Chapter Two

Hazel's mouth dropped open as she stared down the last person she had expected to come to her for help.

She stared at him for a second. Despite his rather irrational words, Lionel sat on the edge of her sofa, probably scorning the thing, and gazed at her expectantly. She blinked, titling her head to the side, trying to understand what he was suggesting.

"So let me get this straight." She pushed back her hair, "You. Want me. To marry. This man's son? To save your business? Your ass? The ass that I watched walk away from me when I needed you?" Hazel questioned.

Lionel shifted in his seat. "Yes. I want you to come back. This... problem presented a great opportunity for us to reconcile, and even extend the family by adding another family worthy of standing next to my name."

Worthy of standing next to my name, Hazel thought. Of course it would be about him. She wasn't worthy, so he would effectively replace her with someone who was. She was just the joint needed to make the connection.

He offered her a smile she had grown up wondering about. It wasn't real– that much she could tell now. But it was the closest thing to a real one, that was not aimed at her mother, which she could ever remember witnessing.

"You know what? Drop the act. You didn't come here to beg for forgiveness like you should have. And God knows I can't and won't help you. Now please, Mr. George, get the hell out of my apartment."

Hazel turned abruptly, taking up the handbag she had abandoned on the kitchen island when her unwanted guest had knocked at the door. She looked back at his stunned face and raised her eyebrows questioningly, "Aren't you leaving?"

He stood, demanding in a firm tone, "We are not done here. Sit–."

Turning again, Hazel began her strut to the door, "Whatever. Wait here if you want, my answer won't change."

When she had reached the traitorous door, she gave it a begrudging kick and said her final words, "Close the door when you leave."

After Hazel finished her errands, she went back to her apartment, praying that Lionel had given up on his scheme. She wanted nothing to do with him, his failing business or his shady investor. When she pushed her door open and realized that her apartment was Lionel-free, Hazel breathed a sigh of relief. But as the day progressed, hours after Lionel George had appeared at her apartment, Hazel was feeling more like the bad guy than the victim.

His unexpected appearance, ridiculous proposal and news about financial hole he had somehow managed to dig himself into plagued her mind and subsequently her conscience. Since returning she had only managed to start sketching half of the final piece for the project she was doing.

The departing words Lionel had written down on the note he left with his contact information haunted her, "Your mother has gotten worse. She needs better medical help, please. I love my wife too much. Don't let me lose her."

Those words were probably the only sincere ones he had offered throughout their entire train-wreck of a meeting. Regardless, Hazel balled then strip of paper up in her fist and dunked it into the bin. He was still being a selfish snob.

He dared to speak about his happiness; what about her happiness? Didn't she deserve to 'love' someone too? To Hazel, it seemed ironic that her father would be begging for his wife yet telling her to marry someone she did not know. And had no intention of knowing, might she add.

Not that she was looking for love. Being practically broke, socially inept and having as much time in her life for romance as the amount of patience she had for Lionel George, getting married just wasn't on her agenda. The last thing she would want to do is jump into a relationship with some spoiled rich brat for her estranged family's sake.

Frustrated with the direction of her thoughts, Hazel hopped down from her stool and went over to the redwood table she had set, nearly four years earlier, by the floor to ceiling windows. Things in her neighborhood hadn't changed since she moved here. Guys wearing baggy shirts and jeans were sitting at the end of the block – doing God knew what –, children were playing near a fire hydrant further down the block and at the base of her building, a small gathering of teenaged girls she had never gotten around to knowing were chattering away. Truthfully, she had not gotten around to knowing anyone on this block. Her life was just simpler that way; work and more work.

Hazel's only reprieve from the ever turning world of juggling multiple jobs was often just sitting by that very table and staring out at the streets, old buildings and the afternoon sun. Perhaps she would stay there for the rest of her life, growing old and even bitterer than she was already.

Her thoughts turned to her mother once again. Carla George was too soft, at least by Hazel's standards. She was never a very strong component in either of her children's life. Hazel could just imagine her now, sick and frail, and depending on her head strong husband to make all the harsh decisions. Hazel grimaced at the thought. That was exactly how she remembered he mother, so not much would have changed really.

Hazel could remember the night she was practically thrown out. It was the night after a big party she had somehow convinced Lionel to let her help organized for his company. The professional planner her father had hired was a charming, tall and laid back man. The first time she had met him, Hazel had told herself that he smelt of trouble and that it was best to stay away. But she had not. They had spent every waking hour over the three weeks of preparation together. Whether they were planning the party or just having coffee, she had begun to feel a sort of buzz she had associated with what her mother would describe whenever the story of how her parents met was told. Flin Frank, the charming planner, made her feel special. He made her feel like she could do anything she wanted and succeed. He told her she meant the world to him. And she had eaten every word up like they were the gospel and believed him.

