Ten
Oliver
“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m really back in New York,” I blurt out as we turn onto Central Park West. It’s early in the morning, but cars and yellow cabs are honking obnoxiously and there are sirens in the distance.
The sounds of the city don’t follow the same timeline as everyone else.
Much like medical residents, the city doesn’t have a sleep pattern.
“What do you mean ‘back’?” Elle asks, trying to fall into step with my long strides.
“I grew up here, but I lived in California for eight years. I went there for college and medical school,” I explain, glad the conversation has shifted from what she asked me in the park, and my awkward confession.
“Why did you come back?”
“Residency. You have to go where you get accepted.” She nods, considering this. “It’s not my favorite place,” I add with a shrug.
“New York? It’s not your favorite?” She seems a bit stunned by this.
“I don’t have anything against the city itself. I just never thought I’d live here again. I don’t exactly have many positive memories of this place.”
“Would you moving away have anything to do with your relationship with your dad?” she asks, looking up at me.
“It might,” I admit, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable with how intimate this morning’s conversations have been.
Elle reminds me of Henry: intuitive in a way that makes you trust them easily.
Thoughtful enough to consider what I’m thinking.
She has this demeanor that makes you want to talk to her.
And that’s saying something coming from me.
I don’t know why Elle brings this out of me.
This morning, she’s gotten me to talk more than I have to anyone in months, except maybe Henry or Sophia.
And she doesn’t even seem like she’s trying to be super invasive. It’s just how she is.
“So did you really want to be a doctor? Or you just followed that path because you felt like you had no other choice?”
Intuitive, alright.
“My parents are both doctors. My dad is a surgeon. I’ve always been destined to be the next Dr. Cole. It was understood,” I explain, monotonous.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“I like some parts of medicine,” I say, begrudgingly.
“But maybe I wouldn’t have chosen this exact path for myself, if I had a choice.
” I’m surprised that I admitted that out loud, but Elle is removed from that side of my life.
I can admit that truth to her without it getting back to my father.
I know that’s a ridiculous way to think, but it’s like my brain is wired to screen every conversation for the possibility of it somehow reaching him.
Elle doesn’t have a chance to respond because someone is calling my name from down the block.
We come to a stop at the corner of Columbus Avenue and I see Henry jogging across the street towards us.
He’s wearing shorts, even though it’s freezing out, and a hooded sweatshirt with the name of the gym sprawled across the front.
His gym is back the other way, so I’m not sure what he’s doing heading towards the park this early in the morning.
“Hey man,” I say, stuffing my hands in my sweatshirt pockets. “I didn’t know you got up this early.”
Henry chuckles. “I hate to, but owning a business does that.”
“Your business is in the opposite direction, dumbass.”
“Yes, but the coffee I need to be able to survive at said business is this way,” he says, pointing behind me and Elle.
“And now that the interrogation is over, maybe you could introduce me to your lovely friend here.” He flashes a smile, turning on the charm for Elle.
I ignore the weird sensation that sparks in my chest.
“Friend is a strong word,” Elle replies. “I’m Elle, Oliver’s neighbor and sworn enemy.” She puts her hand out for Henry to shake, and he holds on to it for a moment too long. Elle gives him a shy smile.
“Oh, so you’re the neighbor,” Henry says giddily, eyeing me.
Elle looks between us warily. “You’re spreading your hatred of me to others?”
“Only a little bit.” I shrug.
Henry is still holding her hand. When he sees me eyeing it, he lets go. “Well, I have to run. It was nice to meet you, Elle. And if you ever want to get away from this guy, make sure to hit me up.” He winks as he pats Elle’s shoulder and walks past us. “Later, Ollie.”
Ollie? Elle mouths at me, a grin on her lips.
I resist the urge to follow Henry and punch him in the face.
I cross the street, Elle trailing behind. Thor is in a mini-run to keep up with my long legs.
“Well, he was adorable,” Elle says once Henry’s out of earshot.
“I’m not sure if that’s the word I’d use,” I grumble.
I need to get a hold of myself. Or at the very least, I need to get out of Elle’s orbit and give myself a second to think.
Elle told me she believes in happily ever after, I pretty much shot her down, and then Henry hits on her.
