Perfect for Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Twenty-One

Elliot

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. ― Pablo Neruda

“Is there anyone home?”Kyle calls out as we enter Hazel’s apartment.

“Are we expecting someone?”

“No, I told you that Hazel is in Santa Cruz,” he retorts. “Happily tearing down the walls of her old house.”

He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of the debris that she posted on Instagram.

“She’s planning on staying there until five o’clock.” He looks at his watch. “I promised to help her with the walls and her bookcases. We have about ten hours to finish the job.”

Thanks to him, today I take another big step toward showing Hazel that there is something worth saving. Our friendship, but also us. Our love never died. I’ll show her we’re meant to spend the rest of our lives together.

The first step is reminding her of our plans. Confirm that I can make her dreams come true. Like the one where she owns as many volumes as the Library of Congress. Or at least a room dedicated to one of her biggest passions, books. It would be filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Among other promises I made, one was to build her a house with an extensive library. I’m not in the position to offer her that just yet, but at least I can create a home for her books.

As I survey the apartment, I’m saddened to see that her essence isn’t here. Only her distinctive aroma permeates the space. There are no flowers around, but their scent lingers. The living room area is bigger than I predicted from the outside.

Maybe the extra space will allow me to construct a built-in bench under the window so Hazel can read in there. I scan the area for a personal touch, something that suggests she lives here. Nothing. The hardwood floors need polishing. The walls are white, and the leather couches make the place look elegant.

This reminds me of her office.

It’s cold and so unlike her. She’s warm, filled with color and different shapes. I imagined her house would have tapestries or a few pieces of art hanging on the wall, and she’d definitely have flowers and souvenirs from places she has visited.

On the other side of the wall, I spot several cardboard boxes. I march toward them and read the scribbles with black ink. Books Box # 7. Every box says the same. It only changes the number assigned to it. Two of them read frames, fragile, handle with caution.

“Awe, you made the bookcases,” Kyle mocks me, pointing at the stuff I’m unpacking. “Do you want extra brownie points, my Eagle Scout?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I warn him. “Where’s the paint?”

“I had to see what I’m painting. She didn’t say much during our text exchange.” He shakes his head, pulling his phone. “She said, ‘I’ll be a rebel and paint the walls red.’”

“That’s all she said?”

Taking a few steps, I reach for his phone and read the texts before he makes up shit.

Kyle: I’m ready to help with your new digs.

Hazel: I’m assuming you mean house, apartment, the place where I live.

Kyle: Don’t be such a snob.

Hazel: But it’s so much fun to be snobbish with you.

Kyle: I’m regretting my offer to help.

Hazel: You owe me so many favors. Painting my walls and building my bookcases are a lovely way to start repaying.

Kyle: You want to paint? According to your lease agreement, you can’t paint the walls. Any damage to them should be repaired before the renter leaves the premises. Or you won’t get your deposit back.

Hazel: I’ll be a rebel and paint the walls black. No, red. Then I’ll make holes all over them. And I’ll blame the management company.

Kyle: You’re not funny. So, what color are you planning on painting the walls?

I look at the pictures she sent him. Samples and names of shades of gray. A Pinterest link with rooms painted with different shades of gray and accent walls. Some are pink, others purple, and a few of them are orange.

Hazel: I like the gray contrast with the accent walls. But pale pink and soft lilac are my new favorite colors. I plan on buying cushions that will match my walls. We could combine both colors for the walls (gray and lilac), and I definitely need to have fresh flowers. I have to find myself a guy like Hunter. He sends flowers to my sister almost every day.

Hazel: Can you get a discount on the paint?

I put the phone down and walk around the apartment. Entering her bedroom, I find enough space to place another bookcase. I know a place where I can buy her pillows the exact tones of pink and lilac she likes.

My heart stops when I look at the arrangement of cherry blossom flowers on top of her dresser. I walk closer, puzzled by the flowers. Are they natural? Next to it is a card and a box of handcrafted chocolates.

To do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. ― Pablo Neruda

We’d be by the ocean, gorgeous. I miss you.

