Kaleidoscope Hearts

by Claire Contreras

  When Oliver doesn’t respond, I turn around and face him. He has his eyes closed as he runs a hand through his hair, brushing it back as if he’s doing outtakes for a Pantene commercial. He looks exhausted, like a man who had an eighty-hour workweek and still managed to come out tonight to help his best friend celebrate a win. But when he opens his eyes and looks at me, it’s as if he gets a second wind.

  “I know I’m fucked up, Elle. Or at least I have been in the past,” he says with a short laugh. He strides over and I stay still. I don’t want to interrupt anything he’s going to tell me in that voice, while he’s looking at me with those eyes. “You have no reason to open yourself up to me. I know I can’t have you, Elle. I know I shouldn’t have you. The job offers I’m getting are in San Fran, which means I’ll probably leave soon . . . again. Your brother would never approve of this . . . of us . . . of me being with you,” he says, sighing. He runs his hands through his hair again as he stands in front of me. He’s so close that the only thing between us is my crossed arms. He drops his forehead to the top of my head and lets out a long breath that fans over my face. “So why do I want you so bad?”

  “How many times are we going to go through this?” I whisper. How many times am I going to let you break my heart?

  “Just give me one date,” he says just as low, moving his face so that our noses brush.

  “Just one date, and then what? You leave the next day?” I say, stepping away.

  “Give me time to figure that part out,” he says, his eyes pleading with mine. I shake my head.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because last time we did this, you left me!” I say a little louder than I intend. He flinches. “We had that night, and you freaking left me! I woke up the next day and you were gone. All of your shit was gone! You didn’t even leave a note, just a ‘Bean left to Berkeley today, he says he’ll catch you next time’ from Victor who thought we hadn’t even seen each other at the party. Do you know how bad that hurt?”

  He looks away. “I thought we established that I’m fucked up.”

  “Yeah, well, stop fucking us all up along with you!”

  His eyes flash to mine. “You got engaged a year later!”

  “Oh, was I supposed to wait for you? Did I miss the memo where you told me you would come back, and we could actually have a chance at something? I’m so sorry, King Oliver. I must have missed that one, along with the apology for leaving me and then making me miserable at my own—”

  His lips smash into mine before I can finish the sentence, and I back him into the wall behind him. He moans when I press my body flush against his and dip my tongue into his mouth. My head clouds with his scent, his taste, and the hint of iron in our mouths that our nipping teeth have made. We kiss like we’re hungry . . . starving . . . for each other. Through the haze inside my head, I hear our names being called out, but I don’t process it until I hear the voice getting louder, closer, and our phones start to vibrate (his in his pocket, mine in the wristlet I have on).

  “Elle?”

  “Bean?”

  Jenson’s voice cuts through us, and Oliver gasps against my mouth and pulls away, or pushes me away. It feels about the same. The vibrating of our phones grows frantic. I look down, taking it out, and see Vic’s name on the screen. My eyes flicker to Oliver, who says Jenson is calling him. We nod at each other and answer our phones at the same time.

  “Yeah, she’s with me. We’re outside,” Oliver says into his phone.

  “I’m outside,” I say to Vic.

  “Oh. Is Jenson there with you? He went out for a smoke.”

  “No. I haven’t seen him.”

  “Are you coming back with us? I didn’t get to hang out with you inside.”

  “You were a little occupied inside,” I say and open my mouth to agree, when he cuts me off.

  “Okay, well we’ll see each other at home. Tell Bean the girls we were talking to are coming over,” Victor says, and my stomach turns.

  “Sure. I’ll tell him,” I say, looking at Oliver, who’s watching me intently.

  As soon as I hang up and put my phone back in my purse, Oliver reaches for me, but I put my hands up to stop him.

  “Don’t bother. Victor says you have company tonight. He wants you to know the girls are coming over,” I say, sauntering out of the alley and to the front of club. I catch Jenson standing, gaping at us with his mouth hanging open and everything. I don’t even care that he saw us right now. Tomorrow I’m sure I’ll give it more thought, but right now, I feel like I need to get out of here.

  “I’m taking a cab,” I say as I reach him and open the door to the first one I see. I glance over my shoulder and catch the torn look on Oliver’s face before I slide into the car and close the door—then I head to the only place I’ve been able to call home for the past two years. Thankfully, I still have a key.

  Past

  THE DOWNFALL OF ambition is sometimes letting life pass you by and only realizing it did so after the fact. Like the seasons, people change—their lives change—and suddenly you’re stuck between fall and winter, not knowing whether you should step forward or back. I didn’t go home on my breaks during my first two years of school, because my mom and Sophie came to see me at Berkeley. Then the guys came up for Spring Break one year, and the next we went to Vegas. Being back home felt weird at first, as if everything stayed the same except for me. That’s what I thought until I met up with a stressed-out Victor at Starbucks one morning.

  “If you don’t stop bouncing your leg, I’m going to stab it,” I said, looking up from the textbook I had in my hand.

  We were supposed to be studying—him for the LSAT, me preparing for a Genetics final.

