. "But hear me out. Rapunzel's gonna love this."
Elsa turns to him as best as she can in the costume. She feels as if she were wrapped inside a balloon with yellow arms and legs, and one tiny head—hers—sticking out. She feels like a joke. "Did I do something to you? Do you secretly hate me or something?"
Eugene bursts out laughing. "No, I actually love you for doing this."
"I haven't agreed to anything yet."
"Yet."
She rolls her eyes. "What's wrong with the other ideas we had? I thought you were set on that Empire State proposal. Hell, even your helicopter idea was better."
"Yes, but those are cliché ideas. I wanted something better, bigger, less forgettable."
She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at her own demise. "I'm going to kill you."
Eugene pats her costume-clad back. The sound comes out dull because she's all big and chunky now. "You're not the only one," he states.
"Who else agreed to this circus?"
His face splits into a shit-eating grin. "Everyone."
"Everyone?"
"Even Anna."
The color flushes down her cheeks. This is absolutely mortifying. "Things are still awkward between us," she mumbles.
Eugene looks her square in the eye. "Is it something you can't stand? 'Cause if it is I can just call it off and we can stick to plan A. No biggie."
Elsa takes a deep breath as she petulantly flaps her Pikachu arms up and down. She wants to say that no, she can't, but that would be a lie. She's enjoyed being around Anna the last first and couple of times, even if things are barely on a stage she could call normal. Certainly not 'old times'. Her downfall, however, occurs when she pictures her cousin's elation and she realizes that this might be somewhat kind of worth it.
"Fine, I'll do it."
"Good, because I can't take you seriously when you're wearing that thing."
Elsa feels like kicking him right then, throughout the week, and on the day of the proposal. She thinks she could fight him just like she's seen happening in those YouTube videos where some random person records two mascots having a throw down. It is Times Square after all, no one will probably care if a Pikachu is beating the crap out of Iron Man. Oh yes, she could get away with this, she thinks. No one has to know.
This is what keeps going through her mind as she starts putting on the thing inside a Starbucks restroom. She's the second one to go in. Sasha—proudly dressed as Chewbacca—is waiting outside. Knowing him he's most likely posing for pictures with tourists already, which somehow makes her hurry up even more. Her shoulder keeps bumping against the wall as she jumps on one foot and tries to get the other inside the yellow boot, hard enough as it is because this obesity of a costume won't let her bend down. She heaves out a groan when she finally succeeds. The arms are next: two yellow, chubby unbending extremities. She then looks at herself in the mirror, her hair disheveled and her cheeks red from exertion. Doctor Anderssen, cardiology fellow, nice to meet ya.
She takes a hold of the chunk of a head that she's somehow managed to hang off the hooks on the door and puts in an abnormal effort to twist the handle in order to get out. She's starting to grow claustrophobic inside this yellow monstrosity and inside this tiny bathroom that smells like dirty mop. When the handle finally gives in, she charges out without a second thought.
"Ow—"
"Shit—"
"Oh my God—"
"Oh God, I'm so sorry." She's bumped straight into Anna, almost pushing her up against a wall. The girl is staring at her with wide eyes and an expression that is on the verge of a laugh.
She could kill Eugene right now. She really, really could.
Anna covers her mouth, but the giggles seep through the cracks of her fingers. "You're looking great," she says.
She rolls her eyes despite her mortification. "Like you'll look any better, Elmo," she retorts after glancing down at the mocking-looking head tucked under the girl's arm.
Anna laughs loudly while Elsa tries to ignore the flourish that occurs inside her chest. "I couldn't beat you," she tells her. "Seriously this is... this is amazing."
The unexpectedly low tone of her voice combined with the proximity of their bodies makes Elsa's cheeks grow hot. "I—outside. I'm gonna go." She leaves a chuckling Anna behind while she curses under her breath. It's a walk of shame from the restroom to the crowded street.
There are two Chewbaccas loitering about by the time she makes it outside and Elsa doesn't know which one is Sasha. She is far too distracted anyway, because a pair of strong arms have suddenly wrapped around her thrice-as-big body and they are not Eugene's. They are Kristoff's.
He laughs as he lifts her up the floor, yells out her name while she feels like he could squeeze her out of this Pikachu costume if he wanted to. "Kristoff," she acknowledges him. One of her yellow arms is slipping out. Her chunky head is on the floor. Oh no, she thinks, the GERMS.
