by Ellie Hall
I don’t move.
The walls and borders between Maxwell and I remain erect. Maybe I should have a party. I call Lottie, Tyler, Colette, Minnie, and Harry. I tell them to invite friends—the more the merrier. I stock up on drinks and snacks. When I return to the apartment, I put on music and remind Mew to be a friendly host.
As everyone filters in, someone turns up the music and the conversation gets even louder. The last time we gathered here was for our Galentine’s Day party when Maxwell stopped by.
I eye the door, half expecting him to sidle in.
Even though the living room is full of friends and laughter, it somehow feels empty. I feel empty.
Better now than later, that little voice tells me. Strangely, she sounds a lot like my mother.
We talk about Tyler’s next trip to France, Catherine gallivanting around Italy, and how Colette wants to visit Belgium. Lottie’s contribution is copious amounts of laughter and a reminder of the time as she repeatedly checks her phone. After we’re all giggling about college days, work mishaps, and Minnie’s trouble with her neighbor—tell me about it—I’m reminded of old times.
Only, now, I’m different. Instead of regaling them with stories of my many dates, only one guy springs to mind. And stays there.
“What brought on the Belgian fixation?” Lottie asks Colette after she brings it up for the third time.
“Was it a guy?” Minnie follows up.
There’s chatter about the latest in their love lives.
“What about you?” Colette asks me. “You have that certain glow.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of yoga,” I mumble.
Lottie asks, “You went out last weekend, right?”
“Oh, um.”
“Oh, um?” she repeats.
I shake my head.
Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Expecting more guests, or Harry at least, I swing it open without thinking to look through the peephole. Maxwell stands there and asks, “Why didn’t I get an invitation? You know I’m the best baker on the block.” He smiles, fully jesting, and balancing on his air cast and holding a platter of tartlets topped with berries and cream.
I break out into a sweat everywhere: my hands, my feet, my neck, my hairline. Have I mentioned I never get ruffled? Well, his unexpected pop-in, or rather pop-over, rattles me. It unhinges me. My cheeks match the tiny bows on Minnie’s shirt.
Lottie appears at my side, giving us both a long once over. “I didn’t realize you were expecting anyone else.”
“I told you to invite friends.”
“We’re not enough?” Tyler teases.
They all remember Maxwell and welcome him in, not realizing the boundary I created. Not knowing about anything that’s gone on in the last month because I kept it to myself.
Maxwell and Tyler each get a helping of nachos and chat about the ankle injury.
“Hazel, you didn’t mention you took a ski trip. Why wasn’t I invited?” Tyler pouts.
“It was a work thing.”
Maxwell shrugs. “Mixture of business and pleasure.”
“How is UUniversity going, anyway? I saw an ad for it on social the other day,” Colette says.
My stomach cartwheels.
“Yeah, it seems pretty cool. You should open a center where people can meet in-person. You can teach yoga, you could—” Tyler starts.
“You should close your mouth,” I mutter so softly no one else hears me.
Maxwell gives me a sharp and surprised look.
I steal a corn chip covered with cheese from Maxwell’s plate and stuff it in my mouth.
Lottie helps herself to another raspberry lime sparkling water and keeps checking her phone.
“Expecting a call? A text?” Tyler asks.
Colette’s eyes flash in Maxwell and my direction. “A text. A phone number…A contact. That’s him! The one that when you think about you get all mushy inside,” she exclaims as though she just solved a whodunit.
“The Galentine guy!” Lottie says, making the connection.
“He was here all along,” Minnie says.
Everyone watches me, including Maxwell.
“It’s after nine.” I gesture to the door.
Mew scolds me with narrowed cat-eyes.
“Since when is that late to you?” Tyler asks.
“I have to get up early to teach a class,” I answer. Early being eleven tomorrow morning.
“I should go anyway.” Colette gets to her feet and glances at her phone again.
There’s a round of oohs.
“He gets off work now. Thanks guys.” Colette dashes out the door.
Lottie whispers, “She’s head over heels for this guy. They’ve been spending tons of time together, but she’s afraid it’s moving too fast. When his visa expires…”
“Nothing wrong with fast,” Tyler says. “If you’re into it, you’re into it. No need to try to control the rate of speed.”
“But she wants to be careful,” Minnie says pointedly.
I wonder if they’re speaking in code to each other.
I feel Maxwell’s eyes on me. In fact, they’ve hardly left me all night. I’m all mushy inside, outside, all over.
“No, she’s afraid of falling in love,” Lottie says dramatically.
“Look what happened last time,” I say.
Maxwell asks, “What happened?”
“Left at the altar.”
“So sad,” Lottie. “On that note, I should head out too. I have to work in the morning.”
That leaves Tyler, Minnie, Maxwell, and me.
Tyler’s knowing eyes flit between us then land on Minnie. They say goodnight and leave together.
Then it’s just Maxwell and me.
I interrupt the silence with clinking glasses and plates as I clean up. He grabs the hem of my sleeve, halting me in my tracks. “Come here.” His words tickle me. “What’s this about me making you mushy.”
“You were there. It’s no big deal. That was last month. It’s not like I’m still mushy.”
