All of You All of Me

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Laila is intangible and inexplicable.” Willow hides her face in the crook of my arm. “I want to know, to learn at least something about her. Then, we can leave. But our time is about to run out. We all have jobs and responsibilities waiting for us at home.”

  “We will stay for as long as you need to stay.”

  Grant Beesley, Jr. and Laila Richardson are a puzzle. Harrison knows they are close to the sea, staying with another couple. Everything about them is confusing. They have two daughters, but they aren’t married. According to Hazel, Laila doesn’t believe in marriage. Willow has some recollection of their father working, while Hazel had no idea that Grant has a degree in Political Science and a Master’s Degree in Business. Grant received a trust fund at the age of thirty. He used that money to support his family. The couple travels around the world with different missionary groups. According to the director of the current project, they donate their time as often as possible. He’s never met a couple so committed to one another and saving the poor. They’ve also promised when they have money, they will hand it over to the project.

  Their daughters worry about their parents’ financial situation since they are giving away their personal money. They wanted to know everything. Do Grant and Laila have enough to support themselves for more than twenty years? How can the girls take their parent’s home? Harrison asked a friend to look into the financial information. A week ago, we found out that the trust that Grant senior set up was for life. The allotted stipend set was a fortune years ago. In a few years, it won’t be enough to live off of it.

  Hazel is already planning for her parents future. My brothers and I offered to help when she knows what she wants to do. Willow said that as much as she’d love to do that, she’s just now getting out of debt. Once she has a solid career and enough money, she’ll be helping, too. Of course, before we assume any role or determine the next step to help, we have to talk to Grant and Laila.

  “No matter how many breaths I take, the frustrations keep building. I feel like I’m going to explode.” Willow wipes away her tears. “Sorry, I’m always a mess.”

  Kissing her eyes, I ask myself what am I doing with her? She needs this time to be with her parents and to get to know herself. I already had that time. Leaving, though, isn’t an option.

  “Breathe, be about what’s going on with you. Run as many miles as you need. Lean on me when you feel like you can’t continue. I don’t want the perfect, happy version of you, Willow. I want every version. All. Of. You.” I trace her lips lightly with the tip of my finger. They part, and I have such an urge to devour her.

  Her gaze slides to the side and she takes a step back. I get the message, stay behind the line and only admire her.

  Is that the message she wants to convey?

  Or what she thinks is logical?

  The air crackles with the electricity produced by just being close to her. I haven’t lived long, but I have traveled far and learned a lot in the past months. I know that the attraction between us isn’t something we can replicate. This emotion that started the night we met, it is us. It is her and me. I keep falling in love with her, repeatedly.

  She smiles at the little kids that come to visit while she is working. She takes another piece of my heart when I see her playing with them and showing affection to the people of this town and asking if we can lend her money so she can help more. I fall more and more when she isn’t afraid to show her scars.

  But I’ll give her the space she needs, believing when she’s ready, that her heart will know where to find me. That her mind will be clear enough to search for me. My biggest hope is that she’ll give us a chance.

  “You’re beautiful, gorgeous, Willow Beesley,” I say, lifting the tension around us. I serve her with a wink and a grin. “You look exhausted. Maybe I should take you to the next town for the night. There’s a hotel with real beds and showers.”

  “You insist on going to that hotel, Mr. Everhart.” She smirks, lifting her palm and patting me twice on the cheek. “I know your intentions. Keep dreaming.”

  “Baby.” I capture her hand kissing her open palm twice. “Of course, I’ll keep dreaming. You’re the star in all my dreams.”

  “Dinner is ready,” Hazel calls us.

  Willow jets off leaving me behind.

  LEARN FROM THE PAST, DON’T REPEAT IT

  The book of the past is over. Focus on what you plan to write today; it’ll affect the next chapter.