When he puts her down he picks up the head for her. "I'm sorry," he says, still laughing. "It's just so good to see you again."
She looks at him for the first time since this whole thing began; for the first time in she doesn't know how long. Joy fills her up from the inside at the sight of him, his boyish smile, his kind eyes. His shorter hair that makes him look more grown up even though he probably still spends his weekends playing video games. Elsa doesn't realize until that moment just how much she'd missed him.
"It's good to see you too," she tells him.
He smirks. "And look at you killing it in that Pikachu costume."
She smacks him with her yellow useless limb, making him duck away with a laugh. And just like that, the time they spent apart is forgotten; a thing of the past.
"Where is your costume? And Eugene?"
Before Kristoff has the time to respond to those questions, a shrilling noise comes from behind her. She's startled to say the least but when she turns around she has no idea how to react. Sasha is taking off his Chewbacca head, smiling triumphantly. "How was it?"
"How was what?"
"My Chewbacca call."
"Oh, Jesus."
"It was great, dude," Kristoff tells him.
Eugene comes back from wherever he was almost at the same time that Anna comes out dressed as Elmo, a Starbucks iced coffee in her flurry, red hand. At least her fingers aren't for decoration purposes only. Her eyes glance at everybody else before settling on Elsa. Her cheeks are flushed and her braid, as it falls to one side, has a few strands of hair sticking out. She gives her a soft smile that Elsa reciprocates without an effort.
"Looking great there," Eugene says to Anna.
"Shut up, loser."
He ruffles her hair and she moves away from him until she's standing next to Elsa. They share another look before Anna begins sipping her coffee, shy all of the sudden. "Okay," Eugene announces, "Rap's on her way already so we should hurry up." He turns to Kristoff. "You're next, bro."
With a lot of grunting and reluctant sighs, Kristoff walks his duffel bag and himself inside the Starbucks.
"What's he dressing up as?" Elsa asks Anna, subtly aware that she could have asked Eugene instead.
But Anna's only response is a mischievous glint in her eye as she suppresses a smirk by wrapping her lips around the green straw. "You'll see."
Winnie-the-Pooh. Kristoff is dressed up as Winnie-the-Pooh, and suddenly Elsa doesn't feel so bad anymore. She thinks nobody does. Not even the amused group of Hispanic men who are watching from afar, getting ready to put on their own mascot costumes for another evening of actual work.
In a laughing fit Eugene goes to change as well and comes back out dressed as a hunky Iron Man.
"Why does he get to be a superhero?" Kristoff whines from Winnie-the-Pooh's mouth hole.
"Because I'm the one proposing."
After finishing the iced coffee in two large, brain-freezing gulps, Anna goes to throw away the cup and returns placing Elmo's smiling head on. "You look like the junkie version of Winnie-the-Pooh," she tells Kristoff.
Elsa giggles as she puts on Pikachu's massive head. Next to her Sasha is laughing, but the only way anyone can tell is because his shoulders are shaking. He looks gigantic in that thing. No wonder Eugene picked it out for him.
The proposal is simple, Eugene explains through his Iron Man mask after he's gathered everyone around by the Starbucks entrance: Chewbacca, Elmo, Winnie-the-Pooh and Pikachu. When Rapunzel shows up at the red stairs they will begin dancing to some music ("Which music?" Elsa asks. Eugene says, "You'll know") like it's a flash mob ("No choreography?" says Sasha. "Just improvise." Chewbacca looks at everyone in the group: "Just follow me." Inside the costumes, nods all around) while Rachel ("Who's Rachel?" Anna asks. "Will you guys let me finish?") records the whole thing. Rachel is Rapunzel's friend and coworker who is also a videographer. She makes cool stuff. Anyway, while she records, the whole thing will also show up on the large screen over there. You know, the one. Everyone nods. They know. And at some point which is rather vague and indefinite Eugene will step through the ridiculous troop of mascots and get on one knee. Speech will proceed, strangers all around will begin clapping and snapping pics, yada, yada. He'll take care of the rest.
