All of You All of Me

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Hi,” I greet them.

  Hunter smiles, walking toward me. He stops right in front of me. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body. The amusing twitch of his mouth drags a chuckle out of me.

  “Don’t move,” he orders, leaning closer to me, watching me. His mouth captures mine, and I feel like I’m losing my balance. I wrap my hands around his neck. He kisses me deeply. His strong arms press me tightly to him. I don’t want this to end. God, I’ve missed him so much, and it’s only been less than two days since the last time I saw him.

  “Good evening, Hunter,” Grandpa greets him with a sharp voice.

  “I said no hands,” I hiss releasing his neck.

  He moves his fingers. “They never touched you.” The amusement on his face is contagious. I laugh, too. “How are you, gorgeous?”

  “She’s doing well, ready to eat?” Harrison and Scott step out of the elevator.

  Harrison looks over my shoulder and says, “Beesley, get the table ready and bring some drink. You better be as hungry as you said because I have plenty of food.”

  We scatter around to set the table. I look puzzled at all the take-out boxes Harrison is setting on the table. Mexican Monday looks more like a big fiesta. My sister loves Mexican food: I think it’s because the family we grew up with is part Mexican. I think it’s okay, but I don’t love the food. I enjoyed their Irish dishes the most.

  “Where did you get the food from?”

  “Juanes,” Hazel reads out loud, then turns to look at Harrison. “You went to lower Manhattan just for me?”

  “Don’t get all excited, Hazel. It’s just food,” Harrison says, opening the takeout boxes. “There are twenty tacos of each. Al Pastor, suadero, chorizo, chuleta, huitlacoche, lengua, chicharron, and carnitas.”

  Looking up at Hazel he arches an eyebrow. “Did I miss something?”

  “Quesadillas?”

  “The cheese would’ve been hard by the time I arrived.”

  “Are you planning on feeding the entire building, Harrison?” Gramps picks up one of the takeout containers to inspect it. “Why would you bring so many?”

  “Because I’m his favorite person ever.” Hazel grabs a plate and takes two of each.

  “No, I went there because you said, ‘they are the best tacos in all of Manhattan.’ I had to verify your findings.” Harrison grabs a few tacos, smothers them with salsa, squeezes a lime and takes one, studying it, as if this is art.

  “It’s a taco,” I remind him, preparing myself a plate.

  “Clearly, you and I have different ideas about tacos, Willow.” He shoots a glare to Hunter that says, is she for real?

  Harrison takes a bite of one of the tacos he grabbed and starts moaning. “Mm yeah, they are good tacos. Almost Mexico City quality.”

  Wiping the salsa dripping from the corner of his mouth, he looks at Hazel and grants her a smile. “You might’ve found the best place in Manhattan. I still have to take you to the best in the world.”

  “That reminds me.” Scott pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “I have work to do. Are we going to Mexico?” Then, he directs his attention to Hazel. “Is there a way you can jump into a couple of projects, sweetheart?”

  She nods without looking at her schedule. “Give me until Thursday, and I’ll go to your office. Email me what you need me to do, though. I can start on it Wednesday night. Does that work?”

  Scott responds with a simple yes.

  Harrison’s head lifts, and he looks around the table. “Yes, about that trip. Can we schedule it for next year? I have to head back to work.”

  “As in leaving?” Hazel’s voice lowers. “For a mission.”

  He nods.

  She sighs. “Just make sure they don’t kill you.”

  “That’s always the plan. You’ll be fine, right?” He turns to look at me and then back at Hazel.

  “Yeah?” Her brows draw out together.

  “Going to visit your parents without me,” he explains, devouring yet another taco. “I will send you with a security detail.”

  “Ah, nope. We don’t need babysitting,” Hazel says, grabbing more tacos and then looking at me. “Are we planning on traveling?”

  She had said it was up to me. After talking to my therapist, I feel more confident in my decision to wait for now. My parents have the tools to reach out to us, and I personally want to see them trying to be a part of my life. I love them—they are my parents. But they have to understand our relationship has to be mutual.