Until that night.

Hazel had made the foolish decision to trust him and confided in him about her fears and dreams. She had taken his careless advice and confronted her father about what she wanted to major in.

Lionel had given her carte blanche for planning the entire event. She picked souvenir designs, organized the food and music, and finally threw her heart and soul into doing the interior design. The venue was to be a new office for her father's business and the designs would remain, and she had pulled it off flawlessly. Every fixture, every fancy light and most importantly every piece of art, so perfectly positioned, was decided on by her. Lionel praised her for her 'involvement' in ensuring the planner did a good job.

Feeling elated and her ego more than slightly bruised, she had corrected him, telling him that she had worked hand in hand with Mr. Flin Frank and that she had picked out and made the final decision on everything. The look he gave her was something she would later come to understand. Instead of pride, Lionel had gazed at her as if she were odd.

"I really do love the art behind it, and the art classes I took really helped me understand it all." Hazel had gushed.

"Well, that is fine I suppose." He had commented, looking at her for a few more awkward moments before turning away; effectively dismissing her.

He had loved everything until she had expressed her keen interest. Regardless, the day after the party, Hazel confronted Lionel and Carla George. She remembered going on and on about how working with art made her excited and how right it felt. She told her parents that she would double major, in business to satisfy Lionel and in art to satisfy herself.

"No." Lionel stated, as cool as cucumber, "No daughter of mine will go around wasting their like that."

"B-but I don't like business. I'm sure to fail if I do it alone. And Flin said I could make good money if I did my degree and joined a top firm; and I love the arts so much." Hazel had argued.

"Who said anything about business?" he calmly put his utensils down on his plate, gazing at Hazel, Lavender and his wife as he prepared to lay down the law, "Both you girls will do a degree in Communications, just has your mother had, and stay prim and proper until you find suitable husbands."

Hazel blanched, "I am not some debutant! I have no interest in going into communications."

Carla smiled her serene smile, "That's why you'll find a proper young man who majored in business so you won't have to work, dear."

Hazel had not been able to stop her mouth from popping open, "You both have got to be kidding me." She looked at the people she called family, who were gazing at her as she was looking at them; as if they were mad. "I want to do something with myself, not just... be a wife to some man. Mom," she pleaded, looking at the offending member of her family, "I want to be more than that. Your life is not for me."

"ENOUGH!" Lionel slapped the table, frightening everyone. He turned his furious gaze at Hazel, saying in a dangerously low tone, "Enough of this foolishness. I have made my decision and it is final. You do as I say or forget that you have a family."

Needless to say that dinner ended abruptly. Hazel had stewed on that for a few days, then sought out Flin, who had become impossible to reach. She finally pinned him down long enough for him to tell her that she was putting his career at risk by sprouting nonsense to her father, and that she should get off whatever she was taking and stop dreaming because arts was not for a spoiled rich girl trying to rebel against her Daddy.

"I told your father that you were just exaggerating and that I never encouraged you to do arts. Stop calling me; in fact, lose my number and stop trying to be somebody you're not." He shook his head, muttering something about a nuisance and walked away, leaving Hazel standing in the middle of a café with tears bursting her eyes at the seams.

The second time she tried to talk her father into letting her do the arts, his dismissal and anger came faster than it did the first time. He put a stop to her conversation almost instantaneously.

"Now get this nonsense out of your head." Lionel demanded, "Fall in line or leave."

Stricken with grief, Hazel had refused to give up on the one thig that made her happy and begged him to support her.

Then he folded his arms, saying coolly, "If you don't stop this madness now, I'll never call you my daughter again."

All the while her mother, the petite fragile thing, sat in a corner looking on with wide eyes, almost like a child.

And so she left.

Hazel couldn't give up on the one thing that comforted her. She left for an art school in Chicago, using the money she was allowed to from her trust fund that was set up by her grandparents to start her off on her own.

Her eyes refocused on the streets below. Now five years after, she was working freelance with a few advertising agencies and was making enough to pay rent and buy art supplies. She would not describe herself as a starving artiste, but she was a few zeros behind to say she was living in plush comfort.

"Perhaps, you weren't that supportive in the later days but you were golden to me as a child, mother." Hazel mumbled.

Her head dropped to her hands folded on the table with a groan, "How do I give away the life that I worked so hard for to save you guys?"

*****FORCED*****

Thanks for reading. Please continue to share, vote and comment.