Elsa looks around to discern everyone's reactions, forgetting that she can't see any of them. So they begin moving in the direction of the red stairs, which feels like a rather long path to tread given how Elsa has to do it in oversized boots. Next to her she can see Anna waving at people while Sasha keeps doing his strange shrilling sounds. Ahead of them Kristoff is walking with Eugene, probably still whining. An Asian couple stops Elsa at some point. "No, no, no—" She tries to wave them off but they must think she's saying hi because they step closer for a picture, peace sign and all. From under Elmo's costume, she hears the faint sound of a laugh. Elsa plots ways to kill Eugene.
By the time they reach the stairs she is already sweating. Sasha stretches out his synthetically hairy arm to pat her head. The thudding echoes inside her costume.
"How're we feeling?" she thinks he's asking.
"I'll get back to you on that," she says, loud enough that he may hear her. Somewhere not too far off Elmo is facing her, but Elsa has no idea whether Anna is looking at her or talking to Kristoff. She bites her lip, wishing to suppress the irrational hopes that it's the former.
"She's here guys!" someone yells. Eugene maybe.
Despite his half-assed instructions, the queue of the music is rather obvious. Mere seconds after the announcement of her cousin's arrival, music begins coming off from somewhere in the general direction of everywhere. It is loud enough for it to be heard above the cacophonous, buzzing sound of Times Square and loud enough for Elsa to wonder just who on earth he paid off to have it happen. The upbeat strumming of a guitar opens up to Freddie Mercury's voice, and Elsa recognizes the song immediately. She'd heard it so many times coming from Rapunzel's room when they still lived together that she'd had to ask. "Because," her cousin had said with a shrug and a far-off smile, brush in hand, overalls stained with paint, "It reminds me of him."
For a second she forgets that Sasha is their self-assigned choreographer until he moves to stand in front of the four of them. His steps are simple, iconic, and Elsa can't help but laugh as he does the Twist and the Carlton, his Chewbacca arms swinging around as if he's done this his whole life. Doctor Laskin, pediatric cardiology fellow, nice to meet ya.
From where she is Elsa can get a clear view of Rapunzel, who stands with wide eyes and a stunned smile, clearly confused as to why five random mascots are dancing in front of her—seemingly for her. People begin to gather around the group with phones in their hands. Some of them are clapping, a couple others are whistling, and Elsa laughs harder because this is highly mortifying and still somewhat exhilarating. She moves her Pikachu arms around, bounces its yellow-tailed butt up and down. Next to her, Anna appears to be dancing her heart out so much so that Elsa thinks Elmo's head might fall off. On the other side, Kristoff is following along with the Disco Finger. And Elsa's smile broadens. Because she needed this, she realizes. This silly, borderline impromptu proposal idea that almost made her kill Eugene.
They dance—in front and around Rapunzel—until the song begins to wane and transition to a slower tune. It is then that Elsa catches a glimpse of Eugene slowly stepping through in all his Iron Man glory. Almost as if Sasha had been doing this his whole life, he takes up the queue by stepping sideways, doing less dancing and more swaying. Elsa follows suit despite her heart doing somersaults inside her chest, deliriously nervous for him even though she knows she doesn't have to be. A crowd is now surrounding them but all she can focus on is the sight of her cousin's curious expression as he takes deliberate steps towards her, the gasp she lets out when he takes off his mask, and the hands she brings up to her face when he gets on one knee.
No longer dancing, Elsa takes off her Pikachu head and from her peripheral vision notices everyone else do the same. Some people begin cheering as Eugene speaks the words she knows he's been going over for weeks, but it is when Rapunzel nods happily and throws her arms around his shoulders that the crowd erupts in applause. Elsa's eyes brim with tears of joy as she watches him lift her up the floor and spin her around in circles; the dazzling lights of Times Square as their background.
The sight overwhelms her with happiness before she looks to the side, her eyes falling on the girl standing not too far from her. It takes only seconds for Anna to look back at her. She in her Elmo body and Elsa in her chunky Pikachu that's making her sweat almost as bad as her boxing sessions. They share a smile for this moment that is not about them or about what they once had or about what they seek again, but about the people they love. About the bond between Eugene and Rapunzel; about Sasha and his Chewbacca calls; about Kristoff and his Winnie-the-Pooh issues.
All of this, Elsa realizes, that in the end made it all completely worth it.