Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
It’s strange to have Cosmos in my car. I don’t like to drive with other people very often, for several reasons, not the least of which is my ridiculous routine.
I didn’t think about it when I agreed to take Cosmos back to the hospital.
He looked so miserable with his sister, I just opened my mouth and said yes. Now, I’m stuck with the consequences.
“Everything okay? Do I have something on my face?” He leans over the middle console and flashes me a smile that says he knows perfectly well that there’s nothing on his beautiful face and he simply caught me staring.
I take a deep breath and buckle my seat belt. It’s not like there isn’t a high chance he already thinks I’m strange, so what the hell, why not add more fuel to the fire?
I adjust the rearview mirror. Turn on the car.
Check the side mirrors. Pull out the bottle of hand sanitizer I keep in the cupholder and pour a generous amount into my palm.
I rub my wet hands along the steering wheel and gearshift.
Adjust the rearview mirror again. Squeeze more hand sanitizer onto my hands.
Rub my phone down. Squeeze out more and smear it on the bottle, then into my skin.
To my surprise, Cosmos doesn’t comment. He holds out his palm. There’s no teasing smile or annoyed, impatient grimace. He just waits. I pour a dollop of hand sanitizer onto his hand, and he casually rubs it in.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t respond. There isn’t really a need for it, but when I glance over at him, a soft smile curves his lips.
I adjust the rearview mirror one last time and pull out of the parking lot. Cosmos asks if he can turn on the radio, and I wonder if he’s trying to distract himself from worrying about his sister, or from the fact that I haven’t mentioned his poem. I’m not sure what to say.
He flips through the stations, settling on one playing Taylor Swift’s Blank Space. He quietly sings along to the words, surprising me yet again.
The hospital isn’t far from The Book Bar, so within a few minutes we’re parking near the emergency room. The rest of the doors are already locked, and this is the only way in after midnight.
I turn off the car, but don’t get out. Cosmos doesn’t either. The music continues to play, changing to a song I don’t know. The musician croons something about her first love.
“She has to make her own mistakes,” I whisper.
Cosmos doesn’t need me to explain who I mean. He’s been tense ever since his sister threw herself at her boyfriend.
“I know.” He changes the radio station again. This time to a soft jazz station. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
We sit there for longer than I would be comfortable with anyone else. It’s not awkward, but there’s a tension that grows with each crescendo of the song, an energy that pulses between us, threatening to snap. I turn the car off, silencing the music, but still, neither of us moves.
“What mistakes did you make, Hazel Berton?” His voice is warm and rich, echoing the notes of the song that was just playing.
I fidget with the little blue bear on my keychain. “Oh, you know. Same as everyone else.”
“I don’t believe you.” He turns, so he’s facing me. “You don’t strike me as the type to make the drunk and disorderly mistakes most college students make.”
I twist the keychain I stole when I was seventeen through my fingers.
My first boyfriend dared me to shoplift something from Walmart on our second date.
I was uncomfortable, but he kept pushing, saying everyone was going to steal one thing, and if I was too scared, I could wait in the car.
He teased me until I agreed. I wanted them to like me.
I wanted to be as cool and interesting as they were.
So, I stole the little blue bear keychain. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.
I regretted it immediately and went back the next day to pay for it. Every time I look at it, I remind myself not to make decisions based on what other people want, to speak up for myself. My consciousness still hasn’t gotten the message.
“What about you?” I deflect. “Were you the type to make the typical mistakes?”
“Drinking, some. Drugs, not so much. Girls…” He lets his mischievous smile finish the sentence for him.
I don’t want to think about Cosmos’ sex life. That won’t help my growing infatuation with the man. That way lies madness. And jealousy. And images of Cosmos that I shouldn’t entertain while he’s on my mom’s medical team. I open the door and make a quick exit.
Cosmos does the same, and we fall into step together. I stop a few feet before we get to the door, realizing that he’s probably not going inside, since it’s his night off. “Well, I guess this is goodnight.”
This feels so much like a date. A very weird date. A date where he walks me to the emergency room rather than my door.