  “I’m just . . . sorry. I’m just dealing with a lot of shit right now.”

  I put the book down and leaned back in my seat. “Talk.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose, long and heavy. I didn’t know what to expect him to say. Maybe he’d failed a class. Maybe he’d gotten a girl pregnant. Maybe he got himself a hamster. With Vic, there was no telling.

  “She’s engaged,” he said finally.

  “Okay?” I drew out slowly, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “Estelle,” he said, his brows bunching up. “She got engaged.”

  A couple of things happened at once: my mouth dropped, the air left my body, and the barista dropped the coffee she was making, causing a stir in the coffee house.

  “She’s what?” I said.

  He nodded, raising his eyebrows like we were on the same wavelength. Little did he know, while his wavelength was down where the familiar territory lay, mine was leaping into the mountains where warning bells rang. I felt like huge claws were squeezing around my neck. Estelle was engaged. My Estelle.

  “To who? I didn’t even know she had a serious boyfriend,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, trying not to get upset, because then my ears would get red and he’d know something was up. Where the fuck have I been? Where the fuck has . . . why hasn’t anybody told me anything?

  “She’s been dating that painter, Wyatt, on and off for a while now.”

  “Yeah, more off than on though, right?” Was I crazy? I’d heard it wasn’t serious. Or maybe I just assumed that.

  Vic shrugged. “Well, it’s fucking serious now. They’re moving in together, engaged . . . it’s just . . . she’s my little sister, you know? One thing is for Junior to go and get engaged, but when Elle does it, it’s like . . . I don’t know. I feel like I’m going through a midlife crisis.”

  I couldn’t even laugh or joke about what he’d said. I was too hung up on Estelle is engaged. Estelle is moving in with somebody—somebody that’s not me. Somebody that obviously has his head on his shoulders and was smart enough to not let somebody that perfect pass through his life without locking her down.

  “Aren’t they always breaking up?” I said again.

  “I guess he wants to make it so they do
n’t,” he said, biting on the tip of the pencil in his hand. “He’s such a pompous dick, too. He thinks he’s better than everybody.”

  “Really? And Estelle is moving in with him?” I looked down at the discolored wood between us on the table.

  “She says she loves him.”

  My chest squeezed, but I nodded and made a sound to show I was listening.

  “She says she’s happy with him and that he’s taught her so much. I think she’s just comfortable with him. I mean, he’s older, he has all this success, and they’re opening that gallery together.”

  “They’re opening a gallery together?” I asked. This couldn’t be going any worse.

  “Dude. I haven’t shown you the pictures?” Vic asked, taking out his phone and scrolling through photos. The one he landed on happened to be the picture they used to announce their engagement. Estelle had her hand over the guy’s chest, and they were both smiling widely for the camera. He had long blonde hair, like mine . . . a beard, like mine . . . and a girl that should have been mine. Estelle had her dark hair down in loose curls that winded down the front of her thin frame. Her hazel eyes were as wide and smiling as her beautiful mouth. I looked at the rock on her finger and quickly looked away. It felt like a boulder on my collarbone. I couldn’t breathe. I put the phone down and looked the other way.

  “So I guess she’s happy,” I commented, picking my book back up. I could feel Vic staring at me from across the table. I half expected him to call me out on why I was acting weird. I prepared myself a little speech where I would tell him that I was in love with his sister and that I knew he didn’t approve, but I didn’t care. I said I would do it. Call me out, I begged, but he didn’t. He sighed and leaned back in his seat.

  “I feel like an old man. My sister getting married—”

  “Engaged,” I corrected. “A lot of people get engaged and don’t get married.”

  Was I a dick for wanting that? Was I terrible for hoping the engagement would fall through? Why did it bother me so much anyway? I hadn’t been there. I left. I left. I had nobody to blame but myself.

  “You wanna come to the engagement party tonight?”

  He might as well have asked me if I wanted to wear a pink leotard to a football game.

  “What? You might as well keep me company,” he said, laughing at the look on my face.

  Because I needed to see her despite the circumstances, I agreed. Of course, I agreed. I would go and ask her not to marry that stupid painter. Or maybe I just needed to see her to make sure that she was truly happy. To make sure that the spark between us no longer existed. Maybe whatever we had in the past was gone now that she had something real. Maybe I waited too long. Of course, I waited too long. Every second it took to get ready to go to Vic’s house became the countdown to doom. I changed my clothes five times. Five. I felt like Sophie. On that note, I called my sister. I’d never told her about Elle because I knew she wouldn’t approve, but I needed to tell somebody, anybody. I needed to lay it out there for the universe to hear me, and maybe telling Sophie would make it real. Maybe telling her would stop the engagement . . . stop the wedding—I don’t know.

  “If you’re not calling to tell me you’re coming over to feed Sander, your voice is not welcome right now,” she said, sounding completely wiped out.

  “Soph, I fucked up.”

  She stayed quiet for a long moment. “Did you . . . okay, I can’t think of how you would fuck up, so enlighten me, oh perfect one, what did you do?”

