“We can go to the Keys, it’s not too far,” she informs me. “Luna and Harrison can come along.”
I press my hands to my desk. My back stiffened. I wasn’t ready for anyone to know Hazel and I were together. Harrison was too protective of her. Once he learned about it, he’d give me hell. I wanted her to myself, at least for a few more months. Later we could announce to everyone she’s finally mine.
“What do you think will happen if we tell him?”
She frowned, her eyes finding mine.
“Look, I’m having a great time. The last thing I want is for Harrison to fuck with this. In fact, I don’t—”
Hazel’s body became still. She studied me. “You mean to say what we are doing is a secret?”
“Yes, it’s ours. If anyone finds out the magic might disappear.”
“I guess…” She drew a sharp exhale.
“It’ll be a lot to explain now and … yeah, I’m fine with that.”
“I get it, I fucked up from the beginning,” I say, regretting the way I handled her heart. “But you mean more than you think.”
Nuzzling her hair, I place a kiss on the back of her ear. “So much more.”
She stiffens, her body barely moves. My heart slows down, this will be so much harder than I believed.
“For now, I’m staying at the Ritz.” I release her, heading to the door. “But I’d like to go house hunting this weekend—with you.”
I leave, hoping that I made the right decision.
Chapter Eight
“I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.” ― Edgar Allan Poe
Hazel
It’s a misty night in San Francisco. I watch the raindrops race down the window. Usually, the rain calms me. Not this time, nothing is helping me settle: not a glass of chardonnay, or the jazz filling the air. The sound of the drums and trumpet rushing in, and around me have a different effect on me today. I wish I could put on my running shoes and run as far as my legs would allow. The events of the day continue swirling around my head. They are like a sequence of bad dreams playing over and over.
I wish that Scott had stayed holding me all night long. Or that I had kicked him from my life—forever. ‘I fucked up’ aren’t the words I wanted to hear. Yes, you fucked up and now what do you expect?
What do I expect from him?
Nothing.
I just don’t want to be alone tonight. As soon as Scott departed, the void grew. I hate the heavy feeling that’s overtaking me.
Suddenly, the music stops, as my phone rings. It’s Luna’s ringtone.
“Hey,” I mumble, picking up my phone from the charging station.
“Uh-oh,” Luna huffs. “Where’s my cheery bestie?”
“Regretting not going with you to Italy,” I reply, going to my bedroom and flopping on top of my bed.
“This change, the new beginning is supposed to be a happy moment,” she states the obvious.
“Well, yeah, but…”
I tell her about my entire day. From the moment I saw Elliot to just now.
“There was one thing I couldn’t leave behind even if I had wanted to,” I continue. “The memories and the depression.”
“You should’ve called me right away if you’re not feeling well.”
Luna gets it. She understands me, and yet, she doesn’t hover much when I need to take a step back and regain my strength. Depression is something that’s all over me, even when I don’t want it. I’ve tried to break away from it several times, but it’s my permanent companion.
I can feel it crushing my ribs, making it hard for me to breathe.
Depression is a strange illness. While I am having the most intense sensations going inside my head, everyone thinks I’m fine.
“How bad is it?”
“Not as bad.”
She’s witnessed the bad. Those moments when the anxiety mixes with the depression, I’m scared of dying, yet frightened to be alive. The idea of dying passes through my head often. Though I never share that while it’s happening or afterward.
How crazy would I sound to the rest of the world?
I don't have a visible illness; therefore, people don't think I'm sick. In fact, for many, depression is an excuse to avoid situations or tasks. That’s why I’d rather work myself to death than being on a bed waiting for death to take me. Being a workaholic isn't about showing off, but avoiding criticism. The best coping mechanism for me is keeping my mind busy and planning my future. Looking forward to a better tomorrow.
“Are you sure you don’t want me there?”
“No, I’m fine,” I repeat.
She’s fine, don’t worry, Harry. I hear her saying on the other side of the line. Nothing like Willow.
