Perfect for Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Nineteen

Hazel

Happiness is not something you postpone for the future; it is something you design for the present. ― John Rohn

“After the way I behaved,I can see why you don’t believe you’re everything to me,” Elliot says, walking around the living room. “Nothing can be undone. But I wish it were possible. I want to erase all those years we spent without each other. I want to hug you, to talk to you for hours. Most of all, I want you to forgive me for everything that happened between us.”

“You’re forgiven, but I don’t think we can go back to…” I shake my head.

“But you’re here, so everything can go back to the way it used to be.”

I hug my stomach, soothing the uneasiness that his confession created. He erased me. I was nothing while he stripped. That’s a lot to process in just minutes, or days, or months. Perhaps my brain is broken—again.

Breathe, Hazel. Take a few sips of air in, then the same out.

“Can we stop?” I glance at him and then around the house. This is just too much to take in for one day. “Change the subject, talk about something different.”

How about get out of my house. Lose my number. Make the pain go away.

“Why?” He glances at me.

“This trip down memory lane is too much. I was in therapy for years.”

He straightens and takes a deep breath. His brows furrow, and his eyes fill with worry. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I whisper, rubbing my sternum.

“What’s wrong?”

“Have you ever heard that the most beautiful of memories are the worst? They cut your insides as if they were shards of glass. Nails puncturing your heart, making you bleed as you recall them. It’s worse for people who suffer from depression.”

Leaning forward, I say. “I have depression. I learned to manage it pretty well.” I lift one of my shoulders slightly, the corners of my lips stretching lightly. “Sometimes, I break down without notice.”

My phone buzzes again, and I welcome the distraction.

Scott: I forgot to ask, have you eaten yet?

I smile at his question. He worries so much about me, and even from a distance, he tries to make sure I’m okay.

Hazel: What do you think?

Scott: That you haven’t because when you’re busy, you forget. Do you want me to send you food? My treat.

“Depression?” Elliot’s voice is low.

I lift my gaze and find him studying me.

“That’s impossible; you’re so active and strong-willed.”

I shake my head because the stigma surrounding mental illness is too broad. Many people aren’t receptive or understanding. “So? Depression is like love; just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

My stomach growls at that moment. Elliot looks at me and presses his lips together.

“It’s past seven. Have you had anything to eat yet?”

“I could use something sweet,” I respond.

“Let’s grab a pint of rocky road with chocolate chips on top,” he suggests. “But first, we should have something hearty at the diner.”

“The diner?” I angle my head, thinking about their chocolate milkshakes. Moving my gaze toward the kitchen, I conclude that it’s a no-brainer to accept the invitation. After I have some food, I can tackle my room.

I open my mouth to say yes but change my mind at the last second. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Seeing you is confusing and painful. We’re now two strangers. Maybe we should stay that way.”

He’s crazy if he thinks I can do this again. I think about all the men I’ve dated since we divorced, and stop breathing. This is almost exactly the way I react when they start wanting more. Bugs are crawling under my skin. My lungs stop functioning. I have to go.

“You’re back. We should find a way back to each other,” he suggests. “Heal, revisit our past…”

I healed, didn’t I?

“We can’t go back to what we had. Revisiting old places, reliving memories…” I hug myself.

Elliot is right next to me, extending his hand. “Hi, Elliot McFee. Divorced. I own a construction company. Surfing is my passion, and construction is my profession. Have dinner with me, Hazel?”

My gaze drops along with my stomach, and I snatch my hand from his hold. “I’m sorry, Elliot, but I just realized it’s late. I have to go back to San Francisco,” I exhale as I say the words, touching the base of my neck.

I grab my things not paying much attention to him. Once I’m ready to go I say, “Make sure you lock the door.”

When I arriveat my apartment, I sent a text to Scott.

Hazel: Have you ever had a serious relationship after?

Scott: After what?

Hazel: After the girl who pretended you knocked her up and wanted a big wedding or a settlement.

As usual, he calls me. I answer with a hello.

“Are you in your apartment?”

“Yes, I just arrived,” I say, hanging my purse and taking off my shoes. “Where are you?”