  “You remember Estelle, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, we kind of hooked up in the past. A few times . . . more than a few times,” I admitted quietly.

  “Ohmygod don’t tell me you got her pregnant.”

  “No! God. No,” I said, my voice slightly defeated. Would that be the worst news ever? For me to have gotten her pregnant? Normally I would have said yes, but today, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Okay, so? Victor caught you and gave you a black eye?” she guessed again.

  “No!” I said, groaning. “She’s engaged!”

  More silence. The only tell I had that she was still on the line was Sander’s cooing.

  “And you’re upset about it because you can’t hook up anymore?” she asked.

  “I’m upset about it because I think I’m in love with her,” I said, my voice quiet. I hadn’t even admitted that to myself. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I think,” I added.

  Sophie laughed. “Well, this is . . .” she sighed. “This is something . . .”

  “Sophie!”

  “Bean, you call me in the middle of feeding to tell me that you’re possibly—but don’t know for sure—in love with the little sister of your best friend from third grade and that she’s engaged to be married to somebody else. I mean . . . I have no words. When did this start? When did you figure this out?”

  “It started years ago, but it’s never been anything real, you know?”

  “Only real enough for you to freak out when you hear she’s engaged?”

  My eyes screwed shut.

  “How can you not be sure you’re in love with her? Do you guys keep in touch?”

  “No. No. We haven’t spoken since . . . in a while. Since I came home last time . . . and even then, it was quick hi and bye—awkward because I was leaving a restaurant with a date, and she was getting there to meet hers.”

  “And now?”

  “And now . . . she’s engaged to some prick.”

  Sophie laughed again. “And you’re Prince Charming.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to her engagement party, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’re going to her engagement party?” she said. “Are you crazy? What do you think she’ll say?”

  “I don’t know. I’m hoping she’ll take her ring off and throw it in the guy’s face.”

  “Ollie . . .”

  I groaned. My sister only called me that when she was about to cajole me and say something I didn’t want to hear.

  “Maybe you should let her go. Maybe she wasn’t the one.”

  “She was! She is!” I said, pacing my room.

  “If you feel that way, why didn’t you try anything sooner?” she asked with a sigh.

  “Do you remember what it was like when Dad left?”

  “Dad didn’t leave. They got a divorce. There’s a difference.”

  “Whatever. Do you remember when that happened? What he would say? How he felt like he was unaccomplished and couldn’t provide Mom with anything?”

  “Oh my God. You actually listened to the crock of shit Dad fed us when he was probably drunk?”

  “Of course I did! I was a kid! He was my dad! And all my friends were so . . . I don’t know. I just had this vision of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be successful so that my wife didn’t have to work unless she wanted to.”

  “So you planned out this entire 1950’s reality for you and your future wife without taking into account that life actually moves on with or without you?” she said after a long pause.

  I let out a harsh breath. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I spewed, kicking the wall beside my closet.

  “Well, that’s my cue,” she said when Sander started crying. “Good luck tonight. And Bean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sometimes we let the first ones get away, but it teaches us to cherish the second ones that much more.”

  I mumbled a yeah, thanks, and promised her I’d visit tomorrow. I couldn’t deal with the idea of letting Elle get away. Was it so bad that I wanted to keep her? I finally stuck with what I was already wearing and left my house. Instead of taking my car, I walked to Vic’s. I needed to think about what I was going to do once I got there. Thinking didn’t help. If anything, the rustling wind in my ear confused my thoughts that much more. When I finally got there, I didn’t know what to do. Normally I went in through the back door, but today I wasn’t here as Victor’s friend, I was here as Estelle’s
. . . something . . . so I used the front.

  Thomas, Victor’s dad, wore a shocked expression on his face when he opened the door for me.

  “I don’t think you’ve ever used this door,” he said with a frown.

  “I figured I should, since it’s been a while.”

  “You’re still our boy, no matter how old you get or how many lives you save, Doctor.” He laughed the same laugh Victor had, with his shoulders quaking and his perfect, straight teeth shining.

  “So, big day,” I said.

  “Big day . . .” he agreed, looking around. There were only a handful of people there, but I figured this was only the beginning. “Vic is in the game room with Mia’s brother, and Estelle is in the kitchen. Her fiancé is . . . around.”

  I had no intention of meeting him, but as soon as the words left his mouth, the fiancé from the photo appeared in front of us. I sized him up quickly. He was definitely older than me, skinnier than me, a bit shorter than me, but he had a smile that demanded attention. I knew that smile, because I saw it on my own face when I looked in the mirror. So evidently, Elle had a type. If he hadn’t given her the ring on her finger, I would have smiled, too.

  “Wyatt! This right here is Oliver, one of Victor’s oldest friends,” Thomas said, swiveling around and signaling at me.

  Wyatt looked at me with the most serious brown eyes. At first, he frowned, then, as if something dawned on him, he smiled. “Of course. Oliver! I’ve heard a lot about you. Good to finally put a face to the name,” he said, offering me his hand, which I took and squeezed a little tighter than I normally would have.