  I shake my head, lifting my tablet. “My schedule is tight. Maybe at a later date. Like next year, who knows when we will have time to take another trip together.”

  “Labor Day weekend,” the four Everhart boys respond.

  “Where are we going?” I ask putting away my tablet and eating a disgusting taco of cow tongue, but I hate to agree with Harrison and Hazel, it’s delicious.

  Gramps takes on the conversation suggesting places we can go. We all have different opinions. International destinations are the choice of Scott and Fitz. Harrison just wants a few days away from the job. Hunter says he’ll do whatever the majority decides. I want to go somewhere quiet with gardens and a pool. Hazel insists on going surfing. Grandpa suggests we go to Lake Champlain in September, and we can choose a beach destination for Christmas break.

  Once we all finish eating and clearing the table, we go to the media room to watch my show. Hunter hasn’t watched it yet, and no one else seems to mind the reruns.

  “Sit with me.” Hunter’s lips caress the back of my neck.

  “Hands, mouth, and thoughts to yourself, Mr. Everhart.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He grins, a quick flash of pure Everhart-charm.

  I’LL WALK ON THE EDGE FOR YOU

  I’m yours, don’t give myself back to me.

  ~ Rumi

  Willow

  THERE’S A RUMBLE somewhere in my room. I close my eyes tighter and ignore whoever is trying to vandalize it. It’s too early to open my eyes. It’s too early to confront anyone. Not after the horrible night I had. Who can be roaming around opening and closing drawers?

  “Fuck, I need at least one.” That’s Hazel voice, and I stop breathing, afraid she’s going to wake me up because she needs to borrow something. I love and hate to live with my sister. I hate it because she’s always borrowing my jewelry and losing something. I love it because I can borrow her shoes, though she hated me when I accidentally broke the heel of her red Jimmy Choos. Or that time when I scuffed her suede Prada boots. “Are these my new sandals? I swear I’m going to buy a safe for my stuff.”

  Yep, she hates me. What did I do now? If she bitches about me taking her things, I’ll remind her of my Louboutin lipstick. That thing cost me nearly a hundred bucks. She has no idea where she left it. I have a lot to say if she dares to wake me up because of something I borrowed. I’m ready to lash out anyway. But I don’t get a chance to say anything. She closes the door of my room. Whatever happened, it’s not important enough to wake me up.

  Of course, I spoke too soon. Seconds later she’s knocking hard on my door. “I’m going to the store,” Hazel calls.

  Stretching my hand, I grab my phone to check the time. It’s 6:27 in the morning. “Isn’t it a little early to go to the store?” I groan, regretting last night and promising myself I won’t touch her stuff ever again. At least not today.

  “It’s an emergency.” She enters my room. “I checked everywhere in the house. We are out of tampons.”

  Pushing myself, I try to look friendly. Do not throw a pillow, remain calm. She’ll leave soon. Look helpful.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing?” I get out of the bed, going through all the places where I could’ve put one. “Nothing.”

  “I guess I’ll need a box, too, please.” I search for my purse, but I don’t know where it is.

  “No worries, I’ll pay.” She scrunches her face. “Are you okay? You look a little green.”

  “Kind of, I was puking al
l night.”

  She twists her lips. “Maybe it was the fish I made. I’ll bring you some seltzer and crackers.”

  “Thank you,” I say, going back to bed.

  Resting my head back on my pillows, I close my eyes. I need five more minutes. Then, I’ll start my day. Why does she have to wake me up about tampons? I’m glad she’s bringing me some. I will need them . . . As I pull up the covers, it hits me.

  “No, no, no.” I start searching around my room for my planner.

  Where is it, where did I put my stupid planner?

  Rushing through the house, I turn everything upside down until I find my purse in the media room. Opening it, I start searching for the note where I wrote down my last period. As I continue flipping pages, my heart hammers faster. I find it and start counting the days. Five fucking weeks and five days since it happened.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  It can’t be. What other proof do you need, Willow?

