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7
HAZEL
My whole self is buzzing with excitement after that. Being with Chasen, in that way, was nothing short of a wholly transcendent experience.
As we make our way to the house I want to call Tess right now. But she’s in San Diego and her nephew could be born any minute. I don’t want to disrupt her time with her family.
I’m still on cloud nine as we park and Chasen cuts the engine. Leaning into me, he plants one more stolen kiss on me. I can still taste myself on his mouth. This man, I swear. What am I going to do without this man in my life?
Yes, yes. I can imagine making a life out here. Staying. Forever.
What about school? My family?
What all would change if I decided something like that?
All thoughts I can revisit later. I’ll have to. After so much confusion and inner mess, I finally feel it—a spark that starts in my chest and spreads all over, covering me. Inner peace.
Chasen escorts me into the house. It’s late and most of the lights are off. I can hear Hank and Marjorie speaking in hushed tones in the den on the other side of the house. They don’t seem to hear us.
As I turn to Chasen to bid him goodnight, a string of words comes from Hank, not meant for my ears but I hear them crystal clear.
“Chasen is more like a son to me than she is a daughter.”
My mouth bangs open.
“Hazel,” Chasen whispers, his eyes going wide with alarm, shaking his head slowly no.
I can’t say a word. My throat closes tight and I push on his chest until he’s outside and I shut the door before my knees give out and my body threatens to collapse to the floor. I turn for the stairs. I need to leave. I don’t belong here. But Marjorie is there, Hank a mere shadow at her back.
“Honey, what did you hear? He didn’t mean—”
I clench my hands so tight my nails break into the skin. “I…have been nothing but cordial and kind to you all,” I manage to speak around the planet-sized lump in my neck. “Hank Hardin, you can hide behind your tough emotionless façade but it’s no excuse for how you’ve treated me. Your daughter,” I spit the word as I dash upstairs and throw all my shit into my suitcase.
“Hazel! Hazel,” I hear Marjorie call out desperately a couple more times from downstairs. But she can’t apologize for him.
Deep down inside, I actually, truly understand. Why would I feel anything like a daughter to that man? He certainly doesn’t feel like a dad. He’s known Chasen for all of that heartthrob cowboy’s life. He’s fostered his strengths, his ambitions, helped him grow up.
My heart gets the best of me and I stop what I’m doing to break down on the bed and quietly but fully cry for a good time. I can’t just leave. It can’t all end like this.
When I pull myself somewhat together I pick up my phone to call my dad—I mean, Scott Davenport. Scott being a seasoned lawyer, he’s good at hearing and understanding multiple points of view. Putting things into perspective. Sometimes it’s to a fault.
He picks up right away. When I tell him what just happened he assures me that I will always be his daughter, no matter what.
Knowing Rosemary is with him right now though, I can’t subdue the twinge of jealousy in me. And Scott, my daddy forever, seems inexplicably privy to that.
“Hazel, let me tell you something,” he says gently. He’s no longer in lawyer mode, or campaign mode, he’s just…Dad. “When your mother and I were talking about having kids, we both knew we wanted a girl. We couldn’t even imagine life without a little girl. Then we had a baby boy, okay, so we tried again. Boy, boy,” Dad says with a hearty chuckle. “After having three boys we finally got our baby girl. You,” he says, and a warm comfort washes over my body, into my body, my heart, my soul. Fills me up.
“You will never not be our daughter, our baby girl—and as much as you hate it, our princess.”
I have never loved it more. Their princess. I choke on a sob. Wiping at my tears and managing a smile in spite of it all.
“Now we have two wonderful, beautiful daughters.”
“That’s so nice for you and Mom,” I sniffle. “But you know, I don’t feel like I have two dads.”
I hear the raw emotion in his voice as he says, “Give it time.”
Give it time. That’s what everyone keeps saying.