How the fuck did all that happen before breakfast?
I didn’t lie to Elle. I didn’t say I don’t believe in happily ever after.
I said they don’t work out for me. And I certainly can’t imagine one for myself anytime in the near future.
Which is the truth. Every relationship, or almost every relationship, I’ve been in has ended because I somehow mess it up.
A lot of people don’t understand that OCD is more than wanting everything to be neat and tidy.
It’s a compulsion to do certain things and think a certain way.
It’s thoughts that break into your brain—thoughts that someone without OCD would never have.
It’s driving through the same intersection every day on your way to work, and picturing being T-boned by a car coming the other way.
It’s washing your hands quickly and then thinking that if you don’t wash them again, for the full twenty seconds this time, you’ll get sick.
It’s having a bad day and imagining harming yourself.
Not because you would, but because that’s what OCD does.
It twists you in ways that you didn’t know you could bend.
My OCD makes me rigid. I think in black and white, and I’m logical to a fault. I can’t understand why my sister would adopt a dog and then fly halfway across the world. That’s not rational. It’s why I haven’t spoken to her in a few weeks. I avoid things that don’t make sense to me.
A relationship that lasts a lifetime makes sense to me.
My parents, specifically my father, may be difficult, but a stable marriage is what I’ve been exposed to my entire life.
Commitment doesn’t scare me. But I just feel lost right now.
I’m living in the most stressful city in the world, in a state I swore I would never step foot in again, and my job is quickly destroying me.
It’s only been a few weeks, and I don’t know how I’ll keep this up for three more years.
Nothing in my life feels stable right now, so I can’t imagine trying to maintain a relationship on top of everything else.
Which is why, when I look at Elle—this bubbly, interesting, vibrant person—I can’t see a future with her. Because I’ll ruin it. I’m not sure how, but I will. I always do.
Plus, I don’t even know if I like Elle like that.
It seems like we’ve gotten past the nemesis-neighbor stage, and she’s so easy to talk to.
Of course, I’m grateful for her offering to look after Thor.
But just because I shared a bit about myself, that doesn’t mean she knows me.
That doesn’t mean we’re going to be actual friends, or anything more, for that matter.
So why does the idea of Henry making a move on her make me feel nauseous?
“Hello, Earth to Oliver?” Elle’s amplified voice snaps me out of my trance.
“What? Sorry,” I reply, blinking her into focus.
“I said we’re home.” She points at our building, and I take a moment to look at her.
Her hair falls over her shoulders in long waves.
It’s blonde with a little brown in it, which accentuates the brown in her eyes.
Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are a faint shade of pink from the cold, and even though she carries herself as though she’s trying to make herself as small as possible, her expression is open and earnest. She has an effortless beauty about her.
I’m sure she literally rolled out of bed looking like this.
I look down at the sidewalk for a second, trying to push down the sadness in my chest after appreciating how lovely she is. I wish I found it as easy as Henry does to ask someone on a date, or even just to flirt. It hurts a little that I don’t.
When I look up, Elle is eyeing me suspiciously.
“What?” I murmur. I tell Thor to sit because he is pulling to go up the steps into the building.
“I have an idea,” Elle says, a grin blossoming across her face.
“Why does that sound terrifying to me?”
“I want to help you fall in love with New York again,” she declares, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Huh?”
“This is going to sound weird—”
“That’s nothing new,” I mutter. Elle narrows her eyes at me.
“My best friend, Lucy, who you met at the hospital—” I nod. “—moved away somewhat recently and I am in desperate need of a project.”
“A project?” I wince at the word.
“Let me show you some good things about New York, please.” She makes puppy-dog eyes at me, and it’s almost impossible to resist.
“It’s not like I haven’t been here before,” I say, gesturing around us.
“Oliver, listen,” she says, a firmness in her voice. She hitches her hip and holds her hands out, like she’s about to explain something to me in detail. “You said you’d never come back here. But here you are. Maybe you should try to not be miserable the whole time.”
“I’m pretty comfortable being miserable, thank you,” I jab. Elle rolls her eyes and groans.
“For the love of God,” she exclaims dramatically, waving her hands in the air. “You need me!”