“I swear, I’m fine,” I repeat on the phone, and to myself.
They shouldn’t compare me with Willow. My sister and I deal with our mental illnesses differently. Just because I'm not hiding from the world, it doesn't mean I'm not afraid of life. Like her, I struggle with my thoughts. Actually, Willow thinks my depression was temporary. A lapse due to a broken heart. Depression isn't something that happens suddenly, but there's always one event that unhinges one’s brain and lets the darkness and the demons out to raise havoc—and sometimes they never leave. For me, it was Elliot's betrayal.
No one knew I married. I carried the farce for so long, and it pained me not trusting my best friends with that part of me. The rings remained in the velvet box, Elliot never visited me. Neither one of us had enough money to visit the other. The times I had, he would be too busy and advise me not to make the expense. Not until he could spend time with me.
Our entire relationship felt fake. I was ashamed to tell them because it had been almost four years since the fact. How do I tell Grandpa I’m married? I waited so long to do it, it sounds like I've been lying to him for a long time. I was a liar, and I hated myself for that. As I took the flight, I had changed everything. We would announce our marriage. Gramps would help us.
I planned on telling Elliot about the monthly amount I sent Kyle to help his family. It was so easy. We could make everything work. I had written an entire strategy on how things would change from that day forward.
Things would be tight. I knew I made more money than he did, but we could make it work. Between my salary with Gramps, Scott’s special projects, and the investments I had on the side, we could live with it while he went back to school. Gramps had properties in San Francisco and a management office. We could lease an apartment from him, and I could work remotely.
I was so excited. Just thinking about my life—my future life was erasing all the insecurities I carried. Everything would work out the way we planned. The wait was almost over. We were almost at the end of the tunnel.
The cab arrived at Trenz. I paid the fare and climbed out. I was jittery, my stomach queasy but my cheeks hurt from smiling widely.
“You're here with a party?" the bouncer at the entrance, who wasn’t Elliot, asked me.
I thought he said he was a bouncer or did he said no to that job and stayed as a waiter? His stories confused me sometimes. I couldn’t keep things straight, and sadly, he didn’t tell me much.
“More like here to check on the husband.” I winked at him handing my ID. A surge of power overtook me. I wasn't afraid to show the world who I was. A woman about to recover her groove and show her man we are stronger together. “Where's McFee?”
The man looked at his watch and laughed. “You women are obsessed with the guys. His routine is about to start. Get a drink and take a seat.” He chuckled. “Who knows, you might be the lucky one he takes home tonight."
His words hit like lead in the pit of my stomach. What did he mean by that? The one he takes home? I slammed a hand on my forehead when it all becomes clear. Just a few seconds ago, I said I came to check on the husband. He was friends with Elliot and recognized me. I sighed in relief as I continued my way through the herds of ... women?
Why are there only women here?
The music was
as loud as expected. The bass predominated the melody. Usher took over the vocals with his smooth bedroom lyrics that made many ladies want to drop their panties and...I spotted him—Elliot—in the middle of the room. The lights focused on him and his naked chest while he moved through the stage, rubbing his body against the women who were touching him like a precious diamond they wanted to buy. He smiled at them, murmuring something in their ears as they placed money on his tiny thong.
I froze as I watched the man I loved going from one woman to the next. Touching them the way he used to touch me. Looking at them as if they're treasurable, each one was the only woman on the planet that existed for him.
Loss is hard to handle. After that night, I couldn't imagine that I’d ever feel better. The world seemed dark, meaningless. Everything I did was pointless. Life lost all its color. I lost hope, and for a few weeks, I wanted to die. I lived in a haze where I did not understand where I was going or what I was doing. I had trouble getting out of bed. I quit my jobs, and refused to leave the apartment.
