Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
“Elizabeth had never been more at a lost to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried.”
~Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
I t had been five days since Elle returned to Long Beach. Five days full of an aching heart each time she saw the color gray, making her think of Clayton’s eyes, smelled the aroma of Braedon’s afternoon snack of peeled orange, making her think of Clayton’s citrus scent, or Malcolm asked her how Clayton was doing, making her think of…well Clayton.
The pang in her chest rattled as she met Willa and Viet for happy hour, although nothing felt happy to Elle. A bottle of rosé on the table greeted her as she slipped onto the tall stool across from her two friends, cautious smiles on their faces. Their stale conversation hovered around the unseasonably hot weather and work for their first glass of wine.
Almost done with their second round, Willa placed her half-filled glass down, and declared, “Okay, I’m pulling off the bandage.”
“Wills…” Viet cautioned.
“Noah says Clayton is heartbroken. He's been miserable since you left.”
Breath whooshed out of Elle like she’d been punched. She’d known Clayton would be hurt, but this was confirmation of it. Noah would only say something to try to help, to try to fix. It wouldn’t be a throwaway comment like how’s the weather or how about them Yankees or by the way my lifelong bromance bestie is heartbroken .
“You’re talking to Noah?” Elle blinked.
“That’s your takeaway on what I just said?” Willa scoffed. “Yes, we’re friends. We’ve texted and we spoke last night, but we’re not going down that rabbit hole. We’re going down yours.”
“I don’t know if I like the analogy of going down Elle’s hole.” Viet quipped, lightening the tension.
“He said that?” Elle’s fingers tightened on her wineglass. The cool smoothness of the glass soothing her jackhammering heart. The confirmed certainty of Clayton’s sadness flayed her.
“I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. I just don’t understand why this is happening. Even before I met Clayton, I knew this was so different. You never like anyone I’ve set you up with.” Willa shifted off the backless stool across from Elle, taking the one beside her. “When I saw the two of you together, I thought this is him. This is the man finally worthy of my friend’s heart. I just don’t understand why it needed to end. The way you two looked at each other was like there was nobody else in the world.”
“Willa…” Viet’s tone was firm. “Elle’s life is here, and Clayton’s is there. They talked about it and decided it was best not to drag it on.”
“Did they decide or did she ?”
“Elle? Did you ask Clayton what he wanted, or did you just decide what was best for him and tell him?” Viet’s assessing gaze pinned her.
“It’s what’s best for him.” she whispered.
Willa pushed, “Did you ask him?”
“No,” she admitted, her sad response almost drowned in the revery of the lively bar.
“First, I want you to remember I love you.” Viet clasped her hand, calling her eyes to his. “Remember that as I say this, but what the actual fuck, Elle? You fight for your people, but sometimes you don’t stop to ask them what they want. Just because it’s what you feel is best doesn’t mean it’s right. You should have asked him. You should have given him a choice.”
“I know. You’ve said this before.” she blew out a heavy breath. “Clayton had asked me to talk to him before making decisions for him…for us.”
Her heart splintered with the memory of being wrapped in Clayton’s arms as he asked her to keep a promise that she broke days later.
Wasn’t that proof enough that he deserved better?
“Why didn’t you ask him? Were you scared that if you asked him to come with you or for you to stay that he’d say no?”
“Or were you scared he’d say yes?” Willa’s left arm looped through Elle’s.
The gentle touches of her friends anchored her to this moment, despite the desire to run away or deflect from their prodding. Was she scared that he wouldn’t choose her or that if he did, he’d regret it? She felt like her mother’s consolation prize all her life, something Mom was stuck with after her grandmother died and her dad left. So many of her people left, she felt like a stray cat on the edges of the property, tolerated but not brought into the house. As much as she understood with her brain that some of that holding people at a distance was self- induced, her heart still wobbled. Maybe it was true. That she was unworthy. The scars were so deep in her bones that they never seemed to heal or allow her to fully embrace the possibility of being chosen with no regrets.
“I’ve spent so much of my life feeling not quite enough. Feeling like an unwanted inhabitant of the Island of Misfit toys.” Elle swallowed hard.
“Ok, first you are not a misfit toy.” Willa said, authority lacing her words. “Second, even if you were, at the end of Rudolph, Santa rescues them all and takes them to homes with loving boys and girls, teaching us all that even misfit toys deserve happy endings. Deserve love.”
“Thanks.” Elle laughed under her breath.
“Third, as a licensed psychologist and your friend, but mostly as your friend, have you thought about talking to someone? I see my own therapist twice a month and find it painfully cathartic. I can make some recommendations if you’d like,” Willa offered.
Elle looked at Viet for confirmation that this was a good idea. She knew it was. It was time for her to do the work. She had already laid the foundation over the last several weeks. It was time to build a house of healing on top of it. She knew this but wanted her friend’s approval.
Viet nodded affirmatively at Elle.
“Thanks, Wills.” Elle leaned her head against her friend’s shoulder.
“Sorry I kind of pounced on you. I know I can be a little much.” Willa apologized.
“You are a little much, but that’s what we love about you. Any less and you wouldn’t be our Willa,” Elle said.
“And we’re big fans of our Willa.” Viet raised his glass.