Atticus, I began to type, I thought you should know that I felt our daughter kick today.
Then I erased it all.
Thought you would want to know that I felt her today
Again, I erased it.
I’m sorry. Can we talk? p.s. I felt her today.
My eyes burned as I erased it all again and locked the phone.
Atticus
I stared at my phone, trying to gather the courage to tell her that I knew her graduation was that day and I wanted to ask her how she was doing. I wanted to tell her I missed her. That if I could, I would do everything over again so differently. As I did this, the typing indicator popped up under my last text to Haze and my heart flew into my throat.
“Gosh-damn it, Hazel, what are you doing?” I said.
I sat up and watched that bubble disappear then reappear, disappear then reappear, disappear then reappear. My knee bounced as I watched the screen, waiting for the bubble to appear again. But it didn’t.
“You ready to keep going?” Delilah asked me, a plastic smile on her fucking face.
“Yeah,” I groaned.
“You okay?” she asked, leaning closer to me. I automatically leaned away.
“I’m fine, Delilah. Get in the booth.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
“I do, actually. You’re fucked up and it’s caused me a lot of problems.”
“Listen, my label is paying a lot of money—” she started to threaten.
“Stop right there,” I interrupted her. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m fulfilling my end of the contract, but you know what wasn’t in there? My being your little bitch wasn’t in there. My tolerating your scandalous ass wasn’t in there. So I’m gonna create your music and it’s going to be fucking fresh, but that doesn’t mean I have to like doing it. Now get in the gosh-damn booth.”
She swallowed and stood, opening the door to the booth and settling inside.
When the door closed, River turned to me. “Dude, don’t fuck this up for us.”
“I’m doing my job, River. You know what she did, yet I’m still here, right? Consider that not fucking this up for you.”
I closed out my day with about half an hour to spare, threw on my jacket, and rushed out of the studio. I was going to Hazel’s graduation, even if she didn’t want me to be there. I thought back to the disappearing texts and wondered if she actually did. I jumped in the Impala, my heart racing, and headed to the auditorium she’d listed on her invite to my mom. I drove into the lot and threw the car in park, practically sprinting to the auditorium. My hands shook as I reached for the door and pulled it open. I wound through the packed lobby, my chest tight with anticipation. My eyes meandered over the crowd when I spotted her, across the room, near the bar concession.
God, she is beautiful. And so fucking smart. And so fucking creative. She’s a fucking genius.
Her long chestnut hair swung forward when she looked down at her phone. Her finger hung over the screen’s face. Her hand formed a fist then she put the phone in the pocket of her graduation gown.
She didn’t realize it, but her pregnancy made her insanely hot to me. I couldn’t describe it out loud without sounding like a fucking caveman, but knowing she was carrying our daughter did something to my insides. It woke something in me I didn’t know laid dormant, something primal. I saw her face and I thought protect. I touched her skin and I thought mine. I kissed her lips and I thought want. And I did, so fucking much. I hadn’t met anyone like her, and I knew I never would. She was made for me. And I was made to worship her.
She started to search the crowd for someone and I deluded myself into thinking it might be me. I ducked behind a group of people so she wouldn’t see me and start demanding I leave, in case I wasn’t who she was searching for. When her hazel eyes had seen all they wanted to see, she turned toward a door heading into the auditorium and broke through. It was only then I felt as if I could breathe again.
I leaned against a marble column, tucked my hands in my pockets, and closed my eyes to catch my breath. I want her. I want her. I want her.
“If you’ll all please take a seat, the ceremony will begin shortly,” a woman’s voice rang through the room. I absently noted the acoustics in there were killer.
I joined the herd into the theater and chose a seat in the back, in the dark, where she wouldn’t be able to see me.
I couldn’t even tell you who gave the commencement speech or what was said. All I knew was Hazel. She stood out to me in sea of graduation caps, her long hair, the way she carried herself, her secret smiles. She laughed with someone beside her, I didn’t know who, and it made me jealous as hell that she had friendships with others, friends she could laugh and joke with, friends I didn’t even know yet.
Since it was a fall graduation, there weren’t many graduates, so they got to Hazel’s row fairly quickly. I stood when she did and started filming on my phone. When she walked up the stage, I hit the photo option while I recorded. The flash went off when they said her name and I hadn’t expected it to.
“Shit,” I whispered, and fumbled to turn it off.
Hazel
“Hazel Stone,” the coordinator spoke into the microphone.
There was a flash of light from someone’s camera somewhere in the back of the theater. Must be a mistake, I thought.
“Congratulations,” Dr. Danes said, handing me my diploma holder.
“Thank you, Professor Danes.”
