by Azzi, Gina
I take the fork and stuff the waffle in my mouth. Our breakfast conversation turns to other topics, but Harlow’s words weigh heavily on my mind.
Did I misread the meaning of last night? Our exchange felt like more than just sex, more than just need, it felt like…love. This morning, I was ready to tell Eli that I love him. Again.
Now, though? I’m wondering if his longing caresses and desperate kisses were because he’s going to tell me goodbye, to push me away so hard I have no choice but to let go.
My stomach somersaults and my thoughts ping in a million different directions, too distracted to laugh at my friends’ jokes or engage in the conversation.
My phone beeps with a text and I freeze. I’m both desperate to snatch it up and read the message and fearful of what it might say.
Ignoring Harlow and Laurence’s looks, I reach into my purse and glance at my cell’s screen.
Eli: Meet me on the beach at 7PM? We need to talk.
It’s not his words that cause my throat to tighten with unshed tears and my eyes to burn. It’s his tone.
I already know what he’s going to say and I don’t want to hear it.
Glancing down at my waffles, I grip the underside of the bar. My appetite is gone right along with my hope.
14
Eli
Her eyes are too big, too wary as I meet her gaze.
Between us, the breeze kicks up, grains of sand sticking to her shins as she walks toward me. Her hair whips around her shoulders, the purple tips popping against the white of her shirt. Her body is svelte. Smooth lines, lean muscle, strong and healthy.
My heart clogs my throat as I try to imagine her sick, frail, weak.
I can’t do it. I won’t fucking do it.
My hands clench into fists, veins straining against my forearms, at the realization that I’m completely helpless against her. Even worse, I’m just as helpless to prevent what’s coming for her.
“Hey,” her voice is soft as she stops in front of me.
I widen my stance and cross my arms. “You’re late.”
A grin teases the corners of her mouth. I smile back, reaching out to push her hair from her eyes.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to come,” she admits, turning her gaze toward the blue-green sea.
“Well, I’m glad you did.” I bump her with my shoulder as we walk closer to the shoreline and sit down in the sand. “Zoe, last night—”
She shakes her head, exhaling a giant whoosh of air that speaks to her nerves. “Eli, I’m sorry. For everything.”
My hand finds the center of her back, my fingers splayed wide. Her forced breaths press against my palm and the warmth of her skin seeps into my own. “I’m sorrier than you will ever know, Zoe.”
She faces me. “No. I should have told you the truth. Right from the beginning, I should have told you.”
“I know things moved quickly between us and we’ve only known each other a few months. I hadn’t earned the right to hear your life’s story.”
She snorts, dropping her temple to my shoulder. “I don’t know where we go from here. Just tell me, last night…were you saying goodbye?”
I pause, her tone so heavy with heartache that it breaks mine.
“Right.” She nods, turning away from me.
“Zoe, please. Just hear me out. I spoke to some of the leading doctors at Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, Massachusetts General, and a handful of doctors in Texas and—”
Her head snaps back up. “Wait… you consulted doctors about my health?”
I nod, my jaw clenching as I think about all the things I don’t yet know about her health. But I know the truth now, so I will do everything in my power to make sure she has the best care, knows of every option available, understands every procedure that exists to help her through this.
“Eli.” Her voice is low but her cheeks pink in anger, “you had no right to do that.”
I rear back as if she slapped me. “Excuse me?”
“My health, my diagnosis, that’s…it’s personal.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I won’t let you hang out on an island when you should be seeing the best doctors in the world. Or at least in the United States, but we can explore Europe too.”
“Listen.” Zoe squeezes my bicep, shifting her weight so her knee presses into my thigh, “I know you’re worried but—”
“Worried?” My body tenses with an irrational flood of frustration, “I’m not worried, Violet. I’m losing my fucking mind. My heart was in my damn throat reading those statistics. Six times more likely to have breast cancer than someone without the BRCA mutation. Six! Significantly greater risk of developing ovarian cancer. A fifty-percent chance of passing the mutation on to your children.” The words shoot out of my mouth like rocks, thrown carelessly. My words hang in the air, heavy like sea salt, until I feel them suffocating me somehow.
Kids.
This is why she’s never been bothered by my desire to have children. She knows she won’t. She’s been pushing me away harder than I can reel her back in.
Zoe’s eyes fill with concern, with understanding, for me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, my mind still grappling with the statistics I read, still trying to process the pieces clicking together in my head.
“You have nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t have to worry about. Why are you being so blasé about this?” I plead, hoping for a glimmer of understanding.
She shakes her head, a smile glancing off her lips. “I’m not…I’ve just…I had more time to consider it, I guess. And last night, I thought we were moving forward.”
“Well, consider this—I’m going to do absolutely everything I can to keep you safe, healthy, whatever. That means doctors and tests and a real support system. You shouldn’t be here, Violet. What you need, the support, all of it, it’s back home, babe. And last night was real. It was so fucking real. I am in love with you, Zoe Clark, and that’s why I need you to go home. You have to get better. I can’t lose you.”
