Chapter 27 Hazel #2
“No.” I push more air behind this word so it doesn’t come out sounding hesitant.
Dad lets out a stream of curses. “My daughter wins the fucking lottery, and I get kicked out. How did I get so unlucky?”
I don’t bother attempting an answer to his rhetorical question. But because I know he’s hurting—we’re all hurting—I offer, “I’ll pay for grief counseling and therapy, if you want it. I’ve looked into a therapist for myself. I think it could help us process—”
“Rehab? Therapy? Jesus, Hazel. Oh, I meant to tell you that I’m gonna sign myself out,” he tries. He’s really reaching now. “The casino won’t let me back in after that.”
I hold strong. “I hope you do, but that doesn’t change any of this.”
Dad’s voice takes an accusatory turn. “What’s gotten into you? You’re being reckless.”
No. Reckless would be giving Dad and Jerry more money.
“This way you can live somewhere more manageable. You didn’t have a choice in inheriting the house,” I say, trying to come from a place of compassion. “You can have a choice now.”
“Nothing about this feels like a choice,” Dad says. “If you really want to help, you’ll give us some of that money. You used to want to spend thousands on fixing up this piece of shit house, and now you won’t even help your living, breathing family.” He scoffs bitterly.
He’s not listening.
“It’s all I can do right now. And Jerry, I know about your legs.”
Now it’s Jerry’s turn to curse. He says something to Dad that I can’t hear. “Hazel, I seriously did hurt them,” he says. “I swear, I did.”
“I know you did. But they weren’t broken. They also didn’t cost nearly as much as you claimed they did,” I say. “You lied to me. And you tried to use me. That’s not okay.”
It’s not okay to be treated like this.
“Your brother was hurt, Hazel,” Dad says. “Have some heart.”
“Where did you even get those photos, Jerry?” I ask. “Google?”
He’s quiet, which gives me my answer.
I focus on Logan’s bookshelf tree, the rows of colorful spines. I remind myself that it’s okay to be upset. That if I want to cry, I can. I’m allowed to feel my way through this call. I didn’t come into this thinking it’d be easy.
“You won’t be getting any more money from me,” I tell him, my core twisting into more knots.
“You’re cutting me off?” Jerry asks.
“I’m not your parent. Or your bank. Or your fiduciary,” I say, any last remaining wobbles in my voice steadying into something more forceful.
I’ve played fair with them my whole life.
I’ve been living too much in the past, helping Dad and Jerry.
Playing the role I always have. “You can get a job, and you can make your own money.”
Jerry whines. “It’s hard to find remote work.”
I shake my head at my phone. “Then maybe it’s time to find somewhere to live that’s more permanent. You could—” I stop myself. “You’ll have to figure that out.”
“Is this because of the legs thing?” Jerry asks. “Look, I’m sorry. I had a lot of credit card debt, okay? I think you’d agree that I couldn’t sell the van. That’s how I make my living. Please don’t punish Dad for what I did.”
“Punish?” I repeat. “What I do with that money isn’t about any of you. I get to make my own choices.”
Before, I never had the option to choose. Or maybe I had the option all along, but I didn’t feel like I did.
“So you’re just going to abandon us?” Dad asks.
For a few long seconds, time loses its shape. I recognize this as the moment when I’d go numb. Try to detach. Not have to feel how horrible this is. But I do feel how horrible this is. And for the first time ever, I say something about it.
“If anyone on this call has been abandoned, it’s me,” I say, my voice firm. “I’ve spent my entire life paying for it and then some. I won’t be used or bullied or manipulated anymore.”
I glance at Logan, who’s glaring at my phone. He looks furious, his jaw set and eyes dark. Like if he could take my phone and throw it out the window, he would do it in a heartbeat.
“Your mother would be so disappointed,” Dad spits out.
Logan’s eyes catch mine, and they soften around the edges. He shakes his head. “She wouldn’t be. Not even a little,” he whispers, pulling me into his arms. For the first time ever, I feel like I can handle the anger inside of me. The lows are suddenly bearable with his simple loving gesture.
