The True Story of Atticus and Hazel Page 5
I swallowed, fighting the tears. “Yes.”
Etta started to look genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I assured her.
“Why are you sitting like that?”
“I’m a little sore,” I admitted.
Etta fell on top of the closed toilet. “Oh shit, Hazel. You gave your virginity to that boy.”
I nodded my head up and down.
“Why?”
“I don’t know how it happened, Etta. He was so incredible. Do you know he likes Bosch? Had him painted all over his body. And he reads, Etta. He reads and he is so beautiful and his skin drives me crazy and I have never been more attracted to anyone in my life. And he smells like someone I could eat with a spoon. And his hands move like no one else’s. And the things he says and the words he promises and his mouth on my skin and his fingers in my hair,” I trailed off.
Etta looked at me carefully. “He sounds perfect for you, Hazel.”
I sniffed back my tears. “He is or was.”
“Was? He didn’t force himself on you, did he?” She started to stand and adopt her mama bear stance.
It was comical and I laughed a little. “No, no,” I insisted, and she sat back down. “No, he was really kind and gentle with me. He was so sweet, and he took really good care of me, but we shouldn’t have done it. We should have stopped.”
Etta sighed. “Okay, well, maybe you should have, but what’s done is done. What are you going to do now, though?” she asked.
“What do you mean what am I going to do now? I’m not going to do a damn thing, Etta. I’m going to pretend this never happened, forget all about him, work on my studies, and focus on my art.”
Etta rolled her eyes at me. “You are a mess, white girl. Come on, get up, wash yourself, then crawl into bed. You have to work at ten today and you need to get as much sleep as possible.”
I sighed, ready to cry. I felt overwhelmed. “Okay.”
Etta bent over and kissed the top of my head. “Try to calm down a little, maybe think about calling him, maybe think about taking things a little slower?”
“No. No way. I couldn’t anyway. I don’t have his number. Besides, I couldn’t ever face him again.” I looked at Etta. “I think I got blood in his car.”
“Well, that’s what happens, dumb ass. How can you be the smartest yet most unschooled child I have ever met in my whole damn life?” She stood and ranted all the way to the front door, closing it behind her. I heard her turn the locks with her own key and made a move to stand myself. I washed my body, cleaned and conditioned my hair, got dressed, and climbed into bed. I set my alarm for nine a.m.
I fell asleep quickly and woke just as quickly, it seemed, with the incessant beeping of my phone alarm. I wanted to kick my own ass. I did my hair, brushed my teeth, and got dressed, grabbing a muffin from a glass container on my kitchen island next to my keys. I hauled to work after walking the few blocks to Normandy’s, Atticus’s brother Aidan’s bar, where my car was.
I walked in five minutes late and my boss, Tim, caught me. Oh shit, I thought. My workmate, Madison, looked at me with pity. Sorry, she mouthed, knowing what was coming.
“You’re late,” Tim shot out.
“I know. I’m sorry. I forgot I left my car at the bar last night and had to go pick it up.”
His jaw gritted. “Did you go home with someone?” he asked me.
I was appalled. “Excuse me?” I asked him.
He stood, panting, his nostrils flared. “Nothing. Never mind. This is your third offense, though. You’ll have to be written up.”
Tired and sore and sad, I yelled, “What the hell are you talking about, Tim? This would only be the second time I’ve ever been late in a year.”
“Third.”
“There was the time my car broke down and when?” I asked, incensed.
“Two months ago, when you brought the donuts in.”
Madison looked at Tim like he’d grown two heads.
“You asked me to get those, Tim! I wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t asked me to get them!”
“Not my problem. You should have left your house earlier.”
I huffed a little in disbelief. “Fine, whatever, write me up.”
He made a big show out of going to his overgrown desk and pulling out a sheet of paper. His pen bit down as he wrote; I could hear how hard he was pressing on his table. I fell into my own chair and tossed all my stuff at my feet, breaking out all my paints and my latest cel. When Tim was done, he stood up and walked with purpose toward me, slamming down the paper in front of me.
“I need you to sign this,” he said.
I made a move to pick up the paper but his stupid hand stayed on top in a show of authority. It was disgusting. I stared at his hand until he removed it and glanced at what he wrote, at each offense.
“I’ll only sign this if you let me add that I was late the second time because you asked me to pick up donuts before work.”
“No,” he said.
Fed up, I stood. “Tim, if you don’t let me add that to this sheet of paper, I will walk out that gosh-damn door and never come back.”
He stood fully from his crouched position. “Is that a threat, little girl?”
Madison stood as well but stayed at her desk. “Wait, wait, you guys,” she said, trying to defuse the situation.
“It’s not a threat. It’s a fact.” I studied him. I decided to call his bluff. “I don’t think you want me to quit, Tim. I think you’d be upset if I did. We both know you need a talented painter, and Madison and I are the best in the city. You’ll let me add this one thing or I walk.”
Tim’s shoulders deflated and his face softened. He looked at me as if he wanted to eat me for breakfast, which disgusted me, but I kept my composure. He crumpled the paper in his hands and returned to his desk without another word. Madison sat as well but glanced at me, her hand over her heart, looking visibly shaken.