“I think you’re mushier than ever.” His not-quite brown eyes tease me.
“Mew, should I be offended?” I ask as the cat stalks into the room.
“And UUniversity. Care to comment about that?”
I shake my head.
“Hazelnut.” His voice is stern.
“Maxie.”
“I took a risk baking cookies that time. I took a risk, taking that online class. I took a risk coming over here tonight. I want to take a risk on us. But if that truly isn’t what you want—” Maxwell’s face begins to crumble when I don’t reply. He pulls back.
“I need to think. As I said, I need space.”
He gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek in reply.
I want to lean in. I want him to hold me. I want to hear that this is going to work out.
But I know well enough that there aren’t guarantees. I could end up just like my mother.
“I’ll be here,” he says. “Or rather, there.” Then he limps to the door and with a brief glance over his shoulder, he exits.
Mew glares at me, sticks his nose in the air, and retreats down the hall.
I don’t blame him.
The same what-ifs Maxwell mentioned in his UUniversity posts torment me. My own advice shouts loudly in my ears.
It’s not that easy though.
The fear of rejection is strong. I don’t want to be like my mother—duped and left never knowing if my father was remorseful for what he did.
I’m more confused than ever.
I’ve never given a full-hearted yes to much of anything in my life. I’ve never committed—not to jobs, apartments, cities, or guys. But what-if?
Another voice joins in the cacophony. What if it does work out? What if I experience lifelong happiness? I mean, I’m not so naïve to think there won’t be ups and downs, but the what-ifs work both ways. Right?
And yet, that stubborn voice in my head puts its foot down, demanding I protect my
heart at all costs. And the foot is slender, has a pedicure, and closely resembles my mother’s.
My chest is heavy, aches. I slouch into bed even though it’s relatively early by weekend-in-the-city standards. Laughter and cars filter from the street below. This apartment has high ceilings, a modern, neutral palette, a city vista of twinkling lights, and the river far off in the distance.
But I’m alone.
This can’t be all there is.
The thought that I have to protect my heart at all costs weighs on me. It already hurts. The pain is from pushing Maxwell away. From his absence. So how is this protecting my heart?
Instead of the voices in my head, I listen to the building’s noises, the creek of the floor overhead, the intermittent honking outside.
Picking up one of Catherine’s romance novels, I start reading.
The main character in Sweetie Pies and Queen Bees makes bad decision after lousy choice. She has me frustrated and disappointed and more than once, I want to throw the book across the room or sit her down and talk some sense into her.
The guy loves her. She loves him. What’s the problem?
I continue reading then tear myself away from the page, not trusting the happily ever after, and log onto my computer.
In the private UUniversity group, I confess that I care about a guy, a lot. But fear is holding me back. Overwhelm. What-ifs.
TrinaT is on most nights. She writes: We were talking about this recently. What if things go right? Didn’t you say to focus on that?
She’s got me there. A sigh flutters out of me. I managed to excel in loving my life. This program is a case in point. But my love life? That’s another story.
Then the avatar for the BankerBaker lights up. Yeah, what about the guy who adores you? Who’s willing to do anything to make this work? To prove himself worthy. Who learned to bake because he fell in love with the girl next door but was too immature to tell her outright so he tried to lure her by wafting the sweet scent of chocolate her way?
Oh wow.
I feel a tug. Longing. A craving.
I only have one solution.
Cookies.
One Step at a Time
Maxwell
Rarely in life have I felt lost. But without Hazel, my inner compass spins wildly. Then again, I’m not going anywhere fast with this air cast.
I’d hoped by showing up at her gathering, we could pick up where we’d left off. But I’m not sure where that is anymore. She says she doesn’t want to be with me, but the look in her eyes, the lean toward me, everything about her appearance tells me a different story, lighting hope in my heart.
But I’ll respect her wishes even if I don’t understand them.
UUniversity gave me an outline for a possible future and provided a roadmap. Maybe it’ll show me how to find my way forward...or lead me to Hazel. Her friends mentioned she was somehow associated with UUniversity. Maybe another student? Administrator. What would her username be? Hazelnut. No, that’s my nickname for her. Something to do with ballet, yoga, or hiking? Those are among her many interests.
I log on.
NicoleB writes: Where’ve you been? How’d everything work out?
Professor Loves-Her-Life posts a quandary about a guy and what-ifs and things going right.
Am I going hazelnuts?
I blink a few times. She’s into yoga and self-improvement. I recall her mentioning she developed an app a while back. Made bank. Maybe this is her most recent endeavor?
Is Hazel Professor LHL? I’m about to knock on her door but hold back. She didn’t trick me on purpose, but I feel duped. Confused.
I consider calling Conrad. He’d tell me to man up.
I consider calling my sister. She’d tell me to leave her alone.
My parents? They’d start planning the wedding.
No. I can handle this.
They’re just feelings.
I really need to get back to the gym.
I know what I want but am used to getting my way.
The answer comes as the cursor blinks. Patience. Prayer.
The others chime in, telling Professor LHL to go for it. Telling me to give my mystery woman time, assuring me that if it’s meant to be she’ll come around.
