Bryn’s entire body was vibrating with the urge to crack up. The more distressed Vivian’s expression, the more Bryn wanted to keep the gag going.
“I mean, there are so many of them,” Bryn said with a careless shrug, digging back into her fruit salad. “It’s hard to keep track of the vintage ones. Was she on Vine?”
“Vine?” Vivian closed her eyes like she was praying to the gods of humidity to grant her strength in her time of great need. “Greta Garbo is a cinema icon. She was the ultimate enigma who refused to play by Hollywood’s rules.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Bryn’s expression to change. “Queen Christina?Anna Karenina?”
Pretending not to understand, Bryn cocked her head to one side. “So, like, indie movies?”
“Indie movies?” Her eyes widened, color rising on her high cheekbones. “Greta Garbo defined what it meant to live authentically in a world that demanded conformity. She wore men’s clothing decades before it was acceptable, refused to play Hollywood’s games, and chose artistic integrity over commercial success.” Vivian’s energy blazed, eyes dark and intense. “She was androgynous, mysterious, unapologetically herself when women were essentially props. Garbo walked away from fame because she wouldn’t compromise who she was for anyone’s expectations.” She leaned forward. “She said, ‘I want to be let alone’ not because she was antisocial, but because she had to live entirely on her own terms or wither.” She sat back and rolled her eyes before muttering, “Indie movies.”
Bryn couldn’t contain her laughter for another second. The abject disgust on Vivian’s face was too funny. She broke, laughing harder when Vivian’s face registered that she’d been messing with her. For the briefest moment, she looked like she might laugh too, but held it together.
“I’m glad you’re in the mood to amuse yourself.”
“How could you think I wouldn’t know who the hell Greta Garbo is?” Bryn shook her head, still smiling. “How young and dumb do you think I am, Vivian?” She raised a brow. “Don’t answer that,” she teased before digging into her breakfast.
“If you know who she is, why would you choose that surname?”
Bryn shrugged. “Pretty easily.” She sipped her tea. “It’s hard to argue that a name like that is a ton of pressure when you’re only two days old.” She smiled. “It’s my real name. Stamped right on my birth certificate. And I guess now it’s too late to pick a pen name.”
Still obviously annoyed at having been teased but trying to hide it, Vivian went off on an impromptu lecture about bromelain enzymes in pineapple. Bryn was listening when her cellphone rang. Only her contacts could bypass her do-not-disturb settings by calling repeatedly.
“Sorry, I don’t know why…” Bryn flipped her phone over to see that it was Gloria calling. “I should take this. Give me just a sec.” She stood, not waiting for Vivian’s response, while tension coiled in her gut.
“Gloria, hi. Is everything okay?” Bryn turned her back to the table and moved toward the pool to get out of earshot.
“Bryn? Honey?” Gloria’s voice was thin, stripped of its usual brassy confidence. It sounded small, trembling in a way that made the hair on Bryn’s arms stand up. “I… I think I made a mistake.”
“What’s wrong? Where are you?” Bryn wanted to take off in a sprint but she didn’t know what direction to go in.
“I’m at the eye institute. For the in-injections,” Gloria stammered, the background noise a wash of wind and traffic. “Colleen dropped me off, but the shuttle,” she gulped for air, “the driver said I wasn’t on the list. And of course I didn’t want him to get fired. I understood why he left.” Her distress strangled Bryn’s racing heart. “But it’s just that I can’t see. The drops… Everything is a blur of light and I don’t know where the bench is. But I told the phone to call you, like you showed me.”
Bryn’s stomach dropped. “It’s Friday, G,” she said gently, keeping the rising panic out of her voice. “Did you change your Tuesday appointment?” It was more likely that Gloria had gone on the wrong day, but Bryn poured all of her hope into rescheduling and away from mistake.
“Friday?” The silence that followed was heavy with a confusion so profound it shattered Bryn’s heart. “But… I… Oh, God. I’m so stupid. I mixed up the—I’m an old fool.”
“You are not stupid,” Bryn said firmly.
She looked back at the table. Vivian was watching. Waiting. Probably wondering how Bryn planned to fuck up their progress. How was she going to tell her she had to leave? That they’d lose the morning?
“I’ll just… I’ll find a taxi,” Gloria said, her voice rising in pitch, bordering on hysteria. “I’ll walk to the corner. I can do it.”
“Gloria, stop. Do not move,” she pleaded.
Bryn closed her eyes. She could call an Uber. She could call the front desk of the medical center and beg a nurse to go sit with her. There were probably a dozen ways to get Gloria home safely that didn’t involve Bryn leaving Vivian’s house.
But the tremor in Gloria’s voice boomed in Bryn’s mind. She pictured Gloria, with her lemon-yellow glasses and her fierce pride, standing on a curb in downtown Miami, vision blurred by dilation drops, clutching her purse while cars whipped by. She pictured her scared. Pictured her alone.
The calculation took less than a second. Work, even life-changing work, could never be worth more than a friend.
“I’m coming to get you,” Bryn said.
“No!” Gloria cried. “No, honey, you’re working! You’re with the movie star! I remembered that, I just got my days—well, I’ll figure it out. You stay there. Silly old Gloria is not going to ruin this?—”
“You aren’t ruining anything. I have time,” she lied.
“Are you sure?” Gloria sounded too much like a little kid.
“I’m sure. Just stay exactly where you are. Don’t move an inch until you hear my voice, okay?”