“I need you?”
“This is what I do. I’m a great wing woman. I’ll show you great things about the city. New things, things only a true Manhattan local would know. Maybe make you a little less miserable about being here.”
Her energy is a lot right now.
“Why would I agree to this?” I ask, truly wondering about the answer.
“Because it will be fun!”
I was afraid she was going to say that.
“And why would you want to do this?” I don’t understand what her friend moving away has to do with any of it.
Elle looks down, crushing a stray leaf with the toe of her shoe. “Because this is what I’m good at. I like to do things for other people.” She pauses, darting her eyes up to meet mine before looking away again. She tugs on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I told you it would sound weird.”
“It does,” I say, nodding. “What do you mean it’s what you do?”
Elle continues to fidget with her shirt and avoid my gaze. “I’m a very good sidekick,” she starts. “I take care of people. It’s what I’ve always done.”
I tilt my head at her.
“I’m not saying that I want to take care of you, or that you need taking care of—”
The furrow in my brow deepens. She sighs and takes a few steps over to the stoop of our building and sits on the steps, where Thor eagerly tries to jump into her lap. She runs her hand up and down his back and he pants contentedly.
“My parents got divorced when I was six, and my brother has a disability, so I’ve always been a caretaker. I’m good at it. I help people get what they want. And now that Lucy moved away, my sidekick tendencies haven’t been indulged as much.”
I’m about to say “Isn’t that a good thing?” but she takes my momentary silence as an opportunity to continue pleading.
“Please, let me be your New York City tour guide. You’d be doing me a favor, really.” This is not the same excited voice she had a few minutes ago. It sounds a bit more forced.
I’m surprised by how much I appreciate her telling me something personal about herself. Because regardless of whether I have feelings for her or not, I like getting to know Elle. I want to know more about her. Her presence is kind of addictive. Which may or may not make this plan a bad idea.
“That sounds like a lot of you going out of your way. And you’re already watching my dog for free…” I look down at Thor, who has moved on to playing with a bug on the ground.
“Then you can do something for me too, if it will make you feel better,” she says, her face brightening because she thinks she has me.
“Like what?”
Elle looks around, as if the answer is going to materialize out of the sidewalk. Her gaze pauses down the street for a moment, and I can see her considering something. She opens her mouth to speak, stops herself, and then does it again.
I look back in the direction we came from, and remember Elle calling Henry adorable. I can’t believe the next words that come out of my mouth.
“Henry?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“What?” she says, pretending like she wasn’t just thinking the same thing.
“I could set you up with Henry, if you want?” I shrug, as if the movement will make this moment hurt a little less. I have no right to be hurt, given that I basically told Elle that I can’t be with someone that way, but the sting is still there.
“And what? Tell me what he likes and stuff?” she asks, a hesitant tone in her voice.
“What he likes?” I repeat, raising a brow in alarm.
“Food, art, music!” she exclaims, softly punching me. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
It takes a moment for the reality of this situation to sink in. A moment ago, the thought of Elle calling Henry adorable was enough to make me nauseous, and now I’m, what… her dating coach? What kind of rom-com alternate dimension is this?
Everything in my brain wants me to say, no! Say no! We can’t go out with her, but that doesn’t mean Henry should!
“That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” I say, contorting my face to match the uncertainty in my chest. I suggested telling Henry he could ask her out. This is taking it to another level.
Elle doesn’t answer right away, and I can see her swallow, as if pushing down something she wishes she could say. “Why would it be weird? You’re like almost my friend now. Or at the very least, my not-completely loathsome neighbor. You can help me win him over, can’t you?”
Can’t I?
There’s no reason that I shouldn’t be able to do that. That’s what she’s saying. She’s giving me the chance to say no, actually, I can’t do that. Because I think you’re funny and cute and I want to ask you out. But I can’t. God, throw some self-sabotage into this alternate universe, why don’t you?
“Sure, I can do that,” I say, clenching my jaw. I feel something twist in my gut when the words leave my mouth.
Elle nods, and I swear I see the same bob in her throat. She holds out her hand. “Friends?”
I try not to focus too much on how her soft hand feels in mine, or the warmth in my chest at her touch.
“Friends.”