She wets her lips, rolling them back and forth in between her teeth like she’s willing herself not to cry. Her shoulders curve inward. I hate how she hides herself when all I want is to see all of her.
But staring at her huddled frame, the breeze filtering through her attention-grabbing hair and the moonlight gleaming off the curve of her cheek, I know I’m not enough.
I can’t offer her the support she needs right now. I can’t lift her up on the tough days and make sure I’m available to laugh with her on the good ones.
What she’s going through, the decisions she needs to make, the outcomes she needs to consider, they require deliberation.
She shouldn’t be deliberating with me. I’m not what’s best for her. Not by a long shot.
I reach out and hold her, pull her against my chest, feel the silk of her hair glide against my cheek.
What do I have to offer my Violet?
For the past few weeks, I’ve gone out of my way to piss her off, to hurt her, to make her question my own feelings toward her. I wanted her jealous and yelling, staking a claim and crawling in between my sheets.
I never considered that she was hurting. That she was struggling with something so much greater than our non-relationship. I took her presence here for granted. Sure, I could film my movie and do my workouts and deal with my emotionally demanding ex-girlfriend. And if I could use any of it to piss Zoe off, even better. Then, when I needed to feel close to her, I crawled into her bed, made her feel all the things I’m not willing to give her, and never thought twice about the fallout. The now.
“Look at me, Violet.” I reach out, the pad of my thumb brushing against her chin as I tip her face up.
Her eyes are liquid gold, swimming with tears. She chews her bottom lip and I swipe my thumb across until my palm cups her cheek. “Walk with me, babe.”
She nods, and I drop my hand to hold hers. Striding along the sea at sunset is surre
al. So many memories we’ve created in such a short amount of time.
And now, I need to say goodbye to her in the place where I first kissed her, where I pressed her into the sand like I wanted to own her. Instead, she ended up owning me.
“I want you to go home.” I whisper the words, a lie wrapped tightly around a truth that hurts too much to admit.
Her intake of breath is sharp as she twists her head to look at me. “What? No. I can do the work, Eli. I need—”
“The salary is yours. And I’m not saying that as some disparaging, insensitive remark. You’ve earned it.”
“No, I didn’t finish—”
“I need you to go home.” I force the words from my throat, even though they’re so very wrong. They physically hurt on the way out. I take some comfort in that, in knowing I deserve to feel raw after how I’ve treated her.
“Eli, the film, your workouts…” Zoe trails off, her fingertips pressing desperation into my skin as her words fail her.
“I can’t focus with you here. It’s too much. You, the worrying, the drama on set. I look at you and I want to protect you and fix everything, and I can’t. I need you to go.” I keep my voice strong, even, hardening my heart to the sorrow that shades her expression.
You’re hurting her, you asshole. She needs so much more than you will ever give.
“What?” she chokes out on a sigh, her knees wobbling.
I tighten my hold, one hand wrapping around her hip. Was her hip bone always so sharp, or has she lost weight?
Concern for her rocks through me, strengthening my resolve to make this decision. It’s the right one for her anyway.
“I need you to go home, Zoe. It’s what’s best for you, for the movie, for everyone.”
“So you were saying goodbye? You made me believe in a future for us…for what? Just so you could take away my hope?”
Her words slaughter my heart, making me hate myself with an intensity that scorches me from the inside out. “I’m a selfish man, Zoe. I always have been. And I don’t fucking deserve you. Please, baby, just take care of yourself.”
She drops her head, her crown hitting my chest as a sob sounds in her throat. She releases my hand and wipes at her face as I glance toward the stars, trying to steady my own emotions, wishing on all of them for Violet’s health.
When I’m sure she’s not going to fall, I drop my hold and step back. It’s the cowardly thing to do, leaving her at the water’s edge, crying and hurting. But if I stay a minute longer, I won’t be able walk away, and that’s what she needs me to do. Her future may depend on it.
Her eyes meet mine and I hate the hurt that brims in hers. I hate myself for what I’m doing to her. Again.
I hate myself for lying. Is it a lie when it’s protecting the person you love?
Unable to stop myself, I brush a kiss across her cheek, breathing in the coconut scent of her shampoo one last time. “Harlow’s booked you on the flight for tomorrow afternoon. Please, Zoe, get on the plane and go home.”
Forcing myself to turn around, I leave her at the shoreline, the water tickling her toes and her tears dropping salt into the sea.
15
Zoe
“There she is.” Charlie grins at me, holding a handmade poster and balloons in the Arrivals hall of the airport.
“Welcome back, Fit Bitch from That Fit Bitch Life?” I snort, waving away her sign as I collapse into her for a hug.
“Free advertising,” she explains as she wraps her arm around me.
Charlie’s hugs have been keeping me glued together since I was thirteen years old, with a broken heart and an uncertain future. Now is no different.
“You okay?” she prods after several long beats of silence.
“Of course,” I answer, because I am. After losing my mom, there isn’t much in the world that could make me not okay. Not even a broken heart.
“Sweatpants, chips and guac, and tequila?” She takes the handle of my suitcase and passes me the poster board.
