Kaleidoscope Hearts

by Claire Contreras

  “Interesting. I just heard about you today, and I guess on that note, I must say you’re a lucky bastard,” I replied, earning a raised eyebrow from him. I should have probably toned down the mirth in my voice, especially being that Elle’s dad was standing right there, but the filter over my mouth was nonexistent.

  “You know what they say about the early bird,” he said, and with a wink, walked away. I wanted to clobber him.

  “What does she see in that guy?” I muttered under my breath, low enough that I thought Thomas couldn’t hear me, but his healthy chuckle rang out. He clapped a hand on my back and walked me toward the game room.

  For what seemed like an eternity, I watched Robert and Victor play some stupid video game where they shot up everything that walked by. Such pointless garbage.

  “I’m going to grab a beer. Want something?” I said, getting up.

  “You sure you don’t want to play?” Vic asked, even though he knew I would only play Madden. When I didn’t respond, he shouted for me to bring him a beer.

  I walked to the kitchen and greeted the people I knew. Mia, who was having an argument on the phone, managed to roll her eyes and signal at me in a way I understood was code for can you believe this shit? I saw her mom and Elle’s, hugged them quickly, and talked to them about Berkeley. I spotted Wyatt through the window. He was outside on his cell phone, smoking a cigarette. I paused. Elle was marrying a smoker?

  Every hint I caught from this life of hers seemed the opposite of what I would have guessed it would be. I pictured her painting, making her beautiful sculptures, eating those granola things she liked to eat, and drinking lattes. I didn’t picture her with . . . this guy. Maybe there was nothing wrong with him. Maybe I was just looking for an excuse to hate him, but I didn’t like the way he’d greeted me as if he knew me. Like he’d heard every stupid mistake I’d made when it came to Elle, and he’d righted all my wrongs.

  When I rounded the corner to the kitchen, I finally saw her and paused at the doorway. She was definitely one of those women who got better with time—like a good scotch. She was wearing an ivory dress that reached her knees, and it hugged her body like a glove. Her shoes were gold with spikes on the heel. Her hair was down her back in natural waves, but the front was cut shorter, and every time she bent over, she had to blow it out of her eyes. I waited for her to stand upright before I barged in, because when it came to us, that’s what we did. We didn’t knock, and we didn’t ask for permission. We just invaded.

  “Hey,” I said to her back. She gasped and stiffened, taking a moment before turning around to look at me.

  For what seemed like an eternity, she just stared at me, eyes wide, clearly questioning what the hell I was doing there.

  “Hi,” she said finally, her voice a croak before she cleared it.

  “I heard you’re . . .” I couldn’t even say the words. My eyes fell on her finger. The ring was glaring at me. Yelling.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  Our eyes met again. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t congratulate her on something I wasn’t happy about.

  “Are you happy?” I asked, inching closer to her. She took a step back, hitting the counter behind her with a gasp.

  “Don’t,” she said, putting her hands up defensively. “I . . . yes. I am.”

  “So he’s the one?” I asked, my voice steady, my heart coiling, my eyes begging.

  She tore her gaze away from mine. “He makes me happy, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  I moved closer. “Is that what it takes to be the one?”

  Her eyes flashed back to mine, and I swear, in that moment, I lost whatever doubt I had left. Right there, in those eyes, in the turbulent sea she created with just one look.

  “What it takes is showing up. What it takes is not walking away every time something possibly meaningful happens. What it takes is . . . Jesus, Oliver, I don’t even know what you want me to tell you!” she whisper-shouted at me.

  “Tell me he’s the one. Tell me he makes you feel the way you feel when you’re with me,” I urged, getting closer to her face.

  She let out a short laugh. “I haven’t seen you in what? Over a year? And you come in here looking at me like that and talking about how I feel when I’m with you. What am I supposed to do with that, Oliver?”

  I grabbed her elbows and held her there so that we were breathing on each other’s faces. The smell of cookie dough and wine infiltrated my nose, and I could only close my eyes and picture what it would taste like on my tongue.

