Fight For Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Twenty-Two

Luna

Two hoursof yoga didn’t settle my anxiety.

It’s not the type of anxiety that ties me to a chair and doesn’t let me move, but the kind that makes my stomach turn and my mouth vomit thousands of stupid things to the guy walking beside me. I think the last time I felt this jittery was when I dated Jeremy Paul in the seventh grade. I couldn’t eat much for five entire days after he asked me if I wanted to go bowling with him, as his girlfriend. Needless to say, I shook off the anticipation after he kissed Trudy instead of me, after I won the bowling game. Asshole. He was the first man who couldn’t take my competitive streak.

“Do you have more of those supply bags?” Harrison glances toward my tote bag after handing over the last one I brought with me.

“Nope, I grabbed the last ones I had in the pantry after I changed.”

“So, we give money away for now?” He looks around, then nods his head when he spots whatever it is that we are looking for.

“If you have any, yes. I’m a little short on cash today.”

“I went to the bank, just in case we needed it.” He hands me an envelope, and he winks at me. “Unmarked ten-dollar bills.”

“Tyler’s flowers.” We stop in front of a flower shop. My eyes grow wide when I see all the flowers through their windows. “They have sunflowers, and mums, and…”

I walk inside, grinning when I read the sign on top of the baskets:

CREATE YOUR OWN BOUQUET, HANDLE THE FLOWERS WITH CARE.

Forgetting all about the knots in my stomach and the man who’s staring at me, I begin choosing a few flowers. Sunflowers, daisies, yellow and orange roses. Fall is so close that they already have all shades of burnt reds and oranges. I stop abruptly, turning to look at a startled Harrison.

“What did she like?”

“Um, who?”

“Your mom.” I close my eyes momentarily as I wait for his reply, enjoying the fragrance in the shop. It’s the first time in a while that I don’t have to pull out the spritzer to bring back the sweet scent of flowers.

“She just loved them,” he answers, and I can hear the shrug in his voice. “Dad brought home all kinds, almost daily. The bigger bouquets were for when he fucked up.”

“You should try to control your cursing,” I suggest, eyeing the little girl close to the counter.

“Fuck,” he mouths, wincing. I roll my eyes.

“What else did she like?” I ask after he picks up a boxed arrangement of long-stemmed pink roses.

“She was an artist,” he responds. “Loved her family and liked to paint with watercolors. She did some pottery too, but cut glass was her passion. She created the best stained-glass windows I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

We pay for the flowers and leave the store. As we continue walking toward the memorial, he tells me about his parents. His father liked to sail, but his mother’s motion sickness didn’t allow them to take long family trips on their yacht. She loved the ocean but preferred to vacation in the cabin they owned in Vermont.

“We didn’t have nannies. Only one person came to help her with the cleaning, Sarah. And only because Dad insisted.” He smiles. “She grew up with seven brothers, and her mother did everything and taught them how to do everything.”

“She followed your grandmother’s teachings?”

He nods. “I know how to cook, clean, iron, and even change diapers. Though, I haven’t done the latter since Hunter was potty-trained.”

“You’re a catch, Everhart.”

“Take note of that.” He winks at me, smirking as he starts to count off on his fingers. “Good cook—” He releases his index finger— “Babysitting training, and I could be a great homemaker.”

He looks so smug, so proud of himself. I roll my eyes.

“If I see any job openings that require those credentials, I’ll make sure to send you the email.” I wave dismissively as we arrive at the memorial, searching for my phone.

He looks down at me. “Thank you for coming with me. This changed so much.”

“You’ve never been here, have you?”

Harrison shakes his head, taking several deep breaths. I take his free hand and squeeze it tight, waiting for him to talk or take a step closer to where they lay. I feel unsettled. I had no idea how this would affect him.

“Harrison?” I spot a tall, slender woman only a few steps from us gawking at him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbles.

I’m sure I’m the only one who heard him say that, but the couple in front of us are stunned and frozen in place as they see him.

His face turns red, his breathing harsh. I can feel the anger pouring out of him in waves and am impressed by the way he holds it under his skin, though I have no idea what has set him off. I caress his wrist with my thumb, trying to soothe him.

“Ileana, Damon.” He nods at them, his voice neutral. “This is—unexpected.”

“The kids wanted to visit, and we thought about your…parents,” Ileana says as she stares at the bouquet of daisies she holds in her arms.

Two boys and a teenage girl stare at us, and those bored faces tell me they have no desire to be here. I bet they would rather be at Coney Island or the Statue of Liberty, or any other non-depressing tourist trap.

“I remembered your mother loved flowers,” Damon adds, his voice shaky and his eyes on the ground.

Harrison’s breathing is settling, but his eyes continue watching the horizon.

“Hi,” I greet them, releasing Harrison and shaking their hands. “I’m Luna, his girlfriend.”

At least, that’s how people know me at the moment.

“Nice to meet you,” Ileana shakes my hand, not moving her gaze from Harrison who is still frozen in place. “I’m Ileana. This is Damon, my husband. These are Josie, Cash, and Chase.”

“Are you from here or just visiting?” I ask, though I’m unsure why considering I would much rather be making my way into the memorial than making small talk.

Morbid curiosity, if I had to guess. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of an accident that changed Harrison’s life, and I finally have a chance to see the damage and learn about the casualties.

“We used to live here. I moved to Texas with my family sixteen years ago,” Ileana says.

“Fifteen,” Harrison corrects her, staring at their daughter for one too many seconds.

She’s almost as tall as her mother, the same light brown hair, but with her tips dyed purple and pink. She has her mother’s green eyes, but her facial features aren’t that similar. I hold in a gasp, as I remember him mentioning that he had a live-in girlfriend fifteen or sixteen years ago.

“Harrison, I’m sorry about—” Damon shuts his mouth when Harrison glares at him.

He waves his hands, shaking his head. The anger is gone. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I can at least tell that he’s no longer upset.

“It was long ago, Damon. It’s all good. What you two did was f—” he stops, looks at me and smiles—“freaking wrong, but it worked out for you. Maybe if we had met somewhere else at another time, this encounter would’ve been different.”

After a long pause he adds, “Friendlier.”

He’s not upset, but my heart tells me that he wants this to be over right about now. “Ready to go in?” I ask him.

He bends and kisses my cheek. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

We excuse ourselves and step inside, and I watch him as he scans the crowded hall and closes his eyes with a sigh. “I think they’ll understand if I just drop the flowers and leave.”

“They are with you in your heart, Harry.” I repeat the words that I heard often from my Abue when I used to tell her that I wished for a gravestone to visit for my mother. Visiting a sprawling lavender field didn’t feel the same. “This isn’t necessary, just an idea I had. We can go somewhere else.”

He doesn’t answer me, but we continue to walk and I try to keep an eye on him as much as I can. I can’t read his silence, but I know that whatever is going on inside his head, he’ll be able to work it out. I just wish I could do more than hold his hand and watch as he tries to ground himself to the present.

“Thank you,” he says after a while, “for being with me. I’ll be right back.” He takes the flowers from me and walks away.

I want to follow him, but I give him space. He’ll come back to me soon enough.