  ~ Anonymous

  Willow

  LEAVING HUNTER WITH the excuse of wanting to eat was for the best. I can’t handle my feelings for him and my parents at the same time. Yet, at night when I think of happy things, he’s my first thought. Being near him lights me up inside. That sweet, gentle smile, those eyes radiating peace. I hate to think that he’s my favorite place in the world. The most exciting activity to do. My favorite person. Being close to him is overwhelming. Just now I was about to combust. His touch makes me nervous. His embrace arouses every cell of my body. I’m just not ready for all of him.

  It never fails, when we are so close, we create a tingle of electric sparks. He creates a pandemonium of emotions inside of me. This time, I feel like I can handle most of them. But I’m not ready to prove my theory. Another day or another year when my emotions are under control and my life is organized. He deserves to have a strong woman by his side. I doubt I’m strong enough—not yet.

  Slowing down my pace, I enter the kitchenette where Harrison and Hazel are talking too close to each other. I keep watching, waiting for something to develop between them. But nothing happens. Fitz told me to leave it alone, that men and women can be friends. Soul mates can be only friends. Understanding the mind of one person is a gift, not an affair. Is it?

  “Should I leave the two of you alone?”

  “No, join us.” Hazel waves her hand, then turns the phone she’s holding. “Say hi to Gramps.”

  I wave frantically. He’s smiling at the screen, wearing his favorite shirt that Hazel gifted him. Who knew Gramps loved Iron Maiden? Hazel, of course. “Hey, handsome. How are you?”

  “Missing my girls. How are you doing, Willow?”

  Hazel and I take turns telling him about the projects we’ve been working on here. Hazel suggests donating money to the town to make a few more improvements. My grandfather surprises me once again by asking for more details about how she’s going to use the funds. He’ll send it as soon as he hears from her. The man has a big heart.

  There’s a knock on the door, but we continue our conversation.

  “Someone get the door,” Harrison yells after the second one. “I’ll take this before you start sexting my contacts.”

  “It was one time,” Hazel defends herself.

  Harrison gives her a hooded glare, locking the screen.

  “That woman started it. It was spur of the moment. A simple, ‘what are you wearing,’ and boom, she sends me her very explicit, very naked pictures.” She rubs her eyes. “No amount of bleach will erase what I saw. None.”

  “Willow, Hazel,” Hunter calls out. “There’s someone here to see you.”

  We both hurry to the entrance, where Hunter is standing next to my father.

  “Where’s Mom?” Hazel blurts, coming to a stop.

  He shakes his head. Fuck, she’s not coming. Hazel gives me a we are packing soon glare.

  “She’s still not well.”

  “Wait, she’s sick?” Hazel’s voice carries her characteristic sarcastic tone. “I bet it’s daughteritis. Doctors recommend quarantining the patient far, far away from the patient’s daughter. I’m glad you always follow doctor’s orders.”

  “Hazel,” I reprimand her.

  She rolls her eyes and snarls. “We came to visit them. She shows up all cheery. Not even five minutes later, they disappeared leaving us without an explanation.”

  Exhaling loudly, she closes the distance between our father and herself. “What is it, Grant?”

  “Is it us?” I question befor
e he leaves without giving us any other explanation.

  “It’s them, Willow,” Hazel says. “For years I swore it was us, but after their display, I conclude it’s definitely them.”

  “Please, girls. It’s not what you think.” Dad exhales. With a frustrated face, he starts to explain to us what he means.

  It’s what we’ve been thinking all along. My mother is a passionate woman. She wears her heart on her sleeve and gives so much. He adores the woman. But unfortunately, she also has a temper. Little things trigger her anger. She can’t commit to one place, one job, one person . . . one anything. The exception being my father.

  “I’m the luckiest man in the world. She loves me the most.”

  “You’re saying she doesn’t love us?” I ask, holding Hazel’s hand tight. I’m trying to shield her from my question and the answer. My head pounds as I feel anger mixed with anxiety in my chest, waiting to take over.