Scott

My blood boils as I realize that Scott Everhart sent her flowers. But I push the feeling away. This is about Hazel. It’s about reminding her what we were and showing her what we can be. Happy again.

“Kyle, get moving. We have to finish before six,” I say, heading back to the living room.

“I am going to get the paint. Do you need anything else?”

“No.” I pause as I spot the basket I gifted her on top of her nightstand. One of the bottles of wine is missing. The sunlight illuminates a wooden frame on top of the unmade bed, and right next to it is Eli, the elephant I gave her when we were kids.

It’s impossible to picture Hazel sleeping with it, but my heart swells when I pick it up and inhale her distinct smell. I gifted it to her for her birthday, and she slept every night with it after I told her it had magical powers. If she were with it, I’d always be with her. Curious about the frame and what it holds, I reach for it. It’s the drawing of the house I designed for her when I was six, and she was five. With a chuckle, my heart warms up. This is where we could play all day long. A few months later, Dad helped me build a treehouse for her.

The pictures are hope. She hasn’t completely erased me from her life. Energized with this turn of events, I go to the living room. If only I can find the right words to assure her that there’s no one more important in my life than her.

But I’m getting ahead of myself because I see a picture peeking out from under her pillow. It’s a picture of her with Everhart kissing by the ocean. My heart stops as I recognize those loving eyes. They aren’t looking at me. I drop the picture, raking my hands through my hair while considering my next move.

I pace around the apartment,waiting for Hazel to arrive. The pit of my stomach is hollow. How is she going to react to my gesture? I halt at the distinctive sound of a key entering the lock. That’s my cue to take the casserole dish out of the oven and set it on the table. I made her favorite, mac ‘n’ cheese. At least it used to be her favorite dish.

Looking around the apartment, I make sure everything is in its place. It took me a few hours to assemble the bookcases and for the guys to paint the walls. However, we finished before dinner. I planned on going to the grocery store, but Hazel’s refrigerator is well stocked.

“Hi,” I greet her, rubbing the back of my neck.

She narrows her gaze at me as she enters her apartment. She hangs her purse on the coat rack next to the door and strides forward without acknowledging me. Then she stops in the middle of the living room, her eyes glancing over the freshly painted walls, and they stop at the sight of one of the empty black bookcases.

“They are ready for those boxes you have in the corner. Books and decorations,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

“I came along to help Kyle,” I add, shoving my hands in my pockets. “He had to leave, but he said he’ll text you.”

“Thank you,” she mouths, closing her eyes and nodding twice.

“Are you hungry?” I walk toward her. Her eyes open, meeting mine. She doesn’t move. My steps are cautious. I fear if I rush she might snap or leave me.

She shakes her head, scrunching her nose. “I…why are you here?”

“I want to show you who I am. That I never forgot what I promised you.”

She chews her lower lip and steps to the left, walking to the flower arrangement on top of the coffee table. “This is new. You didn’t have to buy a table.” She touches the table, then grabs the vase. “These are gorgeous.”

Turning around, she tilts her head and smiles. “Thank you...” she mumbles. Her gaze moves around the apartment and stops in the middle of the living room. “Where did you buy the table? I’m going to need a couple more to go with the living room.”

“Corner tables?” I ask, and she nods in response. “Give me a few weeks, and I’ll make them for you.”

“You made them?” She looks around the house again, and her eyes widen as she finds the closed boxes of her shitty bookcases. “You built them for me?”

I bob my head, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“But why?” She points at the boxes. “I had those ready.”

“Well, these look better with the apartment. They’re ready to use,” I answer, not sure if that’s what she really wants to know. “I didn’t take the books out, though. Only you know how to arrange them. Genre, favorite authors … I’d rather not try to decipher your code because we both know I’d fail.”

Her lips twitch as she tries to bite back a smile. She shakes her head. “I used to hate chaos. Now I try to keep things simple, organized, but not to the extreme.”

“Are you hungry?”

Hazel continues observing me as she sets the flowers on top of the table. “I’m confused.” She looks around one more time. “This is lovely, and I appreciate it.”

“But?”

“No buts. I’m just not sure if I want to fix what broke.” She sighs.

“We’re soul mates,” I remind her.