They have no idea I’m talking about Hazel and unless I actually am crazy, she’s talking about me. This buoys me. I could run around the block right now.
Then Professor LHL types: The hardest part might be the craving. See, I love chocolate chip cookies. I have the recipe, but they’re not the same. He makes them better.
TrinaT writes: Are you using him for his baking abilities?
Then Nicole posts about a dozen exclamation points. She figured it out.
It’s not a huge stretch given my username BankerBaker.
TrinaT: It’s you two, isn’t it!
Guilty.
NicoleB: Professor, with all due respect, there’s some proverb about teaching what you need to learn, but you also have to practice what you preach. Go give the poor guy a chance. Worst case, it doesn’t work out. Best case, it does and you live happily ever after.
Moments later, someone knocks on the door, and the key slides into the lock. She knows I’m not quick on my feet at the moment. But it’s as though the key slides into my heart. It bursts with hope.
Hazel stands in the doorway with her hair piled on top of her head. She wears a cozy sweater, leggings, and fuzzy slippers. “Like NicoleB wrote, worst case it doesn’t work out between us. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“She also said best case, it does and we live happily ever after.”
“That’s just it. I know it won’t work out.”
I frown. “Evidence please because that goes against what you teach in UUniversity.”
She draws a deep breath. “I started the program as a form of life coaching. It’s easier to help people all day and night with their problems, goals, and dreams. But I’ve been on the hot mess express for years. I am not the chief executive officer of my life. I’m a big failure. A fake.”
“You’ve helped loads of people. You helped me. You’re not a failure or a fake. You just need to listen to your own advice. Walk the talk and all that.”
I rub her shoulder and then she moves in for a hug.
Through the tears dampening my fleece, she says, “How? How does a person get over the pain of the past?”
I hold her steady. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I do know you heal one step at a time. Sometimes literally.” I give my boot a shake to lighten the moment.
She half-giggles. “I just don’t always make it easy for myself. I get in my own way, overthinking and analyzing things.”
“You have a community of women ready to help you. You have me.”
She tips her head up to meet my eyes.
“I came to UUniversity when I was feeling stuck—I’d achieved those big dreams that everyone is supposed to have. I had them but something was still missing. You.”
Her eyes brim, but she holds back tears.
“Confession: I didn’t do all of the modules. I didn’t participate in all of the tasks. But it gave me the confidence to branch out beyond my comfort zone...mainly because my comfort zone was no longer comfortable. I think you’ve created a comfort zone but might feel the same. Something is missing.”
“Or someone,” she says. “I found him. That’s what scares me.”
The sadness in her eyes dims the candle of hope within.
“I’ve never told anyone this. Not even Catherine.” Her voice is scratchy, but she continues anyway. “When I was little, I caught my father cheating on my mom.”
My stomach twists and I reach for her hand. I’m the guy that leaves the room or the movie theater during cheating scenes. I can’t stomach it.
“I never told anyone because when he spotted me catching them, he gave a subtle shake of his head and mouthed, No one will believe you.”
“And you’ve spent the rest of your life proving yourself?” I w
hisper.
A dry laugh escapes Hazel’s lips. “You should run UUniversity. That’s exactly it. I’ve proved myself in every other possible way...and kept my distance from men. One date and done. I never give them a chance to cheat which has also meant I never gave myself a chance to fall in love. Until now.”
The candle blazes. I keep my cool though. “You think I should be a life coach?” I shake my head and wrap my arms around Hazel. “I’m better suited to banking and baking. But I’m so sorry about all that with your father and how you’ve kept it with you all this time.”
“The thing is, my mother knew. They stayed married for appearances—their money and social lives were enmeshed. He took his secret to the grave.”
“But you said your mom knew.”
“She was too proud to admit it. But I could tell. When he’d go on business trips—that’s when we’d do things like move and make crazy-roni—I’d hear her crying at night. She told me, ‘Never trust a man with something as precious as your heart.’ And I never have.”
The words until now echo. I say, “You’re intelligent and beautiful and courageous—”
She playfully whacks me. “Oh, come on, you’re going to give me a big head.”
“No, I’m the fat head. Remember, Audrey? But joking aside, you’re also strong. I think your heart is stronger than you’re giving it credit for. And I happen to know that I’m not the kind of guy that would do anything to hurt you like cheating.” I scrub my hand on the back of my neck.
“You can’t make that promise,” she says sharply.
“I can. You know how we’re birds of a feather? In college, I met a girl. We fell for each other hard and fast. I thought she was the one. Turned out I was one...of three. She was dating three guys. Now, when I say we were dating, it wasn’t casual dinners out. We were planning our future. She met my family. We spent the holidays together. This went on for three years. Her roommate exposed her. It was like an intervention. All of us guys showed up together, completely confused. Humiliated. I got punched in the gut. The other guy got knocked in the jaw. We each thought the other man had our woman.”
“She was playing all of you.”
“Sure was. Like a fiddle. Like a race to see who’d be the most successful. Then she’d ditch the other two and go ahead and marry the victor.”
