Chapter 24
Luke
After a long day of balloon searching and shopping, I stumbled through the gate and was greeted by a pleasant sight. Norah was painting Hazel’s toenails. She appeared to be the embodiment of happiness. Just how I liked to see her.
When I spoke with the girls this morning, I made it clear that I expected Hazel to be pampered until she was sick of it.
And if she resisted, they were to threaten her with more food and compliments.
Clearly, it worked. She looked beautiful and carefree, all smiling and giggling.
It tugged at some strings of my no-commitment heart.
Hazel—safe and happy, making friends and not feeling guilty.
Pretending I didn’t enjoy it was getting harder.
A flash of a tall man standing in front of Hazel, uncomfortably close, crossed my mind.
Jackson. My blood started boiling as his name entered my thoughts again.
Yesterday, I’d kept my anger in check, but I was this close to making arrangements with a few people back home so the douche would learn his place. Which was away from her.
But, as horrible as last night was, the feeling of her body against mine this morning was something I didn’t expect. And more importantly, she let me take care of her, let me hold some of her weight. That trust, however fleeting, was worth more than anything I could have asked for.
“Everything went well?” Norah joined me in the kitchen.
“Yes, found everything we need for tomorrow. Thanks for the help,” I said, glancing at Hazel, her hair in a messy bun, laughing with Summer and Ava. “Looks like you did a good job. She looks well-rested.”
“We did our best,” Norah replied. Just as I was about to avert my eyes, Hazel’s eyes went searching, stealing glances at me. We locked our gaze, and I smiled.
“You know, she looks at you like that a lot. You have the same one,” Norah said.
I had no response, so I deflected, teasing her about being so in love that she’d marry me and the inflatable pool flamingo if I even looked at it for two seconds. But her words stuck. I took them with me, putting them in the invisible feelings box deep in my soul.
You are starting to get pathetic.
But the fact was, it was Hazel’s birthday tomorrow, so from now on, everything would be done bearing in mind that if it made her happy, that’s all that mattered.
“What movie are we watching today?” I asked, rearranging the couch and putting some pillows and blankets on the ground in our room—the first thing in my Hazel’s birthday plan.
“We’re watching a movie?” Hazel looked surprised.
“Of course, how else would we start your birthday celebration early if not with a movie of your choice?” I grinned, and she blushed in my favorite shade. “C’mon, pick one.”
“What would you like to watch?” she asked innocently.
“Nope. Try again,” I said, a small laugh escaping me.
She thought for a second. “We could continue our Jim Carrey phase. Ace Ventura 2?”
“Ace Ventura it is,” I said, urging her to get comfortable. Hazel settled onto the couch as I moved into the kitchen. I could feel her eyes on me, a mischievous glint in them.
“What?” I asked, half amused.
“You promised to tell me more about your parents,” she said, and the words snagged me mid-motion.
I had promised. For a moment I stood still, caught between memory and the present, before I exhaled and reached for the safer task of grabbing snacks and drinks.
The kitchen corner suddenly felt like a refuge.
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you’re willing to share.” I looked at her and smiled. Curious yet considerate. She had told me so much about herself; it only seemed fair to return the gesture.
“Kimberly and Oliver Davis—the perfect fake couple.” I tried to sum up my life in a few sentences. “My mom’s an art consultant, and my dad runs an insurance company and collects art. Funny thing is, he rarely collects anything Kimberly recommends. They have completely opposite tastes.”
“Sometimes opposites attract,” Hazel said.
“Yes, but you have to have something in common; it can’t just be opposites. Or at least, you should appreciate your partner for the things they enjoy, even if you don’t, because it makes them who they are. But with them... They’ve always given off the vibe of forced tolerance rather than love.
To me, they were just two people stuck together, raising a child out of obligation.
They weren’t happy, or ever had been, as far as I remember, but still refused to divorce.
Just living together, making each other miserable instead.
Some would argue that they stayed together for their family, for me.
What a noble goal if it wasn’t total bullshit.
The truth was, I would have been better off with two separate, content parents than a dysfunctional pair pretending it was for my sake.
Hazel watched me intently. I decided right then that I’d keep talking as long as she looked at me like that. As I described the basics of my childhood, I managed to find the right movie, make tea and popcorn, and sit beside her. All that with her eyes on me.