“We were kids,” she argues. “I’m not being cruel, just realistic.”

“You don’t believe in love anymore?” I arch an eyebrow, holding my breath.

“I do. I’m a professional matchmaker. My last two worked out well. Willow is my biggest achievement. Wills had a rough life, but she’s now in a good place. She believes in love, happy endings, and colorful adventures,” Hazel whispers, leaning closer.

“You converted your sister?” I gasp, touching my chest and faking horror. But smiling because Willow only loved one person, Hazel. She was always hard to please.

“Not exactly. She just found the guy.” She grins widely.

“The guy?”

“The love of her life.” A smile lights up her face. God. Her smile. It’s so beautiful and contagious. I miss it so much. I remember making her laugh all the time, just to see it often.

“The only person who could convince her that love is real. But that’s because she learned how his heart beat effortlessly for her.”

“You still believe in one true love,” I confirm.

“Of course. Everyone has that one person destined for them. The one who makes you feel things you didn’t understand or couldn’t admit existed.”

My breathing eases. For a moment, I thought she’d become a cynic. I’d hate myself if my stupidity hardened her heart. But after all we went through, I’m amazed she hasn’t lost faith in that one thing she has always treasured. Love.

She sighs. “It’s about finding just the right person.”

“I’m glad Willow found love.”

I steer away from words like, you’re the one for me, Hazel. I believe in us. We’ve had each other since we met. Twenty-three years of friendship, a lifetime of loving her, and I let it slip away from me.

Hazel pulls her phone from the back of her jeans pocket, taps the screen, and shows me the picture of a blond little boy whose sitting on top of the shoulders of a guy who looks a little like Scott. “These are her guys. Hunter, her husband. This little boy is my favorite person in the entire world, Charlie, my nephew.”

My eyes lift from the screen to meet hers. “You’ve always been my favorite person in the entire world.”

“Elliot.” A note of contempt creeps into her voice.

“But it’s true. There has been no one more important than you,” I start the conversation. “Not for me. I lost track of what mattered trying to keep my family afloat. And for that, I lost you.” I push my fingers through my hair, the anger from everything that happened coming back. I’m so fucking mad at myself. “It hurt like hell. I was in a dark place, and I took you for granted. You were my person, and you never gave up on me before.”

“Because you never gave up on me,” she whispers, lowering her head.

I close the distance between us. We’re an inch apart from each other. She looks up. Her eyes focused on me. The blazing anger diminishes and I see that as progress. I focus on her heart-shaped lips, her delicate features, and the tiny turned-up nose I love.

“Until I found out everything you hid from me.” Her words shoot straight to my heart.

Out of impulse, I cup her delicate chin, bending my head. My lips are about to touch hers. I can almost feel them. I remember them well—soft as silk. And so, I brush them. It’s only a light touch, but the contact is enough to send a surge of electricity through my entire body and make my heartbeat run at the speed of light. A rush I haven’t experienced with anyone but her. It’s an addictive sensation that makes me want to do it again.

Something about Hazel brings me back to life. But what is it? A taste of her will remind me what it is about Hazel that makes me happy, crazy, and furious.

But that caress is all I get. She takes a step back. “Please, don’t,” she warns.

A tear escapes from the corner of her eye, rolling down her cheek. “I’m not in a good place, and this will just confuse me even more. Can we be friends?”

“How can you ask me to be happy with stardust when you were my sun?”

“I can’t, Eli.”

“Please,” I beg her. “This is me, asking you for another chance. For your help to find me. I’m lost. Broken. Stuck in the hell I created for myself.” I stare at her lips, wishing they were mine again. “A place where you don’t exist.”

“If you knew me, you wouldn’t be pushing this hard, Elliot.” She continues to insist that her personality has changed.

I can feel her soul, and it loves with the same intensity. Her courage hasn’t diminished. On the contrary, she’s fierce.

“After my heart broke, I put back the pieces differently. I lost some and added new ones.”

“Despite everything that transpired between us—time, pain, and my unforgivable mistakes—the tie we share remains intact, Hazel.”

Our connection was real. That link we share can’t break or die—it’s permanent. Isn’t it?