Sorry, I mouthed at her.
She waved me away with a hand and started back on her work.
I threw my apron on and sat down but as I began to work, I became distracted by thoughts of Atticus, of things he’d said, his skin, his mouth, and my hands began to shake. I stood up and grabbed some water from the water cooler to calm down. When my hands steadied, I returned to work. Tim refused to look at me, which was just dandy with me. I trudged through the first couple hours and when lunch came, I gathered all my stuff and followed Madison out the door.
“You only have twenty-five minutes now,” Tim threw out.
Madison looked at me and I shook my head. “Fine, Tim.”
As we walked out, she turned to me. “That guy is an idiot, Hazel.”
I sighed. “I know, babe. Let’s not think about it anymore. Let’s get away from this place. What do you want?” I asked her.
“I don’t care. We can hit up the food trucks if you want.”
“Okay, cool.”
We walked down to the food trucks near Klyde Warren Park, got a couple of sandwiches, and sat in the park as we ate. Five bucket drummers hit out a lunchtime concert that made my stomach plummet when I’d begun to imagine Atticus as one of the drummers.
“I’ve never seen you stand up to Tim like that,” Madison commented.
“Dude, I am so sick of his crap. He’s constantly threatening to fire us but he never does. It’s a power tactic, and I’m done with it.”
She nodded as she chewed then swallowed. She looked at me. “You look tired today, babe, what’s going on?”
“Madison, uh, I did something kind of stupid last night.”
“I kind of figured since you had to go pick your car up this morning.”
I set my sandwich down on the wax paper on my lap and let out a slow breath. “I slept with someone.”
Madison almost choked. “You didn’t.”
I nodded, the tears surfacing. “I did.”
She set down her food as well and grabbed my hand. “Oh, okay, okay, don’t c
ry. I can’t take it when you cry. You look like a Precious Moments doll, and that breaks my heart.” I smiled at her stupid reference and wiped the tears away. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine. I just need to get through this day,” I said. Little children running through one of the fountain features giggled loudly behind us and we turned to watch them. “I need to get home. Eventually call my grandma.”
“What is she gonna say?”
“That I’m a freaking idiot? I don’t know, actually.”
“Who was the guy? How did you meet?”
“We met at the bar.”
Madison’s eyes bugged. “What!”
“It sounds bad. It sounds really bad, but he was too much. He was everything I didn’t know I wanted and it got to me, through me, and I forgot everything my grandma taught me.”
When we were done eating, Madison held my hand and we watched the children running through the water together before heading back to work, back to Tim and his annoying self.
It was late in the year and the sun was starting to set earlier, which meant when I left work, it was dark and that depressed the crap out of me. Etta was at my house when I got home, and we decided to walk the short distance from my studio to Deep Ellum since it was Friday and all the locals came out to play.
As we passed by a telephone pole, Etta snatched a piece of paper off it.
“What is this nonsense?” she asked, shoving the paper in my face.
“Hazel, what happened? Call me, please. 214.555.7986. Oh my God.”
Etta snorted. “What did you do to this poor boy?”
We kept walking and there were more. Hundreds of pieces of notebook paper tacked to every surface possible all over Deep Ellum, it seemed. “Etta,” I whispered, taking them down as we came upon them. I had a stack at least fifteen thick.
“Call him, Hazel.”
I brought my phone up to my face. My thumb hesitated over the unlock button. “I can’t.”
She shook her head at me. “You are a fool, babe. What would the harm in it be?”
I closed my eyes and tried to steady my beating heart. I dropped all his posters except for the first one and stared at it before folding it up and putting it in my bag along with my phone.
“You’re going to call him eventually. You might as well just get it over with. Put the poor fool out of his misery,” she said, walking ahead and yanking down new poster after new poster after new poster.
“I can’t, Etta.”
She rolled her eyes as we headed for the Curtain Club.
One week after Atticus
“Hey, Dave, can I get a slice, please?”
“Sure, babe. How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Great. Have you called Atticus yet?”
“Not you too, Dave,” I whined.
“I can’t help it. He’s moping around here, making me leave these damn posters all over. Just call the boy.”
He handed me my pizza and I gave him cash. “Bye, Dave,” I said, heading out the door.
“Call him!” he sang out after me, making my heart race.
Atticus, I thought over and over and over.
Two weeks after Atticus
“Hey,” Madison greeted. “Have you seen these flyers all over town?” she asked, laying one of Atticus’s posters on my desk.
“Yes,” I answered simply, grateful Tim wasn’t in the office yet.
“Is this your boy?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
“The boy?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Atticus.”
“Call Atticus, Hazel.”
Atticus, I thought over and over and over.
Three weeks after Atticus
“Etta, shut up about it already,” I demanded, making her laugh.
“I’m just saying we should go to Normandy’s tonight. See if he’s there.”
“No. My word, Etta.”
“I’ll even let you wear the baby doll again.”
I considered the offer. “No,” I finally decided.
“You are a fool, babe. Poor, Atticus.”