  “Let go of me,” she said, in a low voice. “You are not going to kiss me. You do not get to kiss me. Not today.”

  “This may be the last chance I get to kiss you,” I said softly, my lips falling over her cheek. “This may be the last time I get to hold you.”

  “Oliver, please,” she said between a whisper and a plea.

  “Does he make your heart race like I do?” I whispered beside the corner of her mouth. “Does he make you feel like you can’t breathe sometimes?”

  “I like breathing, thank you very much,” she whispered, but sagged against my touch.

  “How often do you think about me, Elle?”

  “I’m not answering that,” she said, closing her eyes as my lips brushed against hers.

  “You’re not stopping me from kissing you,” I said, in warning.

  “I should. If he comes in here, he’s going to be upset.”

  “He shouldn’t have left your side to begin with.”

  She pressed against me, pushing me back slightly. The sound of heels clinking against the floor startled me, and I dropped my hands from her elbows, taking a step back.

  “Are the cookies ready, honey? I have nothing else to give people,” her mom said, appearing beside us.

  “Yeah, here. I’m making one more batch of pigs in a blanket and then I’ll be done,” she responded.

  Hannah stopped beside me with the tray in one hand and held my chin. “Doesn’t he get more handsome every time he comes home?” she said, pinching my cheek as she walked away.

  Estelle glared at her mother’s back as I smiled slightly.

  “He seems to know a lot about me,” I said when we were alone again.

  Her face clouded. “He knows enough.”

  “Enough to know he should worry about me and you being alone together?”

  “Enough to know you’re trouble. Deadly. Hazardous to my health.”

  I sighed, running a hand through my hair. This wasn’t going as planned.

  “So you’re doing it? You’re going to marry him?” I said, finally realizing this was a losing battle.

  “We’re engaged, Oliver. We’re living together. We’re opening a gallery together. That alone is like having a child,” she said, her words making me flinch. A child with him.

  “This is so hard for me,” I whispered, stepping in front of her again.

  “What we had . . . it passed,” she said, her eyes on the floor beside us.

  “Do you really believe that?” I asked, cupping her chin so that she could look at me.

  “You need to stop,” she whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. I hated to be the cause of them. I wondered how many I’d been responsible for throughout the years. That was when it really hit me: I messed up royally. This wasn’t an easy fix. This wasn’t a let me come over tomorrow and fix the training wheel I accidently broke. Or let me replace the canvas I threw a football in the middle of. This is life. This is what happens when you stop living in the moment. People grow up. They change, they move on, and you find yourself wishing you had looked up in time to walk with them.

  “You’re right,” I said, stepping back and dropping my hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. If you’re happy, I’m happy for you, my beautiful Elle.”

  I leaned in, gave her a kiss on the cheek, taking one last moment to smell her, and walked away.

  Present

  MY PHONE RAN out of battery a couple of minutes after I made it through t
he door last night, and I was actually grateful for the quiet. I’d slept on the couch the realtor insisted I leave in the living room, which was the only room in the house that was somewhat decorated. When I woke up this morning, I went upstairs and sat in the middle of my unfurnished bedroom, thinking about the last time I’d done that. It was when Wyatt had insisted on getting a new bed since I was moving in. He’d bought the house with an ex-girlfriend, way before we met. It didn’t bother me until I realized I would sleep in the bed they’d bought together. That was when he threw out the old mattress and told me to go to West Elm to pick out a new bed, which I did. The room is so dull now though—so vacant without the bed sitting in the middle. The bed, I gave to his mother. I couldn’t bear to sleep in it anymore. I slept in it for an entire year after he died, and I was done with it. Moving on meant giving up even the smallest sense of comfort I’d shared with him.