“As long as I can remember, they’ve always been miserable and spiteful. Whether they actually love each other is anyone’s guess. Why are they still married is an even bigger one.”
“I...” she hesitated. “I overheard a call... in the store. With your mom?” she said quietly, trying to decide if she wasn’t overstepping.
“Ah, yes. The famous year-long splitting of the beach house.” I let out a humorless chuckle.
“Over the years, I guess because of me moving out, their relationship has started to rot, so they aren’t even trying to hide the irritation they feel toward each other.
It’s easier for them to call me and use me as the middleman. ”
Hazel looked at me with quiet understanding, the same way I’d looked at her last night. My friends never understood why I kept answering their calls and listening to their whining. But Hazel knew. We couldn’t choose our parents.
“Did you fight with them when you were younger?”
“There were a few serious arguments. Like when I started thinking about my future. I thought about a career in professional sports. Swimming,” I added, and Hazel’s face lit up with a smile.
“My father thought I wasn’t athletic enough and wouldn’t achieve anything there. Pushed me to pursue something else.”
“Have you ever talked to him about it?”
“Would you?” It came out sharper than I intended. In truth, it was more of a Have you? question. Have you talked to yours?
For a brief moment, I worried I might have been too harsh, but she simply nodded, a quiet acknowledgment. The weight of unanswerable questions, the ache of avoiding what hurts. Yet, like yesterday, we both felt our stories were meant to be listened to, not solved. At least for now.
“I don’t think it would have even mattered. At best, he might feel sorry for how I felt, not for what he did. Which means he’d do it all over again if given the chance. Which means I don’t want it. The apology,” I sighed. “I love my parents. I just don’t like them as people very much.”
We were sitting very close, and I was starting to feel the warmth of Hazel’s body pulling me in. I ignored it. I had to.
“That’s why you’ve given up on love?” Hazel asked, as if she were asking for the salt. Casual. Not judgmental.
“Why do you say that?” My gaze unintentionally caught on the corner of her lips.
“Well, your life in a nutshell... and Norah told me,” she admitted with a small, guilty smile.
Ahh, Norah, yes, the self-appointed fixer of my love life.
“Hey, listen, I love love. I love my friends being in love. Exhibit A: Alex’s proposal.
I just don’t love it for myself. There’s nothing I can offer in the long run.
But more importantly, I never lie about it.
I think honesty is the best policy. I just don’t believe love is for me. I don’t think I even want it.”
Hazel seemed unfazed, accepting my words without an attempt to argue me out of my truth, which put me at ease. Like she’d heard confessions heavier than mine before and knew how to hold them without judgment.
“That’s fair, I guess. At least you know what you want.
Or don’t want, for that matter. That’s the only reason I came here.
Because at least you’re honest in that matter,” she said, turning back to the TV where Ace Ventura was meditating.
“And hey, I’m not a prude. I understand sex.
I believe even neuroscientists and physics professors use dating apps, have sex, and enjoy occasional hookups.
” A smile tugged at my lips. It would be a good idea for a rom-com.
“I have no problem with people who know what they want. Even if it’s different from me. As long as they’re upfront about it.”
Was I honest? Not completely. Maybe I should tell her.
I glanced at her once more, at those sparkling eyes and the freckles that danced on her nose as she laughed at Ventura’s comedy skills, and it made me linger.
She noticed and turned her head. Something inside me shifted.
All of a sudden, I felt... tired. Exhausted of these feelings.
Longing, but never taking. Always craving and never reaching.
And the undeniable truth was that it was her I craved more than anything.
But since I wasn’t an idiot—or an asshole—I knew we had no future.
I had no right to start something I didn’t have the decency to see through.
And it was frustrating. Maddening. Overwhelming.
I let my head fall back against the cushion, my face crumpling. Hazel’s expression softened. Involuntarily, my head dipped just a little, as if her lips were the mothership calling me home.
I didn’t mutter a word. But she knew. I saw it in her eyes how hard it was getting for both of us. Her gaze flickered to my lips before she whispered, “...but you don’t need this,” continuing our conversation as if we hadn’t just exchanged an entire world of emotions.