“Home,” he exhales and remains silent as he opens the doors of the cabinets over the bar.

I can picture him taking the bottle of scotch, searching for a tumbler, and pouring himself a glass. Three fingers. Four if it was a hard day.

“Why are we talking about her?” His tone isn’t angry, but it sounds like he’s spitting poison.

I never met her. Only heard about her and all his other “serious” relationships from Fitz. Later, Scott confirmed that everything his brother told me was true. One of them didn’t want to deal with Hunter’s agoraphobia. Another cheated on him. The last one pretended to be pregnant.

“Just wondering because I’ve never seen you date long term.”

“You haven’t either unless you count the last two years we’ve been together.”

“Were we together?”

“Is there a point to this conversation, Bee?” His voice is soft but rough around the edges. Only a man like Scott can pull something like that.

“Elliot dropped by my parents’ house,” I explain. “While we spoke, I realized I haven’t let any man get too close to my heart.”

“You don’t,” he confirms. “It’s well guarded.”

But I gave it to you, and you never wanted it.Did I keep Scott away from me too?

“Did you eat something?” His voice is soft.

I march toward the kitchen. “No, I’m about to make myself a sandwich.”

“Come over here, and I’ll cook for you all weekend,” he offers. “Or I’ll take you out on a date.”

“We never went out on a date. Well, not in Manhattan.” I sigh, pressing the speaker button and setting the phone on the counter as I open the loaf of bread.

“I’d take you to Juanes,” he says. “Your favorite Mexican restaurant. One of the few places where nobody is watching us.”

“I love that place, but it’s not romantic.” I spread mayo on top of the bread and go to the fridge for the deli meat.

“Well, it’s winter. The option to take you out on the yacht and cook for you is off the table.”

“How about just staying at home?” He offers after a long pause.

“Is it because we’re not in New York that you’re different?” I dare to ask, cutting a tomato.

“There’s nothing different about me.” He grunts, then exhales. “What’s the purpose of this call, Bee?”

“I have so many questions.” I open the turkey, staring at my healthy dinner, removing one of the tomato slices.

“Please, don’t ask what you’re not ready to hear.”

“What does that mean, Scott?” I grab the second slice of bread and close my sandwich. “You sound frustrated, defeated…what’s going on?”

“I feel like I’m in the middle of a war, and I’m losing.”

“What are you battling?” I take him off speaker, grab my plate and my phone, and go to my bedroom.

“My demons, your past, the uncertainty of my future…” He trails off as if losing himself on the answer of what seems his entire existence. “I wonder if I’m part of your timeline, or how can I make my way back to it.”

That last sentence caresses my soul. He understands my essence. I’m not my timeline. They don’t define me, but creating them matters.

“Does it matter if you are?” I retort, waiting for an answer. “The last time I checked, you didn’t want to be a part of it. You know, commitment, kids, house, dog…infinite.”

“Can we change the subject?” he suggests. “I’m not in a good place.”

And that’s our biggest problem. I always want more, everything from him, but he only gives me smidgens of what I need.

“When are you coming back?” I ask, wondering if I should take a plane to be by his side.

“Sunday.” He sounds like a hurt lion.

“How was your day, grumpy?”

“Too short, too long…” His rough voice lowers, but the edge and defeat don’t disappear. ”I didn’t like it.”

“You want me to fly back home?”

“Where is home, Hazel?”

I gasp. Where is home? Looking around my bedroom, I only find four white walls, a bed I’m just enjoying, and a new comforter I got only a few weeks ago. I reach for the frame I have on my nightstand. It’s a picture of us.

“That’s a complicated question, Scotty,” I respond weakly, scared at the emptiness taking over my mind.

“Have you found what you were looking for?”

“I’m not even sure what it is that I’m looking for,” I whisper.

“It’s time for me to go to bed,” he announces.

“Please, don’t leave me. Not yet,” I plead, trying to fill the void with his voice. “I miss you.”

“You have me for as long as you wish,” he responds. “Tell me about your day.”

My heart relaxes knowing that he’s by my side, that his voice will accompany me until I’m asleep.

I’m not alone.