Feeling my way through this gives me a new realization.
Mom wouldn’t want this for me. For any of us.
And I don’t think Mom would be disappointed in me.
I think she’d be disappointed in Dad and Jerry.
But I don’t have to fight cruelty with cruelty.
I can still have compassion and be firm in my decisions.
“I’m not calling to negotiate,” I say. “These are my offers. You can take them or not. Up to you.”
It’s a tricky thing, being needed. It’s validating, in its own weird way. It feels like being in control. If there’s anything this experience has taught me, though, it’s that I want to be needed for who I am. Not because of what I can give people.
“Didn’t realize I raised such an ungrateful brat who puts her family last—”
I end the call, not waiting to hear the rest of what Dad has to say.
I blink at the wallpaper on my phone. It’s a photo of the sunset from the firehouse. A daily reminder of the life I’m making for myself. A daily reminder of home.
“Oh my god, did I really use the word ‘fiduciary’?” I ask, stunned.
“Sounded like it just rolled off your tongue,” Logan says, running his hand down his face.
“I’m proud of myself,” I manage to say.
“Sweetheart, there aren’t enough words for me to express how proud of you I am, too,” Logan says. His term of endearment nearly cracks me in half in my already fragile state. He looks like he’s just won a contest after a long dry spell of luck. As though my wins are his.
This must be what it feels like to be in it with someone all the way. Because this entire time, I’ve been fighting for his wins, too.
I don’t know what will happen with my family any more than I know what my future holds. But I do know that right now I’ve trusted myself to make the best decision with the information I have. That’s all I can do.
Closure, I’m learning, isn’t a sure thing. Messy parts of life don’t get wrapped up in pretty bows. I’m going to have to live with the discomfort of situations not resolving quickly. Or maybe at all. Maybe not everything is meant to be fixed.
“If you really did get my fortunes, this must be what Wendy was saying about having everything you need to make your dreams a reality,” Logan says. “Not that this was a dream, but everything you just did was already inside of you.”
I had viewed everything happening with my family as bad luck. But flip or no flip, maybe being forced to face this, to stand up for myself, was good all along. I lose something, but I gain something, too.
I nod. “Maybe so.”
I run the tips of my fingers along the little dock, remembering the last time I sat on it with Grandma and Grandpa. We were looking back at the house, the sun making a showy descent.
“That right there, that’s my whole life,” Grandpa had said to me. “One day you’ll be that lucky, too.”
I turn his words over in my head. Scaled down to the size of half a coffee table, I see the house and Grandpa’s comment in an entirely new light. Air deflates from my lungs as it all suddenly becomes so vibrantly clear.
He was never talking about the house. He wasn’t even looking at it. Only I was.
With Grandpa in my periphery, I had been admiring the way the sun’s golden rays reflected off the house’s teal paint.
And Grandpa had been looking at Grandma.
A small sound escapes my throat. I wanted this house because I was holding on to a dream. A dream that would never become a reality.
But there are other dreams—better ones—that I never dared to envision for myself. And right here, right now, they’re already starting to come true.
“Thank you for this. For all of it. I love it. I love you,” I tell Logan. They’re not powerful enough words for what I feel. They’ll have to do for now.
It’s when he kisses my forehead and tells me that he loves me back that I lose it. I’m half sobbing, half laughing into my hands. I’m not even crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because, finally, I feel free.
Time to rise from the ashes.
“How do waffles sound?” Logan asks.
Phoenixes do need to eat.
“Like a dream,” I say.
And it does. I want the big stuff, sure. A home, a grand love story. But the big stuff only becomes big because of the little stuff: breakfast for dinner, rowboats, disguises, bags of candy, and cinnamon lattes.
I want more of that. With Logan. Every day. I don’t know how I get more fortunate than that.
Logan jumps up, bending over to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll get those going and reheat the eggs and sausages.”
For the rest of the night, we eat breakfast and watch Ghost. I let worries about the future slip away, along with any happy visions about what a life would look like with Logan.
I’m living it now, presently.
And right now, this is the moment that matters most.