I descended the stage and took my seat again. It was all such a whirlwind. I didn’t even have an opportunity to think about how alone I was until I sat down and looked around to see if he was there. He’s not here. How could he not come? I bit my bottom lip to prevent myself from crying. I caused this. I should have tried to work it out. I should have tried harder.
Just then, my baby started moving around and the tears I fought so hard to keep back came pouring out.
“You okay?” my friend Donivan asked.
“Yeah, dude, fine. Just a little emotional.”
He smiled and nodded. “No doubt.”
I sucked in a breath to distract myself, which worked. I wiped the tears away and felt relief when my face dried.
After the ceremony, I sat in the lobby waiting for Professor Danes as he requested. I took off my cap and unzipped my gown to get some air. Polyester is no bueno for ventilation, muchachos.
“Miss Stone,” Dr. Danes called out.
I turned toward him and smiled. “Professor Danes.”
He brought a little woman forward. She was, maybe sixty, with the most chic haircut I’d ever seen, and clothes that would rival Coco Chanel.
“Hazel Stone, this is Cordelia Clements. She’s curator for the DMA.”
She held out her hand and I took it. “Miss Clements, so nice to meet you.”
“And you as well, my darling.”
“I showed her your piece, Hazel, and she was very impressed,” Professor Danes said.
“Very impressed, “ Miss Clements confirmed. “I was wondering if you would be interested in exhibiting?”
I was floored, almost speechless. “Uh, uh, uh,” I stuttered. “I mean, of course. That is a dream come true for me, actually.”
Cordelia Clements smiled. “It would be an honor.” She looked over her shoulder. “Listen, I’m sorry to lay that on you and run,” she teased, “but I’ve got a fellow over there looking to get home. I’ll have an appraiser run by the school and have your piece appraised. We’ll get the piece in about six weeks or so for exhibition?”
“Uh, yes, of course,” I stammered, a little out of breath.
She kissed both my cheeks and squeezed my hands. “Quite the talent, Miss Stone.”
She started to walk away but before I had an opportunity to register what happened, she turned around. “Oh, also, so sorry. I’ve got a local artist needing an apprentice while he opens a gallery sponsored by the museum. I think you’d be perfect for the role. Are you attac
hed anywhere?”
“No, ma’am.”
She looked at Dr. Danes and winked. “I’ll look past that ma’am business,” she playfully dug. “I’ll give him your contact information. Do you have a card?” she asked.
“Oh, yes!” I exclaimed, reaching into my pocket and taking out the cards Dr. Danes insisted I bring. I gave her three.
“Eager,” she teased when she took in the number. “I like that. Goodbye, darling. We’ll be in touch.”
She turned and people parted for her naturally. She was a force to be reckoned with.
“Well.” I sighed.
Professor Danes smiled. “That was Cordelia.”
“She’s magnificent,” I said.
“That she is,” he agreed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
I gave him a hug. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re a rarity, Miss Stone. It’s not often I have a student with a talent as natural as yours. I can’t wait to see what you do with it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He nodded and smiled then disappeared within the crowd.
I turned, hoping to miraculously find Atticus there. No one was there, of course.
“Time to get home, I guess,” I told no one.
My hand went to my stomach. Well, not no one.
Atticus
December 10th
Well, I went to your graduation today. You looked beautiful, as always. I wanted to grab you, hug you, kiss you, but I didn’t. I’m a coward, apparently. Never thought of myself as such but I’m scared of you.
I know you won’t want to read this but I have to lay it out there. I only have two more weeks on the contract. I’m counting down the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the nanoseconds.
I think about you constantly.
I wonder how you’re feeling, what you’re doing with your days. I’ve been trying to put cash in your bank account but they won’t let me because I don’t know the account number. I think I’m pissing off the tellers going in there every day but I don’t care. I tried to pay your December rent but apparently you already did. I’ll try January, I guess.
I miss you, Haze. I feel like we’re stuck in quicksand. Move an inch and we’ll sink deeper but we want out, we want free. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. I don’t want it to be like this anymore. I crave your skin, miss your hands on me. I feel the loss, Haze. It set up in my chest and won’t move out. It refuses to move out.
I won’t send you this letter. I don’t think you’ll read it. Maybe you would. I don’t know. I’ll hold on to it for a while anyway.
Miss you, Haze.
-Atticus
***
December 13th
Eleven days left on the contract.
I drove by your studio today but your car wasn’t there. I know that’s stalker-type shit but I can’t help it. You must have gotten a job or something. I hope you’re eating. You get so sick when you don’t and I worry about you. My mom asked about you today. She doesn’t know. Only my brothers know and they’re keeping quiet. I asked them to. I keep hoping things will change. Is that delusional?
Want you, Haze.
