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With Eli, I’ve started spending more time in the room. Mostly because he invites conversation, pushing me into feeling almost comfortable around him. Also because I just like being around him.
I stay today because it’s almost closing time, and there’s not much else to do. And because Eli’s dampened mood when he came in has me concerned. Even now, with his smiles and his teasing, he’s not at full strength. Like someone has been messing with his dimmer switch, powering him down to a fraction of his normal glow.
I slide down the wall, sitting directly across from him with my knees pulled to my chest. As he snuggles Doris closer, Eli’s gaze falls to my forearm, which is freshly marked up thanks to a feline encounter earlier in the day.
He frowns. “You’re scratched up again. Catsreallydon’t like you, do they?”
I glance down at the angry red marks. “I really dotry. But no—the cats have clearly sent out an all-feline bulletin about me. It’s a conspiracy. They’re plotting my demise.”
Eli laughs, and pleasure thrums through me, a warm slide of happiness. “How’s that going to work if you plan to be a vet? Can you have a canine specialty or a no-cats policy?”
Sighing, I say, “I’ll have to find a way to peacefully coexist with cats.”
“Ah. The suck-it-up-buttercup plan.”
“Pretty much.”
“I have faith in you.” Eli’s blue eyes twinkle—almost but not quite at full strength—as he shoots a smile my way. It sends a chain reaction through my body, this one on the cellular level, a molecular game of telephone delivering what I’m sure is the very wrong message.
This is not the first time Eli has flirted with me. He also flirts with Beth, who’s twice his age. And with Cyn, the part-time vet tech, who’s almost Beth’s age and seemingly incapable of smiling.
But Elineverflirts with Katrina and the other young and pretty volunteers and staff who fawn all over him.
In other words, Eli only flirts with the women who aren’t really viable options.
I’m so,soglad I fall into the flirt-because-I’m-safe category.
“How are the vet school applications going?” Eli methodically strokes Doris’s back, and she sighs like she’s having the best sleep of her life. Maybe she is.
I make a face. “Fine.”
Better if I could work up the nerve to ask the vet who works here part of the week for a recommendation. But Dr. Evie is highly intimidating. There’s a reason she’s better known as Dr. Evil around the shelter.
“I’ll bet you aced your test,” he says. “Which one was it again? The MCAT or the LSAT?”
“It was the GRE. And I did well.” When he raises his eyebrows, I grin and drop my gaze to my hands. “Fine. Ididace it.”
Which is good because those tests are not cheap, and I didn’t want to pay to take it again.
“I knew you would.” He sounds almost proud, which makes me feel ridiculously happy.
“You couldn’t know that. You barely knowme.”
“Or maybe I know you better than you think, smart girl.”
Now, there’s a thought that just about breaks my brain.
I’m always shocked Eli remembers or seems interested in any of my life’s details. He has a way of coaxing information out of me during his visits the way I coaxed Doris out of her kennel with soft words and a treat.
I feel a sudden stab of guilt, realizing I don’t do the same for him. Not because I’m not interested. But it’s justhardfor me. Even when he makes it look so easy.
My shyness is a product of both nature and nurture. My parents were academics and researchers, Dad in literature and Mom in biochemistry. Both the very stereotype of the absent-minded professor, better with books and beakers than people.
Though they absolutely adored me, their only and perhaps accidental daughter, my childhood was a little too quiet and solitary. They encouraged independent study, independent thinking, and just, well, being independent.
The sad part is that I’ve always been drawn to people. I remember aching to have the kind of childhood I read about or saw in movies where kids gathered in groups to play outside. Sleepovers. Parties. Riding bicycles and coming home at dusk, happily exhausted and smelling like damp leaves and fresh air. Our house was way outside of Asheville with beautiful scenery and some land, but no neighbors nearby. No possibility of easy friends.
I think my parents assumed I was like them: self-sufficient and nerdy enough to let books be stand-ins for other people. While I am bookish and admittedly nerdy, I’ve also realized I fit into the little discussed category of people known as shy extroverts. As in, I get energy from being around people. But I am in no way outgoing or talkative or socially brave the way people typically imagine extroverts.