  All the signs are here. Last night I threw up five times. I haven’t had my period, and the biggest factor—we had unprotected sex for almost two weeks.

  But I’m on the fucking pill. It’s only ninety-nine percent effective. Of course, that one percent will fuck me seven ways to the end of the world. My life is over. Over. This can’t be happening to me. No one is going to hire a second rate, pregnant actress. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t have children. My DNA is faulty—my family sucks at raising children. My mother is the best example. What am I supposed to do now?

  I run to my room, closing the door behind me. Calm down, Willow. Do. Not. Let. Your. Emotions. Run. This. Show. I go through my flash cards; clinging to a positive emotion doesn’t work. There’s not one positive thought inside my head. Let go of your worries. How the fuck can I do that? Pacing back and forth, I try to think of a solution.

  This can’t be happening. Of course, it’s happening. Hazel always says it, just when I have my shit together, I find a way to sabotage myself. Months of hard work wasted on a lustful week. I knew better than to have sex with him. Stay away from him, I told myself. We haven’t even discussed our relationship.

  Without thinking, I text Hunter that I need to talk to him. It’s urgent that we discuss this. After I send it, I regret it. No. He shouldn’t know. He’s going to think I did this on purpose. Did I? A way to tie him to me. My subconscious played this well. Do I want that kind of love?

  “Are you okay?” Hazel enters my room carrying two boxes of tampons.

  “Yeah,” I answer with disdain. “Sick, but whatever. Nothing I can’t fix.”

  “I’m going downstairs to the gym,” she says, carefully, setting the boxes on top of my nightstand. “You know I’m here for you.”

  “To laugh at me?” My voice drips with spite, and I’m on the verge of collapse.

  “I’m sure it’s hard for you to talk about whatever is going on with you, but I’ll be here when you need me.” Her voice is neither condescending nor loud. “I bet there are a lot of emotions you have to work through before you can discuss it.”

  “It’s upsetting me even thinking about it,” I respond, lowering my gaze.

  “Okay.” She walks to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

  I shake my head, looking at my hands. The door closes, and I feel like I’m drowning. No one will be able to rescue me. Sitting on the floor, I start thinking about the possibilities. Not one of my options is helpful. A child is a big responsibility. There’s no way I can give this child up. It doesn’t take long before I feel Hazel’s movements. In no time, she’s sitting right next to me, not saying a word. Not touching me, just being there, waiting patiently.

  “I think I’m pregnant.” I let the words out after a long time has passed.

  “I can see this must be a huge surprise,” she says, taking a deep breath. “How would you like me to help?”

  Hugging my legs, I stare at my toes. “You were right. I always do something to screw up my life.”

  “With all due respect, Willow. I said that a long time ago, and that was me being stupid and neurotic. Sometimes, you shouldn’t listen to me.” Hazel takes my hand. “I know how you feel. I’ve been there.”

  “Pregnant?” I gasp in surprise.

  “Scared, thinking I might be pregnant, feeling alone.” Her voice stays calm. “I had just moved here from Santa Cruz. Elliot and I were careless during our last night together.”

  Thinking about the eighteen-year-old Hazel breaks my heart. She had just moved to New York. I wasn’t very attentive to her in those days. Poor kid, scared and lonely.

  “What happened?”

  “For days, I thought about the outcome.” She traces lines on the carpet. “Elliot had lost his scholarship, and he was working a lot to help his family. His dad had just died. It was up to me to handle what I had done.”

  “You should’ve come to me.”

  She laughs. “You warned me so many times. How could I come to you? You’d think I was as stupid as Elliot’s older sister.” Hazel shakes her head. “Those days were the longest, most excruciating days of my life.”

  “What happened?”

  “Stress,” she responds. “A week after, I got my period.”

  “Do you think it’s stress?”

