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Her eyes widen. “I had a hunch things weren’t all great at the airfield, but now I know for sure something is wrong. Do you want to talk?” she asks. “Get drunk? Or wallow up here in misery alone?”
“Well, the last time I got drunk on tequila, it caused a catastrophic disaster and nearly cost everyone their jobs,” I note wryly. “So I think I better settle for a mini-bar Diet Coke and some girl talk.”
“Done!” Hazel sets the pizza down, fetches us some overpriced sodas from the fridge in the corner, and settles cross-legged on the bed. “It’s Fraser, isn’t it?” she asks, looking sympathetic.
“Who else?” I sigh.
“But it was all going so well! What happened?”
“I don’t know…” I hug a pillow, trying to figure out the tangle of emotions whirling inside me. “Everything was going great, it felt like we’d really found each other again, and then… I realized I barely know him, not the man he is now, anyway. How is that possible?” I ask, as Hazel digs into a slice of pizza. “How can you feel so close to someone, and so far away, all at the same time?”
“Well, the fact that you’ve only been back together all of forty-eight hours after ten whole years apart might have something to do with it,” she notes with a smirk.
“You’re right. Of course you are,” I sigh, flopping back on the bed. “Why can’t this just be like one of Reeve’s scripts, where everyone just skips ahead to the happy ending, and nobody talks about the real work it takes to move past all the old pain and issues?”
“Therapy isn’t sexy,” Hazel agrees with a laugh. “But my God, do some of those characters need it. I mean, I love a good rom com as much as the next girl, but let’s be real, Julia Roberts and Richard Gere aren’t lasting five minutes after the end ofPretty Woman. You know that every time they have a fight, he’s yelling about how she used to be a hooker,” she adds, munching her pizza.
I sit up and grab a slice. “AndHow to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?” I add, digging into the cheesy goodness. “She didn’t have to stay in town. He could have moved to Washington for her! I bet you she lasts all of five months before packing up her love fern and walking out the door.”
Hazel smiles. “But that’s fiction,” she reminds me. “You get to write your own story with Fraser—and yes, I can’t believe I just said that,” she adds with a smirk. “But it’s true. This is your modern love story, complete with trauma baggage, anxious attachment, and unsexy emotional growth.”
Growth? I sigh. “That’s the thing, I don’t know if I’m even capable of moving past what happened. I mean, I could have stuck around in Scotland and had a mature, rational conversation with Fraser about why this situation with Hugo and Max was bringing up old memories for me, but instead, I just yelled at him and bolted! Am I going to regress into my nineteen-year-old self every time things get too real between us?” I ask, despairing. “Because I wasn’t exactly the smartest kid back then. There was a whole feathered bang situation going on…”
Hazel laughs. “I want photos!”
“Never,” I vow.
We eat pizza in silence for a moment, until Hazel gives me a sympathetic smile. “Look, nobody said it would be easy—”
“Except Hollywood. Damn you,” I mumble. “Yes, you personally.”
She smiles. “But you have a choice here. You didn’t last time—you were young, and naïve, and broke, and didn’t have the same digital stalking resources as we do now, so Fraser was able to cut you off—but things are different now. He can’t escape from you; you can always track him down if you really want to talk.”
“Vaguely creepy, but also true.” I nod.
“So, if this is the script of your life, and you’re consulting, what do you tell Reeve to write?” she asks. “What do you need to get your happy ending?”
Nothing but Fraser’s expert hands and wicked tongue, if the past couple of days is any indication, but I know that’s not what she means, so I drag my mind out of the gutter, and try to think it through.
“I need to learn to trust him again. And talk about what happened, a lot more. And figure out who he is now—who we both are,” I add. “I mean, I’ve changed, too. I hope I have. So does the person I’ve become fit with the person he is now, too? I think so,” I add, with a hopeful smile. “It felt like we did, anyway. Even when we were bickering on the road, and I wanted to throttle the man, I was having the best time with him. Ialwayshave the best time with him,” I add, wistful. “And as much as I hate to admit it… No other man has ever come close. Not to what we share. You know, those moments where you’re just giddy over someone, and all they’ve done is smile at you?”
“Nope.” Hazel says through a mouthful of cheese.
“Really?” I ask, frowning. “Never?”
“Oh no, this isn’t about me.” She shakes her head at me, swallowing. “No deflecting. This is your romantic emergency, so what are you going to do about it?”
I inhale, turning it over in my mind, looking for a mature, healthy way out of this mess…
And coming up with nothing.
“I don’t think I can do anything,” I say finally.
“But you just said—”
“No, hear me out,” I talk over her. “Sure, I could go hunt Fraser down, and show up on his doorstep, and demand that we talk it out and make this work, but… How is that going to help me, when the whole point is that I don’t trust him, and I’m scared he doesn’t love me enough to stick around?” I feel an ache of insecurity in my chest, that same damn ache I felt ten years ago, waking up every morning to check my email and phone messages, wondering if finally—finally—he’d come around. “I can’t chase after him,” I say sadly. “I just can’t. I’ll just be in the exact same position, secretly wondering if I hadn’t shown up, would he have come after me? Or would he have just let me slip away. Again.”
“Damn.” Hazel nods slowly. “You’re right.”