He’s looking at me with the same intensity he had after he finished his poem, his expression making my insides flutter.
I stare at his broad chest, unable to meet his eyes. I want to tell him I loved the poem, that it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. But his words just confused me even more. “You shouldn’t have said those things. Your poem—”
“I don’t regret saying them, Hazel.” His voice is soft and certain.
I can’t help glancing up, gaze bouncing from his eyes to his lips. I’ve been telling myself he’s not interested, using that as a leash to rein myself in, but he just snapped the leash. And I don’t know what that means for us. My heart is racing forward like an uncontrolled stampede.
“Hazel.” He groans my name like the love interest in a romance novel, like being around me is painful and requires all of his self-control. No one’s ever said my name like that. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
I can barely manage a nod. My voice has completely dried up at the fire in his eyes. I don’t care about the ethics. I don’t care if we get caught. This is everything I want. And I can’t believe it’s happening.
The glow from the streetlight shadows his sharp features in a way that makes him look like a dark prince who just stepped out of the pages of a fairytale. He’s desire incarnate, and I’m helpless under his gaze. No, not helpless, powerful. Because I know I have what he wants. I am what he wants.
Our eyes lock, freezing time. He steps closer, his hand hovering at my arm, like he’s afraid to touch me, like I’m forbidden fruit and he hasn’t decided if he’s brave enough to pluck and eat.
I slowly lean into his tentative touch, and then both his hands are gripping my arms. His fingers dig into the sleeves of my sweater, and he pulls me so close my chest brushes against his.
I lick my lips. He licks his. My heart is a drum, answered by his frenzied breath that mingles with mine. Our noses touch, soft and sweet.
“Hazel,” he whispers.
I close my eyes. But the moment I do, his hands are off me, and we’re no longer pressed together with time frozen around us. It doesn’t matter, because I know Cosmos is going to kiss me. I lean forward and tilt my chin.
“Cosmos? Is that you?” Someone is calling his name. “What are you doing here?”
Shit. Shaking off my dazed lust, I spin around and sprint into the hospital.
I don’t wait to see who it is or how Cosmos will respond.
I just move. It’s only once I’m through the glass doors and safely inside that I look back and see who caught us in such a compromising position. Dr. Barbie. Samantha. Just my luck.
I walk slowly backwards away from the glass door.
She might not have seen me. It’s dark, just past midnight.
I could have been anyone. Even if she’d recognized me, I could have stopped him in the parking lot with a question about my mom.
We were standing pretty close, but nothing inappropriate actually happened.
This is fine. It’s good, even. A save from a close call.
We aren’t supposed to get involved with each other.
Maybe after Mom’s not his patient… but not now.
I take another step, and my calves slam into a chair, sending me toppling sideways. A nurse runs over asking if I’m okay, and I brush her off with a quick, “Fine.”
I need to get out of here before Dr. Barbie comes inside and gets a better look at me.
As I’m walking through the doors that lead to the main lobby, my phone rings. I pick it up instinctively, still wondering what Dr. Barbie saw and if Cosmos is going to get in trouble. “Hello?”
“Nutter?”
Shit. I should have checked the caller ID. I never answer my phone without looking first.
“You answered.” Jeremy sounds as surprised as I am.
“Um... yeah. I’ve been meaning to call you.” It’s not a lie. I just had no intention of doing it tonight. Or anytime soon. “Isn’t it after 3am there?”
Jeremy clears his throat. “Yeah. I’ve been working late.”
Working late. Is that the truth? Or just an excuse because he’s already cheating on his new wife? I shouldn’t care. It doesn’t affect me.
“What do you want?” It’s harsher than the tone I usually use with him, but I’m still reeling, my mind is back in that parking lot wondering if Cosmos is going to get in trouble and the last person I want to talk to right now is Jerky Jeremy.
I hit the button for the elevator, and the doors immediately open. Maybe we’ll get disconnected, and I won’t have to finish this conversation.
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, baby girl.” His own tone is varnished like a penny. “I told you I was going to call and to keep your phone plugged in, but it keeps going to voicemail.”