Fitz allowed me to drown in sorrow for a week. That’s all he gave me before dragging me out of my bed and the house. He wasn’t the only one worried about me. My grandfather suggested a trip, taking a semester off, and maybe a new wardrobe. None of that mattered. Scott pushed me to go back to work. He drove me to and from school every week. I will never forget his speech during the first drive.
“You don’t have to do this, I’m deferring. It’s best if I take a break.” I said.
“A break from what?” he asked, as we drove toward North Carolina. “Life?”
“Yes, I don’t think I can continue.”
“You can, and you will. Mom used to say you can’t wait for the storm to pass. I’ve seen you work your ass off for the past three years. I won’t let you give up.”
“What if what kept me standing on solid ground has disappeared?”
“You’re still standing,” he reassured me. “I’ve known you for three years, and I’ve seen you stand, run and reach for what you want. Let no one tell you otherwise.”
“I feel lonely, defeated and worthless.”
He pulled over in the middle of highway eighty-five, turned off the engine and took off his Ray-Bans.
“You have courage, you have the brains, and you are alive,” he lectured me. “Never give up because someone made you believe you’re insignificant. You might think there’s no hope, but you’re wrong. The pain won’t go away easily, but you’ll learn to live with it. Learn from it, and come out stronger and wiser.”
I watched him intently trying to learn whatever lesson he wanted to teach me. This wasn’t economics, nor statistics. This was Life Sucks 101.
“This might be a process when some days you’ll feel like drowning while others you’ll be able to swim. And I need you to do me a favor. When things are bad, you reach out to me, to us. My brothers and I have your back. Do you understand?”
I swallowed slowly as I nodded.
“And you are not alone. You’ll never be alone.”
Until the end of that semester, Scott drove eight hours every Sunday night to Raleigh. He took a flight back to New York leaving the car with me. Then, he’d fly in again on Thursday evening to pick me up. Those drives were never dull. He would quiz me if I had a test. He taught me how to drive a shift stick and lent me his Ferrari twice.
Fitz suggested therapy. He didn’t ask me for any details but told me about his ex-boyfriend, Roger. A man who swore to love him, but he also couldn’t be open about their relationship because of his career. A couple of years into their relationship, Fitz found out that Roger was getting married to a woman. He didn’t go into detail, but he gifted me a book about grieving after losing someone you loved.
The nostalgia might be what’s feeding my depression. The void is taking over. Back when I lost Elliot, I thought I’d get over him in just a few days. Yet, I couldn’t breathe without sobbing. My heart barely beat because I hadn’t heard his voice.
When I realized that I had lost him forever, my mind broke. I spiraled into madness. My decisions were reckless, and my life was chaos for a long time. I burnt all my lists and plans. They became ashes.
Emotionally detached, I went through a self-destructive period. My recovery wasn’t easy. It took two years to realize I was in a cycle of grief. Some days I couldn’t imagine that I would feel better again. My salvation was organizing everyone’s lives, fixating on what they could improve and what I could control.
I did everything to avoid my feelings and ignored my broken soul; recovering my heart from the debris took years. Until the day I realized that I was breathing on my own, and hadn’t died of loneliness. I recognized the sound of my heartbeat.
Surprisingly, I survived the emotional wreckage. Scott was right about that.
I let Wills believes the story. Because if she knew how broken I am, she wouldn't trust me, she wouldn't lean on me. Willow counts on my strength. That's why sometimes I sound like a cold robot. Not because I'm insensitive. It's because I'm hiding my emotions and pain behind a mask. Life throws me reasons to continue. To not die.
“We are leaving Italy in a couple of days. Afterward, we’re going back to work. But…” Luna’s voice becomes serious, concerned. “If you need me, call right away.”
“Tell her to go home,” Harrison speaks so loudly I can perfectly hear him.
“Tell your husband to go away, save the world,” I respond, feigning a bratty tone and making her laugh. “Thank you for the call, though, I am much better.”
“What are besties for?” she giggles. “Donate money to a good cause, plan your week. Keep yourself busy. I love you.”