  Yet here I was, back where I started. It’s not that I don’t have an identity without Wyatt or our life together, but I liked the simple act of coming home and knowing what I would find here. For some reason, knowing that this place would no longer be mine soon made me feel a little lost. Where do I go now? Sure, I would buy a new place. Sure, I would decorate it to my liking, but would it feel like home to me? I gather myself up and walk downstairs again, peeking into all of the rooms as I go. And when I open the front door to leave, I drop everything in my hands, because Oliver is sitting outside on the steps with his back facing me.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  He sighs but doesn’t turn to face me. His hand runs through his hair. It’s getting long again. I’m surprised he doesn’t have it up in a small bun already.

  “I had this whole speech planned out, and now that you finally came out, I can’t even think,” he says.

  “How long have you been out here?” I ask, sitting beside him on the step.

  He shrugs, still not looking at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What was this speech you had planned?”

  He dips his head between his legs, resting it in his hands. “That’s the problem, Elle. Everything I had planned to say makes me sound like a complete asshole when I repeat it in my head. All my life I’ve been all about preparing for things and planning things out, and when it comes to you . . . I’m completely lost when it comes to you,” he says, tilting his face to look at me.

  “I’m not that confusing. I’m simple,” I say quietly, tucking my hands behind my knees to resist the urge to touch his hair . . . the scruff on his face . . . his full lips.

  “Your simplicity is maddening. Everything about you drives me crazy. The way you smile at me, the way you look at me, the way you talk to those kids at the hospital as if they’re adults—as if they matter . . . Not a lot of people do that, you know. Even me sometimes. When I’m working insane hours, I go into their rooms and only address their parents. I saw you teaching them to paint—teaching them to do something with their hands, with their time—and the way you looked at them . . .” he pauses, sighs, and looks at me with those evergreen eyes of his shining like I’m his world. “You know what it made me think? I want to have kids with that girl, because every child deserves to be looked at that way. Everybody deserves to feel that important.”

  My heart squeezes at his admission. I open my mouth to speak, but words fail me, so instead, I scoot closer and lean my head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of my head and wraps his arm around me.

  “Do you think I’m crazy?” he asks after a beat.

  “Absolutely,” I say, smiling, as I pull back to look at him. “Your complications are completely maddening. Everything about you drives me crazy.”

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “It sounded better in my head.”

  I lean into him and brush my nose against his scruffy, cold cheek. “I thought it sounded pretty good.”

  “You’re not mad that I came here?” he asks, running his hand down my side.

  “How did you even find me?”

  “I called Mia. I mean . . . after a while, I had a feeling you weren’t coming back to Vic’s house, and then I called Mia. When she said you weren’t there, I asked her for this address.”

  “That girl . . .”

  “I owe her a week’s worth of coffee.”

  I laugh. “You’re going to be able to afford her addiction on your residency paycheck?”

  He smiles. “Maybe she won’t notice if I brew it myself.”

  “Doubtful,” I say. We both laugh and look at each other again, my breath catching in my throat at the emotion in his eyes. He brushes his hand over my cheek softly.

  “One date, beautiful Elle,” he says in a whisper that makes my stomach coil. I take a deep breath, and I let go of my reservations along with my exhale. I want this. I believe in this.

  “One date,” I agree, smiling at his wide grin.

  I look over my shoulder, at the house I shared with the man I loved, and I sigh. I don’t feel as bad as I thought I would, agreeing to this date. Maybe for once the stars will align for us.

  I CHOOSE NOT to tell my brother about my date with Oliver because, well, I don’t have the guts to. I know he’d try to stop it before it happens. I don’t need him to verbalize that he thinks Oliver is a huge player and isn’t worthy of me. Besides, it’s just one date. Chances are it’ll be a lot less tame than our friends date anyway. In the back of my mind, I’m screaming don’t get attached just yet! But the thing is, it’s Bean. I will forever be attached to him, no matter what happens. I drive to Mia’s place and park my car in the visitor’s spot, where it’ll stay until we get back, then I go upstairs and wait.

  “I heard you have a date with Oliver, and from the looks of it, you definitely do. You’re sweating like a whore in church!” Rob says as soon as he sees me. I punch him in the shoulder.