“Yeah, things have been hectic around here.” Hectic isn’t really the word I’d use to describe life in a hospital, but I’m eager to get him off my back. The elevator opens on Mom’s floor, but I don’t get out. The doors close. I don’t push any of the buttons, and the elevator stays where it is.
“I’m sorry, baby girl,” he says, voice softer now.
It just irritates me more. I wish he’d stop calling me that. I’m twenty-six years old. Not a child.
“Look, I just need a few minutes, okay?” There’s rustling in the background, like he’s shifting papers around on his desk. “I’m trying to decide whether I should book a ticket for next week or the week after. Do you know when your mom’s surgery is yet?”
“Ticket?” What’s he talking about? I’ve been ignoring his texts, but now I’m thinking I should have been reading them.
“I’m gonna come out there to help after the surgery. I texted you about it.”
“No!” My yell echoes in the small space.
There’s silence on the other line for a breath, then another. “Look, Nutter, I know you think you can handle this on your own. But you can’t. You and I both know how overwhelmed you get. You take after your mom like that.”
I feel frozen under his scrutiny and judgement. Just like I did as a little girl.
The elevator moves, but I don’t.
“You know it’s not a problem for me to catch a flight out there,” he continues. “I can work from anywhere.”
“No.” The word is thin, small, mirroring how I feel.
“Please don’t. I think it would make Mom uncomfortable.
” I feel bad for throwing Mom under the bus, but I’m desperate to curb his false need to take care of me, his assumption that I’m weak.
Maybe I am weak. Or maybe he made me that way by never believing I could handle anything on my own.
“I really am sorry, baby girl. You know, I love her, too. And I hate that you’re both going through this.”
Yeah, because cheating on someone for years, divorcing them, and then marrying the other woman is really an act of love. I want to laugh, but I bite my cheek and hold it all in. Like I always do.
“How about I check in with you again after the surgery and come out to help then? I don’t think you understand how much work it can be to take care of someone like that.”
“Okay,” the meek little mouse in me says, and I hate myself for it.
The doors open on the first floor, and a woman with a beautiful silk scarf wrapped around her head steps inside.
She pushes the button that holds open the door, waiting for me to get out.
It’s nice of her, but the first floor isn’t where I’m going.
I smile and cover the phone with my hand, telling her I’m going up.
She gives me a quizzical look, but when I don’t add more information, she pushes the button for the seventh floor and pulls out her phone.
“Well, I’ll call in a few days, okay?” Jeremy says. “You’ll answer your phone, right?”
“Okay.” I hate this version of myself. The version that feels frozen in time, a child with no voice. The version that can’t stand up for herself, or even express what I want.
“Love you, Nutter.”
“Okay,” I repeat numbly.
There’s silence on the other end of the line. He’s already hung up.
I hold myself together like a tightly wound ball of yarn until the woman gets off the elevator on the seventh floor. No one else gets on. My body shakes with pent-up energy.
As soon as the doors close, I drop to the floor in the corner and unravel.
I don’t care that it’s filthy. I’m crying too hard, and I’m not sure why the tears won’t stop.
Sure, talking to Jeremy is always emotional, but it was a good night overall.
Shouldn’t that weigh more in the grand scheme of things than a conversation that only lasted a few minutes?
Cosmos almost kissed me. He wrote me a poem. He likes me. So, why the hell am I sobbing on the elevator floor?
I can hear Jeremy’s voice in my head: ‘You’re being ridiculous. Get up and pull yourself together.’
But I can’t. Why couldn’t he ever see that I can only hold myself together for so long before I just don’t have the energy?
I want to crawl under a desk in a dark, quiet room. Go somewhere safe and small. Turn off the world. The night comes rushing back to me like a tidal wave that’s spit me out on a foreign shore. Exhausted from the noise, the emotional ups and downs, the uncertainty of it all.
I drop my head to my knees and close my eyes, letting it all wash over me. A feather thrown to sea.
When the elevator finally moves, called by some late-night visitor or overworked doctor, I force myself to my feet and push the button for the fourth floor.