Session Eight
Beautiful Beatrice Blu Henderson
I never imagined the weight three words could hold.
After all, words are simply words.
But the meaning behind them – “I like you” – can feel like ice cold water pulling you out of a nightmare or sucking you in deeper.
With Jace, it was the latter.
I mistook barbed wire for safety and wrapped it willingly around my heart. How could I blame him, after all this time, for my fear of getting close to someone new?
“I’m cancelling,” I’d told Fawn the second I got home. She let herself in, lounging on my velvet chaise, two glasses of wine on the console table.
“No you aren’t,” and handed me the Pinot. “I stalked his LinkedIn. You’re going on that date or I am.”
“Pass, hard pass, to both.” I took a long sip. “We work together. Can you believe that? How did I not know? He edited Cityscapes and –”
“To be fair,” she interrupted, “you are a new fish in town. Work’s taking precedence and that’s a good thing.”
“Right, yeah, yes!” Oh, she just handed me the win. “Work’s taking precedence so I can’t be distracted by a man!”
She stared at me, blankly. “B.”
“Fawny.”
“You’re self-sabotaging again.”
“Am not.”
“Are too and what I want to know is why.”
Before I could plead my case, her doe-eyes widened to glass marbles. “If you give me some spiel about Jace and how he’s behind your hesitation –”
“He’s not.” Is he?
“B…” she groaned, tucking her legs underneath her. “This boy can’t keep ruining your life. He’s not even in it anymore!” She quirked a brow. “Right?”
“No,” I shook my head. “No, we’ve been done for a while.”
“Exactly, so why does it feel like he’s right next to you every time you make a decision?”
I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to find a reason to be angry with her but she was so damn right I sipped my Pinot in silent protest.
“Listen. I’d be lying if I said I understood how that boy worked his claws into you. But there comes a point where you need to yank them out yourself.” She tilted her head, softening. “One day, you’ll wake up and realize he was never as big as you made him out to be in your head.”
One glass down and I already felt the tears coming. “He’s impossible to understand.”
“Well lucky for you, it’s not your problem anymore.” Fawn refilled my glass. “Don’t give him any more of your energy. Focus on the man of the hour – Cole Ellerby.”
“Ellerby?” I sniffed, chuckling.
“LinkedIn, remember?”
“You know he can see you stalking him.”
She shrugged. “Who cares? It’s exposure for my business.”
I laughed. “How are the swimsuit sales coming along?”
“So grand,” she lit up. “I think we have a good shot at landing in Holt Renfrew.”
“Fuck off!” I gasped, genuinely impressed because how the fuck did my Fawny pull that off? I mean, she’s always been a go-getter, but this was HUGE. MEGA. “When your best friend is a literal CEO.”
“Ah, ah! No jinxing yet. I have a meeting with Georgia in” – she tapped her lockscreen – “forty-two minutes so I’ll be heading out.”
She gathered her bag and the remainder of the wine, moving for the door. “Either I drunk call you because I got the yes or the no so be prepared for both outcomes.”
And then she was gone, and I was left with an unyielding urge to shrink inside myself and hide until next week.
It’s quiet when you’re distracted. It’s loud when you’re alone.
Text him.
Don’t text him.
What are you waiting for?
Oh, don’t be clingy.
Stop sabotaging, Beatrice.
Do what we always do, Blu.
“Fuck.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why? Why are you like this?”
Cole and I had exchanged numbers before he left for his interview, but there was no text. Nothing. Of course, the rational side of me understood that maybe he didn’t get the job? Or maybe he did, and was out celebrating? God, he doesn’t need to report to you. You just met him.
AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU WORK TOGETHER.
Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!
I wrestled with that for hours after we said goodbye.
Was I that self-centered, that warped in my own world that I couldn’t bother learning the names of the people around me? Who are my coworkers, Marigold? Can I meet my collaborators? As if I needed permission to get to know someone else. Anyone else.
As if the only person worth knowing was gone and it was my fault.
I’m selfishly in love with you.
I picked up my phone, typed a string of texts: Hello, hey, hi Cole, it’s Bea honeybee Beatrice –
“Get. It. Together.” I threw my phone onto the rug. “No,
you know what? It’s not going to be me. He can text first.”
I don’t chase, no. I don’t. I don’t do that anymore.
Let him want it. Let him come to me.
I gripped my phone so hard I thought it would crack –
So juvenile, Beatrice. So immature.
So. Fucking. Blu.
A moment of panic slowly rose inside of me, at the thought that I’d be like this forever. Thinking I’d changed, only to realize I swapped a blue shirt for indigo.
I took a breath, picking up my phone.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Thumb hovering over our chat. You don’t need to commit to anything. You don’t need to go.