-Atticus
***
December 17th
Seven days left on the contract.
Today the label heads heard most of the remaining tracks and liked them. One of them called me personally, but it felt bittersweet not being able to call you immediately after and tell you about it. They’ve been marketing like crazy in select markets. They released a single organically and it went viral, so they’re putting it on the radio. It feels surreal. There’s this unspoken pressure to finish the album with a bang, but I’m finding it hard to be creative since you’ve been gone, and I’ve literally started to hate the artist. I’ve visited all your paintings over and over but they’ve lost their potency now that I know and need the artist more than I want the muse they supplied.
Need you, Haze.
-Atticus
***
December 21st
Three days left on the contract.
The single is sitting at number twelve and rising. I can’t believe you’re not around to celebrate this with me.
The label heads offered me a job. They prefer I move to LA but say they’ll let me work from anywhere. It feels like a dream come true but it won’t register. I won’t say why. You should know by now.
I wonder if you suffer as much as I do.
Does your heart feel ripped to shreds?
Can you feel mine at your feet?
It beats. I know it beats because I can feel it pounding, an agonizing cadence that counts your fucking name.
Just finish me off, Hazel. One careful step and you’d give me relief.
Put me out of my misery.
I’m starting to hate you.
-Atticus
***
December 23rd
One day left on the contract.
I texted you. I had to. I needed to know if you felt anything anymore as I do. You didn’t respond, though.
I wonder how you could just leave us like this? I can’t believe how you’ve done me.
I can’t believe it.
I can’t fucking believe it.
You’re cruel.
-Atticus
***
December 24th
Ding, dong. The witch is dead.
It sucks my first number-one hit was with her, but it is what it is. Anyway, I’m done. I fulfilled my contract and I got a number-one hit out of it. The album drops in March. I’ve already got a label position and the power to veto exclusivity so the million other offers on the table can still be considered or worked in tandem. Whatever I want, basically. It’s ideal. I’d tell you about them but I don’t think you’d care.
Malachi told Mom about us. The family is pissed at me now. Like I’m the one who is hardheaded and won’t realize the truth. Like I’m the one who could somehow change your mind. Like I had a fucking choice.
Go to hell, Hazel Stone.
- The one who wanted you but doesn’t anymore
Hazel
Etta and I are talking again but she’s busy with school and her new boyfriend. We text a lot more than we used to, but it’s better than nothing.
I’m sick. My doctor doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s monitoring me closely. It’s nothing he’s seen before. They called a few specialists in but they’re all stumped. It’s not cancer. It’s not any sort of disease they’re familiar with. I’m starting to reject pregnancy. It feels like a cruel joke. Just as I’m falling in love with her, my body wants to get rid of her. My hands go to my belly and hold there.
I’m scared to tell Atticus. There feels like too much to throw on him at once. I was an idiot. I am a huge idiot. His single went number one. I was sure he was living it up. Why wouldn’t he be? And I didn’t want to put a damper on all that. He was thrown into the spotlight he was made for. I couldn’t even keep up with the number of women who threw themselves at his metaphorical feet on social. He had an interview on the Edge. I heard it. He sounded happy. He sounded as if he was having the time of his life.
Was I going to show up and douse his life with cold water then? I couldn’t do it. I was hoping it would all turn out well anyway and when I went into labor just let him know he was welcome to come up to the hospital.
I drove by The Sink all the time. His car was there almost all the time. It was some stalker-type shit but I didn’t care.
“Hazel, are you ready?” James asked.
James was the artist Cordelia Clements said was looking for an apprentice. He was insanely talented; I had learned so much in the short time I had already been working with him.
Since word had gotten out in the community that my finals art piece was going to be featured, I’d gotten some notoriety and was able to sell a few commissions as well as a few of my existing pieces. James added me as an artist to the gallery’s website and I’d gotten a few hits from there as well. I was
starting to make a name for myself. It was ideal.
Christmas came and went and I spent the day crying in bed wishing I could see Atticus. Etta tried to drag me out but I just couldn’t go to her aunt’s house in the state I was in. Her family would worry about me; I couldn’t do that to them. Later that night, though, she came back with a plate of food and we watched Elf.
“Yes, James,” I answered, and smiled at him.
“How are you feeling, honey?” he asked, his hand going to my little belly.
“Okay,” I lied, patting his hand sweetly.
He pushed some of my hair behind my ear and patted my cheek. “Hazel, you are a terrible liar.”
“I’ll be okay,” I tried to reassure him, not entirely convinced I would be, but hoping for the best.
He studied me and decided my answer was okay. “How was your New Year’s?” he asked, changing the subject, taking out his keys, and unlocking the large glass door to the new gallery attached to the DMA.