  “No I’m not! Oh God, am I?” I head toward the bathroom and look at myself, realizing that he was exaggerating. But, damn. I am nervous. “Why am I so nervous about this? And where is Meep?”

  “She’s in the shower, and you’re nervous because this is your first date together. I mean, real date. Shenanigans don’t count.” He raises a blonde eyebrow and laughs when I glare at him.

  “I need a drink,” I announce, heading to the kitchen.

  “No, you don’t. You need to sit and relax and be still. You’re going to give me a heart attack!”

  “Stop being a pest,” I mutter, plopping down on the couch.

  “Okay, but on your date, do not sit like that. Nothing is more gross than a careless sitter in a dress.”

  My eyes widen, and I cross my legs, sitting upright. “Damn you. Maybe I should have worn jeans.”

  Robert laughs, throwing his head back. He looks so much like Mia when he does that. “I was joking! Geez, you really are nervous.”

  “Who’s nervous?” Mia asks, walking over to us.

  “Jitterbug over here is acting like a virgin going to prom,” Rob says, earning a laugh from me, and a look from Mia.

  “Way to lay it all out there,” I say.

  “She looks fine,” Mia says walking over to me. “It’s just Bean.”

  “Exactly. It’s just Bean . . . do I look okay?”

  Mia gives me a once-over and nods. “You look beautiful, like you do every other day, when you wear make-up and brush your hair and dress up.”

  “Meaning not like every other day?”

  “Well, you have to save beauty for special occasions, Chicken.”

  “Bitch,” I say, laughing until the knock on the door swallows my smile.

  “Ohh here he comes,” Rob starts singing like he was singing Man Eater, and I want to crawl into a hole and die. Mia swings the door open and whistles loudly.

  “Looks like somebody wants to get laid tonight,” she announces.

  And this time, for real, I want to crawl into a hole and die. I can feel my face burning as I walk to the door and tell Mia and Robert to shut up. Oliver is wearing dark jeans, black shoes, a g
ray button-down, and a fedora on his head. It’s simple and hot, and it matches the gray dress I’m wearing, so I have to laugh.

  “It’s like they’re meant to be!” Rob states loudly. “They match! This is too fucking cute! Mia! Get the camera!”

  “I hate you.” I say, looking at him. “I hate you.” I say, turning to Mia’s face, red from laughing. “I don’t hate you . . . yet.” I say, turning to Oliver, who gives me a slow, cocky half grin that makes me melt a little.

  “Please have her home by midnight, and make sure she lays off the vodka,” As Mia starts rattling off her list, she stops to look at my blushing face and bursts out laughing. “Awww . . . I’m sorry, Elle, this is so cute though. You haven’t been this nervous since you lost your virginity to Hunter Grayson.” She stops laughing and turns to Oliver with a serious face. “All jokes aside, if you hurt her again, I will fucking murder you, and I’m not talking about a nice quiet murder, I’m talking dick cut off, internal organs everywhere kind of murder. So please, be mindful of that.”

  “Okay, time to go,” I say, pulling Oliver’s arm out the door. “Some people have officially lost their marbles.”

  Oliver is doubled over in laughter as we walk down the stairs, so he has to stop every so often to catch his breath. I can’t even turn to look at him because I’m so embarrassed. And I shouldn’t even be embarrassed! We ALL grew up together! This is absolutely ridiculous. When we get to his car, he wipes a tear from his eye as he opens the door for me. I don’t even look at him when he gets in. I just stare straight ahead. But then he gets quiet, and his hand reaches for mine on my lap. He squeezes it gently, to get my attention.

  “Hey,” he says quietly, his eyes smiling.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the show. We’ll be here all week,” I mumble, making him chuckle. He brings my hand to his lips and brushes against it. I shiver at the feel of his scruff prickling over it.

  “They mean well,” he says, kissing my hand. “You look beautiful. I’m so happy I finally agreed to go on this date with you.”