  “She loves you. Adores you is a better word. You are her little girls.” He rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Laila has trouble showing affection. She tried so hard to be the best mother, but her emotions didn’t allow her to be what you two needed. It got to the point that I felt she’d do something bad.”

  Sadly, I understand his concern. Clutching my sister’s hand, I feel some relief. During the days after my diagnosis, I read as much as I could. I visited forums and learned from people affected by BDP. Among the material I came across, there was an article about a woman who had five children, all by different men. She became an addict at sixteen. It was the best way to handle her feelings. Those children now live with their respective fathers, except the youngest. This woman was so passionate, so explosive and lost in herself that she killed her partner and her youngest son.

  Is my mother in such a state that she could’ve done that to Dad, to us? Hunter’s hand reaches to mine. They interlock and my rapid breathing begins to settle.

  “I’m here,” he murmurs in my ear, kissing the sensitive part behind it. It’s a simple sentence filled with so much. He’s my one stable force in this chaotic moment.

  “You can’t say she adores us. Or tell us how much you love us, and think we’re okay with the way you’ve behaved for years,” I say. The words aren’t meant to hurt him, but he flinches. “Leaving wasn’t the answer. In a way, you chose her over us. You chose your relationship over the children you had to protect.”

  Before I tell Dad my own story, I push the anger away for one moment and bare my soul to him. We discuss everything from the abandonment I felt when they began traveling, to dealing with a broken mind. My father listens without interruptions. His face fills with grief and repentance. Once I finish, I prompt Hazel to do the same, to tell him how she feels. Her story is different than mine, but pain and sorrow can’t be measured or compared. We both suffered because of their neglect.

  “Do you know that your father isn’t who you said he was?” Her voice is provocative, fearless. “Gramps isn’t a cruel tyrant who hates everyone. You could’ve left us with him.”

  “Dad wanted to send Laila to a mental institution,” Dad says in a serious voice. His eyes flash anger. “She doesn’t belong there.”

  “She needed help. We needed to be with our family,” Hazel retorts. “We were children. Small, defenseless children who needed their parents—at least one. You abandoned us.”

  “I left you in good hands,” he retorts.

  “The family next door was good hands?” I ask with indignation. “They had five children, how could you think it was the best?”

  “The McFees tried their best, but they had a full house,” Hazel who adores that family agrees with me. “Did you ever care if they had enough money to keep their own children fed?”

  “They loved you,” Dad says. It appears that his only answer to everything is love. “Karina was capable. I left you there because I love you.” His tone mirrors the frustration inside me. “Laila was using razors to hurt herself. She was snapping at you all the time. I feared she was a ticking bomb. I had to protect you from her. What else was I supposed to do?”

  The blood, the cutting, the razors—I know the story too well. Some say it’s a way to seek attention, while others do it to release the burning feeling inside their chest. I did it right when my brain was on the verge of breaking. I covered my pain in more pain. My mother must have been desperate, lonely.

  “You take her to a professional. Because let me tell you, Father, that isn’t normal.” I gasp, covering my mouth after yelling that. Did I really say it? Yes, I did because the best thing that happened to me was having my family and friends to help me understand that I needed help. “Traveling around the world is only denying that there’s a problem.”

  I pause, controlling my voice. “Mom has a big problem. I can’t imagine how you deal with it. It can break you, too.”

  “It’s ironic,” Hazel says, glaring at him. “That you’ve repaired, and built houses for hundreds and hundreds of children you don’t know.” She straightens her spine, lifting her chin. “And yet, you don’t give two fucks about your wife or your own children,” Hazel concludes.

  “Tell me, Grant,” I speak. The heat of the conversation is firing my voice. “Is this volunteer gig penance for fucking up your family or just a way to pretend that you’re close to a holy prophet?”

  “You can’t possibly imagine what it was like to make the choices I did,” Dad says, breathing loudly.

  “No, we can’t because you pushed us away,” I counteract, my free hand balls into a fist. “In a way, you erased us from your life.”