Atticus, I thought over and over and over.
Four weeks after Atticus
“Hey, Etta. Hey, Hazel,” someone called out to us on the street as we made our way to the Gypsy Tea Room. He crossed the street and met up with us.
“Hey, Brandon,” I greeted. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, gonna hit up the Velvet Hookah. You guys wanna join?” he asked.
“Nah, we’re gonna go see The Future Cast at Gypsy.”
“Damn, I forgot they opened for Air Review. You know what, do you guys care if I tag along?”
“No,” Etta said, “come on, though, or we’ll be late.”
“Yes, my queen,” he teased, making Etta laugh.
“Oh shit,” Brandon said, grabbing my arm. “I just realized something.”
“What?” I asked.
“You’re Hazel. The Hazel.”
Etta laughed loudly, and I elbowed her in the gut, making her grunt.
“Do you know Atticus Kelly?” Etta asked him.
Brandon nodded his head up and down. “Yes, dude, I know Atticus well.”
Damn, I thought.
“I can’t believe you’re the Hazel. The whole damn town has been looking for you. The freaking Observer did a piece on you two.”
My hand went to my face and pulled. “I know.”
Brandon cleared his throat. “You should call Atticus, Hazel.”
Atticus, I thought over and over and over.
Five weeks after Atticus
Etta entered my apartment using her key just as I doubled over my bathroom trash can.
“Damn,” Etta said, running over to my side. “You okay, Hazel?”
“Ugh, I don’t know. I’ve got a bad flu.”
Etta stood up. “I love you lots, babe. I’d take a bullet for you, but I can’t get sick.”
“Some friend you are,” I teased, wiping my mouth and standing to empty the trash can.
When I had dumped and rinsed the contents into the toilet, I sat at the edge of the tub. Etta walked in and leaned against the doorjamb.
“Did you hear the Toadies were playing the fifteenth?” she asked.
I took a deep breath, trying to control my nausea.
“No, that’s cool.”
“We should go on Friday if you’re feeling better.”
“Wait? What?”
“We should go Friday if you’re feeling better,” she spoke slowly.
“No, no. This Friday is the fifteenth?”
“Yeah.”
I stood up in a rush, my head spinning. “Oh shit, Etta.”
“What? You’re scaring me, Hazel.”
“Oh shit, Etta.”
“What!”
“I’m late.”
“For?”
“My period.”
“No, no. That can’t be right,” Etta assuaged.
“No, Etta,” I said. “I’m late. I’m never late. Today I am ten days late.”
She walked backward until her backside met my bed. “Oh my God, it’s Atticus’s,” she said.
Atticus, I thought over and over and over.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, lifting me just a little bit when she said the word “we.”
“I don’t know, Etta,” I said, sitting back down on the edge of the tub.
“Let’s go get a test,” she said. “No, stay there,” she rationalized. “I’ll go get the test. Stay there,” she said, standing up and running for the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I could hear Etta swing open my door and slam it closed. “I have it!” she shouted. “I have it.”
“I peed in an old Solo cup already. Do you think that’s okay?”
“Yeah, I guess.” She turned the box around and read the instructions. “It says it needs to be a clean cup.”
“I don’t care anymore, Etta
, break it open.”
With shaking hands she tore open the package and handed over a test.
“Okay,” she said, “it says you have to hold it in your urine stream or in collected urine for five seconds. Blah, blah, blah, okay, then replace the cap, set it flat, and wait three minutes.”
I swallowed and soaked the test strip portion in my pee for five seconds, replaced the cap and laid it flat. Etta and I leaned over the little plastic test and watched as the strip under the window portion turned wet. Eventually two solid pink lines appeared.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Etta turned the instructions over and pointed at the results portion. “It,” she gulped, “it means you’re pregnant, Hazel.”
My world turned upside down. I fell back a little, unable to stand. Etta grabbed my arm and led me to the bed. We both sat, her arm around my shoulder, neither of us able to say anything for a solid five minutes.
I fell back onto the bed and she followed. I felt numb. “Etta, what the hell just happened?”
“We discovered you do not have the flu, Hazel.”
“I can’t be pregnant, Etta.”
“Hazel.”
“I can’t, Etta. I can’t be pregnant.”
Etta sighed. “We need to call Atticus.”
I shot upright. “Oh my God, no, Etta!”
Etta sat up as well. “What are you talking about? You have to tell him.”
“I most certainly do not have to tell him.”
“Hazel!” Etta yelled, standing up and beginning to pace. “You have to tell that boy. He has a right to know. We’ll gauge what we do based on what he says. Let’s be honest, he’ll probably run,” she reasoned, “but that’s just a bridge we’ll have to cross when we come to it.”
“Right,” I agreed. “He’ll probably run. I mean, boys don’t want babies.” I paused for a moment. “Oh my God, what if he runs?”
“Hazel,” she said, grabbing my hands, “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay, you know that, right?”
“How can you stand there and say that to me, Etta? I have three months left in the semester too. Oh my God, how am I going to go to class with this freaking nausea! Oh my God, Tim is going to fire me. I’m going to get fired.”