Page 113 of Finding Home

Willa pushed, “Did you ask him?”

“No,” she admitted, her sad response almost drowned in the revery of the lively bar.

“First, I want you to remember I love you.” Viet clasped her hand, calling her eyes to his. “Remember that as I say this, but what the actual fuck, Elle? You fight for your people, but sometimes you don’t stop to ask them what they want. Just because it’s what you feel is best doesn’t mean it’s right. You should have asked him. You should have given him a choice.”

“I know. You’ve said this before.” she blew out a heavy breath. “Clayton had asked me to talk to him before making decisions for him…for us.”

Her heart splintered with the memory of being wrapped in Clayton’s arms as he asked her to keep a promise that she broke days later.

Wasn’t that proof enough that he deserved better?

“Why didn’t you ask him? Were you scared that if you asked him to come with you or for you to stay that he’d say no?”

“Or were you scared he’d say yes?” Willa’s left arm looped through Elle’s.

The gentle touches of her friends anchored her to this moment, despite the desire to run away or deflect from their prodding. Was she scared that he wouldn’t choose her or that if he did, he’d regret it? She felt like her mother’s consolation prize all her life, something Mom was stuck with after her grandmother died and her dad left. So many of her people left, she felt like a stray cat on the edges of the property, tolerated but not brought into the house. As much as she understood with her brain that some of that holding people at a distance was self-induced, her heart still wobbled. Maybe it was true. That she was unworthy. The scars were so deep in her bones that they never seemed to heal or allow her to fully embrace the possibility of being chosen with no regrets.

“I’ve spent so much of my life feeling not quite enough. Feeling like an unwanted inhabitant of the Island of Misfit toys.” Elle swallowed hard.

“Ok, first you arenota misfit toy.” Willa said, authority lacing her words. “Second, even if you were, at the end of Rudolph, Santa rescues them all and takes them to homes with loving boys and girls, teaching us all that even misfit toys deserve happy endings. Deserve love.”

“Thanks.” Elle laughed under her breath.

“Third, as a licensed psychologist and your friend, but mostly as your friend, have you thought about talking to someone? I see my own therapist twice a month and find it painfully cathartic. I can make some recommendations if you’d like,” Willa offered.

Elle looked at Viet for confirmation that this was a good idea. She knew it was. It was time for her to do the work. She had already laid the foundation over the last several weeks. It was time to build a house of healing on top of it. She knew this but wanted her friend’s approval.

Viet nodded affirmatively at Elle.

“Thanks, Wills.” Elle leaned her head against her friend’s shoulder.

“Sorry I kind of pounced on you. I know I can be a little much.” Willa apologized.

“You are a little much, but that’s what we love about you. Any less and you wouldn’t be our Willa,” Elle said.

“And we’re big fans of our Willa.” Viet raised his glass.

FORTY-THREE

“Angry People are not always wise.”

~Jane Austen,Pride and Prejudice

The Southern California Marine Layer lingered as Elle’s sneakered feet slapped against the paved running path along the shoreline. Hints of the coming heat of the day thickening the air as she ran. So many conflicting emotions swirled within her, but she took the first steps to tamp them down. On Friday, she called a therapist and scheduled a virtual appointment for the following week. She’d still be in Chicago at the ribbon cutting for Sloan-Whitney’s new Oncology Center and announcement for their partnership with the Geneva Foundation. She’d extended her stay there to visit Beth, adhering to her desire to hold closer the people she cared about. It also felt fitting having the appointment on neutral ground, a place that was not Perry or Long Beach.

As Elle slowed to a brisk walk, the beach path crowded with people out enjoying their Saturday, she mulled over the last seven days and nights.

The mundane.

The extraordinary.

The in-between.

The one constant in the last seven days, the pain, hadn’t gotten any easier. In fact, the torment of daily living without Clayton had gotten worse. Each morning, she awoke to a sharp twinge of grief in her chest, an ache in her fingers to pick up her phone and reach out, choking words in her throat that wanted to climb out.I love you, be with me.

What would a future with Clayton look like, though? Could it be here in Long Beach, him running alongside her, the two of them coming back to Fitz napping on the condo balcony, the sound of the ocean his lullaby? Could she ask Clayton to move thousands of miles away from his loved ones and start over in a new city?

Or was it back in Perry, getting caught making out at the Greenway after a jog? Coming home to Fitz who click clacked up the stairs behind them, as they ran to the shower? The ghosts of her past lingering around each corner?

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