“Be safe, I love you both.”
That’s precisely what I should do tonight. Plan my next steps. Look forward to tomorrow, next week, and perhaps the next five years. The best way to fight the depression is to find the silver lining or polish my timeline.
The top To Do items written in my primary planner are to hire a company to take care of the properties, buy furniture—check—wait for my boxes, and visit the house in Santa Cruz. My heart stops at the thought of visiting the old house. Coincidentally, my phone rings. Willow. She suggested burning our old home to the ground. My sister hates the house and everything it represents, including our parents. They walked out on us, leaving her somehow responsible for me. I was a blessing and a curse for her. The reason she had to stay alive; and the reason why she couldn’t eliminate the emotional pain forever. I’m just thankful that she never blamed me.
“Hey,” I answer, regretting not calling her earlier.
“You forgot to call me.”
“It’s been a busy day.”
“Well, why don’t you start from the beginning,” she says. “Hunt is on the phone with Scott and Fitz—I just learned that they are in San Francisco with you. I’m less worried knowing you’re not alone.”
I can take care of myself. Thanks to our parents, I’ve been doing so since I was sixteen. But I appreciate her concern, and I love her for being so amazing with me.
“How’s Charlie?” Charlie is Hunter and Willow’s eighteen-month-old son. Mine and Scott’s godson.
“The little angel has been asleep since eight. By the way, he misses you. He’s been calling his Bee.” She exhales. “But that’s not the point of my call. Tell me about your day.”
“Babe, it’s time to head to bed,” I hear Hunt calling after Willow.
“I’m on the phone with Hazel.”
“You can call her tomorrow. Charlie doesn’t care if we go to bed at eight at night or at three in the morning. He’ll wake up at six a.m. sharp.” Hunter is right, I’ve babysat Charlie, and that kid’s internal clock is punctual.
“Wills, I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Call, text, keep in touch, Bee.”
Hunter: Come back home, sweetheart. We miss you.
Hazel: Love you, Hunt.
I miss them. Not just Hunter, Charlie and Willow, but everyone. The pit of my
stomach churns, I’m feeling like a small child in need of love. Needing someone who could hug me and tell me that everything will be all right. I never had that in my life. Growing up, my parents traveled often, leaving my sister and me with the neighbors. Karina, the mother, was always too busy and overwhelmed with her children to pay attention to us. My consolation was Elliot. We spent day and night playing, doing homework together, and I helped him with his chores.
That’s when I started tracing my future, making plans. I created flowcharts even when I had no idea they had a name. I followed a step-by-step list that would take me to the next best thing. Though, not everything that’s on my list would happen as I expected. I learned that sometimes I had to improvise and reassess.
Each list and activity had an ulterior motive to convince my parents I was worthy of their love. Unfortunately, my fixation didn’t bring my parents back to me, but made me a pleaser. I studied everyone around me. I learned their likes and dislikes. All for the sole purpose of comprehending how to satisfy them and hope they’d stay with me forever.
I grab my pen and scribble in some of the essential things to do: find a therapist. Then, I continue tracing the list of stuff I need to make sure I keep my depression under control. It’s been years since I let it take over my mind, but with all these changes, it’s growing fast and strong. I add avoiding wine or any other alcoholic drink for the next couple of weeks.
Hazel: We should find a yoga place. Maybe a Buddhist temple.
Fitz: Are you okay?
Hazel: I think so.
Fitz: Bee, I think so doesn’t work for me. Harrison just texted me to keep an eye on you. Do you want me to drive back to your apartment?
I shake my head, staring at the phone. Poor Fitz, he’s always dealing with my episodes.
Hazel: I’m fine. It’s been a trying day. I want to make sure I am covered before the sadness takes over my mind.
Fitz: Well, are you going to tell me what is going on with Scott?
Hazel: If I knew, I would. But I don’t understand what he’s doing here.
Fitz: We never talked about your ex either.
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