“This is why we’re friends,” I agree, falling in step beside her as we navigate the busy airport toward the parking garage.
“What? You mean it’s not the sexy lingerie purchases?” she gasps and I snort. “Ah, there’s that Zoe smile.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“But you love me.”
“Duh. How’s Dad?” I ask, hating the worry that snakes around my heart every time I check in with Charlie regarding Dad’s eyesight. I knew he wouldn’t be here to pick me up, he’s too short-staffed at Shooters. Still, I can’t help but worry that there’s more than the employee schedule at play.
Charlie’s silence heightens my fears.
“Charlie?” I stop walking, turning to look at her.
“He’s okay.”
“But?”
“His last test results were…less than the doctor hoped.”
“How bad?” My voice cracks and Charlie’s eyes drops in sympathy. “How bad, Charlie?”
“He wants to talk to you himself.”
“Shit.”
“Shooters?” Charlie starts walking again, pulling my suitcase behind her at a brisk clip.
“First, tequila.”
“I got you, babe.” She says the words casually, yet the “babe” hits me like a pang.
I knew, from the very first moment I met him, that Eli Holt was fleeting and fun. He was the casual, no-strings-attached kind of man I used to crave.
Then, he told me he loved him.
I should have known better than to confide in him about my test results. But once he knew, I never expected him to throw me away like this. Like I was nothing. Already damaged goods.
Sure, he can toss around money and the names of important clinics and fancy doctors to assuage his guilt. But at the end of the day, it’s easier for him to make his Hollywood blockbuster without the complication hanging around set.
Who wants to be dragged down by the girl with the bleak future and sad eyes?
Clearly, no one.
Which is why I’m back in Chicago, $200,000 richer and I’ve never felt more worthless.
* * *
Charlie knows how to liquor me up.
By the time we enter Shooters, Dad’s face twists as he catches the alcohol wafting off us.
“Really? You took her to Wade’s?” he frowns, mentioning the owner of Terrence’s Tavern two streets over.
Charlie shrugs and walks off, slipping behind the bar to fill two glasses with water.
“Come here, my girl.” Dad opens his arms and I fall into them, grateful for his constant catches no matter how damaged I am. “I missed you,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Me too.”
“Charlie spilled the beans?”
“No.”
“So, the tequila was just a precursor.”
“Always prep for success,” I grin against the flannel of his shirt.
Dad’s chuckle vibrates under my ear. “And what success are you aiming for?”
“Not to cry in public.”
“Ahh, kid.” His hand cups the back of my head. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry about Eli.”
“You are?” I question, pulling back so I can peer into Dad’s face.
“You liked him an awful lot.”
“Nah, he was just like collecting a trophy.”
Dad snorts, tapping his palm against my cheek. “Whatever makes you feel better, Zo. You good?”
“I will be after I know about your test results.”
“Charlie’s got a big mouth.”
“That’s why you love me!” Charlie calls out from behind the bar.
“And she’s always sneaking around,” Dad continues, raising his voice for Charlie to hear.
“Dad.”
Dad sighs, tipping his head toward the bar. “We’ll take two more tequilas, Charlie.”
“I love it when you let me work tipsy, Papa Clark.”
“Ten minutes
, tops.” Dad points at her.
“You got it, sir.” She mock salutes him while filling two shot glasses with Patron.
I slip onto the barstool, facing Dad directly as he downs his shot, and lets out a long exhale. “I’m going blind, Zo,” he says.
I grip the cuff of his flannel shirt, squeezing as hard as I can to hold on for the next blow.
“Dr. Kent thinks I’ve got about six more months before…” Dad trails off, spinning his shot glass on the bar’s surface, “before even the shadows stop dancing.”
A sob breaks apart in my chest, as powerful as a tsunami, as quiet as a raindrop. Moments pass like eons as I replay his words over and over in my mind.
Totally blind.
Six months. All my fears realized.
“What if —”
“There are no other treatments,” he cuts me off.
“How about—”
“I’m not going to any other hospitals.”
“Daddy,” I plead with him.
A soft smile curves his lips. “Oh, Zoe, you of all people should know that the real seeing doesn’t happen with your eyes.” He catches my fingers and squeezes them. “Everything that matters, you can see with your heart. And I see you, Zo. I always have. I know this news is difficult to hear, especially on top of your own medical worries, the thing with Eli—”
“We broke up.”
“But you didn’t break, Zo. I’ve always been in absolute awe of your strength, your ability to keep going even when it’s so damn difficult to constantly push the boulder up the mountain. This is just another one of those times. You and me, we’re going to dig in deep, and keep pushing. I’ll be okay as long as you’re okay, and I know deep down, you’re going to be okay, Zo.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, turning toward my shot glass. With my free hand, I grip the glass and toss back the alcohol, savoring the burn as it blazes down my throat and warms my belly. “I’m going to be okay.”
* * *
“Gossip sucks.” Charlie closes the top of my laptop and stands from the desk chair in my childhood bedroom. “I’ve missed it here,” she admits, glancing at the framed photographs on my dresser.