Sort yourself before you drag anyone else into this mess.
No one deserves that, so why do you?
“Shut up,” I ran stressed hands down my face. “Just shut up.”
Everything, and I mean everything worked against me, like I was back to that place, waiting for messages to be sent, posting on my stories to see when or if my photos got noticed. You’re not twenty-one anymore, Beatrice. Get it together.
And so I said fuck it and sent the text.
6:12pm
Something came up. Got to cancel on Friday. So sorry!
I let out a heavy breath. “Okay.”
Now it had to be over.
Well and truly done.
Did I just blow up something magnetic over something pathetic? Yeah, sure but problem solved. No waiting. No wondering.
No hurting.
But –
It doesn’t feel any better…
Why doesn’t it feel any better?
And that’s when it hit me.
In the anticipation of relief, I was overcome with guilt. I’d been the one to abandon ship before anyone could board. What if it – what if we formed into something substantial?
Something that could… last?
The concept was too foreign, too far away –
My phone vibrated in my pocket, Cole’s number bright white on the screen.
“You can’t be serious,” I muttered.
Knots twisted in my stomach, but I couldn’t fight it anymore. I swiped to answer the call. “Hello?”
For a brief moment, there was silence. Then, “Hey,” he said.
I swallowed. “Hi.”
“Everything okay?”
No anger, no irritation. Two words. A simple question.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Say something, say anything. But I was met with my own silence.
I could hear a slight exhale. “I’m going to be straight with you, Beatrice –”
“What?” I couldn’t help myself. “No honeybee?”
“Beatrice,” he simply repeated, a lighter tone. “Nothing came up.”
“I –” My cheeks turned red hot and thank God he wasn’t present because I looked about ready to blow. Never, has anyone called me out like this. People were too scared, too shy, too detached and indifferent to care if I cancelled or not.
Because I never cancelled.
And most men knew why.
In a world short of love, I had to be wanted.
Never loved, no.
But I was wanted.
“Did I do something wrong?” He asked, so genuinely, I almost fell to my knees. “Because if I came off too strong, that wasn’t my intention.”
I don’t know how long I was silent for.
How long I stood in place, losing my ability to speak.
“You can tell me,” he said, “I can handle it.”
Then, a chuckle.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening.
“How about this?” He started. “You call me when you want to reschedule, or you call me when you don’t want to see me again. Either way, you call me, okay?”
A beat, and then: CALL ENDED.
No, no, no, no –
I called back without realizing what I was doing.
He answered on the second ring. I could feel his smile. “Yes, honeybee?”
“Did you” – I hesitated, swallowing the anxietyfearlossshameguiltregret in my throat – “get the job?”
There was a pause, before he said, “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
A warm heat pooled in my stomach, softening all the hard edges. What is this feeling? Why haven’t I felt it before? What is he doing to me? “Eight?”
“To celebrate, what else?”
I almost said no.
Almost.
But a smile broke free. A genuine happiness for someone I barely knew. Pride. For someone other than myself. Something real. Something deserving. “You got the job.”
My phone chimed, and I looked down to see that Cole sent me reservation details to Writer’s Room, atop Park Hyatt. “It’s pretty dark in there, so if you want to grimace the whole time, I won’t notice.”
“Grimace?” I burst out laughing.
“Writer’s room,” he chuckled, “thought it sounded better than completely-dreading-your-time-with-me.”
My cheeks began to burn from smiling. I settled into the feeling. Made use of it. “I quite enjoyed your company, actually.”
“No shit, is that a compliment?”
“Unfortunately,” I giggled, resisting the urge to kick my fucking feet because where were the flags? Why weren’t they red? They’re always red.
“Knock my socks off tonight, beautiful. Send me your address.” He hung up, then immediately called back, laughing. “Please.”
When the line cut, I stood motionless, grinning like a fool. “Cole Ellerby,” I shook my head, testing the feel of another man’s name on my lips.
Cole Ellerby.
Unintentionally I glanced up, my eyes caught on a reflection – my reflection – in the mirror. I tilted my head, side to side, unable to recognize the girl staring back at me. Her cheeks were rosy, lips curled, eyes bright.
Knock my socks off tonight, beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
I moved towards the mirror.
What does he see? What does he see?
Ever so slowly, I felt my face, tracing the remnants of heartbreak etched into my skin.
What do I see? What do I see?
A girl fighting for color –
Any color but blue.
With gentle fingers, I pulled the corners of my mouth into a smile, testing, hoping…
Remembering.
That before the hollowness –
There was something soft. Something good.
Proof that I have hurt, yes.
But proof that I have loved.
“I see you,” I whispered.
“Beautiful Beatrice Blu Henderson.”