  She shakes her head and smiles. I feel so stupid, but also safe. Hazel gets it, and I’m not alone. “I don’t know. Maybe you were sick because of my cooking. Fitz texted me last night that he was sick. Maybe he’s right, and I don’t know how to cook.”

  “But you look fine.”

  “I didn’t eat here last night,” she reminds me. “Scott and I had that dinner with some potential clients.”

  Hazel squeezes my hand. “What I know is that you’re not alone, and the sooner you find out, the better.”

  “What would you have done?” I ask her.

  She angles her head, shrugging. “I was going to talk to Gramps. Ask him to help me.”

  “Elliot?”

  “He had his own problems. In my crazy scenario, I raised our child by myself. Then when he was settled, he’d come for us. I read too many romance novels.” She smiles. “My advice to you is that you find out soon, and talk to Hunter. Communicate.” She winks at me. “Try that with Hunter, talk everything through. Don’t assume.”

  “Can you get me a test?” I reach for my purse to grab my wallet. She shakes her head and leaves.

  Hunter arrived only minutes after Hazel left my side. His face pale, his breathing shallow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Hi.”

  “Willow, you texted me that we need to talk,” he says, his mouth set on a grim line.

  Just say it, Willow. Let it out and face the consequences. “I might be pregnant.”

  His shoulders slump, he exhales loud and says, “Thank fuck.”

  “What?” I shriek.

  “I thought you were going to break up with me.” His voice filled with honesty and some worry.

  “Expecting a baby is better than breaking up with you?”

  He nods.

  His reaction is the fire that ignites my rant. Blaming myself for letting things go too far between us when I don’t think I’m ready for anything. I haven’t learned to love myself enough. How can he expect me to love him? He thinks he can handle me, but it’s almost impossible. I don’t have a disease. I have a disorder. It won’t be cured, only managed. If we have children, they will probably face the same fate we did. Not once does he stop me. He listens without changing his calm facial expression. And I hate that he won’t react. I hate that I feel better after unloading everything. I hate that for two seconds, I want him to hug me and tell me that everything will be fine.

  “I hate that for the rest of my life I’ll be wondering if you are with me because of a baby or because of me.”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and nods.

  “You never read those birthday cards, did you?”

  “Which ones?”

  “La
st year, when I decided to send you flowers every hour. The day that . . .” his gaze lingers around my room.

  I shake my head.

  He bobs his head once, closing the distance between us.

  “I love you, Willow. Simple. I love you. With or without a baby, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He takes my hands. “Your flaws are your best feature. The way you wear those scars like battle wounds from a war that will never end. My love for you grows daily. Will I propose to you if you are pregnant?” He pauses, looking around my room. “No. I wouldn’t. If and when I propose to you, it will be because you love me. Which I’m starting to think isn’t the case.”

  He releases my hands, looking out the window. “If you are expecting a baby, I will love him or her with all my heart. Because it’s ours. I won’t stop loving you. I don’t blame you at all. It was my responsibility to use a condom. For that, I apologize. I should be careful with you. Our relationship is too fragile to behave recklessly.”

  “I bought a dozen tests.” Hazel saunters into my room, halting when she sees Hunter. “Oh, you’re here.”

  “Sorry about my cooking,” she apologizes to him. “I think it was bad.”

  “Ya, think?”

  Hazel hands me the bag. “I guess I’ll leave you two to it?” She doesn’t wait for me to beg her to stay.

  I take out one of the boxes inside the bag and look at Hunter. “I’ll call you after I find out.”

  “No, I’m here to support you. Willow, I adore you. This isn’t easy for you—I know that.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “If you are pregnant, I’ll respect your decision and support you.”

  That last sentence is reassuring. Unlike Hazel, I have Hunter’s support. God, I feel like I’m taking two steps behind after pouring all my insecurities on him. Don’t think about that, concentrate on finding out what’s happening with you. Peeing on the damn stick doesn’t take long. I place it on top of the box, wash my hands, and lean against the wall to wait. Hunter enters and takes my hand.

  “Honestly, what do you want to happen?” he asks.