  He shakes his head. “That was never my intention, Willow. Never. I loved you from the moment the doctor put you in my hands. There’s no greater love than the one I have for you girls.”

  His shoulders drop. “No one will ever understand why I did what I did. I made a judgment call. Was it right?” He shrugs, looking at both of us. “At the time, it felt like it was the only solution. The family next door was loving and caring. We only left a few days at a time.”

  “It became a few months,” Hazel adds. “Then years. We came to visit because we want a relationship with you. Or at least to stop yearning for it.”

  “I want that, but . . .”

  “She doesn’t,” I finish his sentence.

  “No, we’re leaving.”

  Dad tells us that Mom found another place to volunteer. “She’s embarrassed about her behavior,” he explains.

  Unfortunately, I understand. There have been times I fucked up a relationship because I was too embarrassed to apologize for my mistakes. That’s the old Willow. If my mother doesn’t know how to handle her emotions, it’d be almost impossible for her to see these people eye to eye again.

  “So that’s it?” Hazel and I sound like little children learning that the Easter Bunny never existed, and we will never celebrate the holiday again.

  He asks if we can meet them at the place they are going. It’s just outside of Mexico City. Hunter, who hasn’t left my side, consults with Harrison and Scott about this new trip. We agree to find some time at the end of summer.

  “We need to know more about your partner,” Hunter suggests. “Laila must have triggers. If we learn them, it’ll be easier for all of us.”

  Dad says he’ll try to borrow a computer or find a library where he can email us everything he knows. As Hunter requested, Harrison makes the necessary arrangements for my parents to travel tonight. He explains that once he lands, his people will provide him with a phone and a computer.

  “I’m sure your daughters will appreciate receiving daily updates about you, sir.” Harrison hugs Hazel, kissing the top of her head. Fitz and Scott who I just noticed were in the room do the same. The three of them hug me when Dad leaves telling me I will always have them. We are a family.

  “Dinner, people.” Harrison breaks the tension.

  “Why don’t we eat and come up with a plan? Grant is willing to donate a hefty amount to the town. We need to send him a list
of improvements they need in order to receive it.” Fitz heads to the kitchen.

  “Are we staying, or do you want to leave?” Harrison starts serving once we are all seated around the table.

  “I vote for finishing the week,” Anderson, one of his friends suggests.

  After discussing my grandfather’s donation, we talk about the possibility of going to dinner and surfing. We eat. Hazel and I offer to wash dishes tonight. I want to talk to her.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask my little sister who is chewing her lip as she rinses the dishes and passes them to me.

  “Can I hate them tonight?”

  I arch an eyebrow, tilting my head. “For only one night?”

  She nods. “Tomorrow, I’ll remind myself that he’s been living in some kind of hell separated from his daughters while dealing with her.” Then she sighs. “I can’t imagine Mom’s pain, Wills.”

  “I can,” I whisper. She must live terrified of everything and hating everyone, herself the most. I want to help her. The kid inside me wants to search for her mom, make everything better and hope that she’ll love me again. But I hate her, too. I hate that she’s weak like I am. I hate us both. I shouldn’t. My head hurts, and I hold it shaking it several times as I try to make sense of today’s events, of this week. Nothing helps. Maybe Hazel makes sense. Hating them isn’t fair. But giving ourselves a chance to do it, and purge the feeling out of us isn’t a bad idea.

  “If I had my phone, I’d call Elliot,” she says, her shoulders slumping. “Feels like this is something I should share with him. He witnessed what happened. He was there for me.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “It’s like when I slept with nameless guys. In my mind, I pretended they cared. But the next day, I knew it meant nothing.”

  I want to tell her that she doesn’t know that. That maybe if she calls him, he’ll fly out and be with her. I think about Hunter, who worked his schedule so he could be here with me. That’s when I get it. She’d expect that big of a gesture from him, and she’s afraid Elliot won’t do it. I believe my sister’s free pass is to hate my parents, but also to dream that he’ll come to her side.