Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(21)

Josh places a hand on the center of my back. “This is my friend Hazel.”

“Yujin-ah’s Hazel?”

I sense a hint of sibling rivalry as his brows come together. “Well … my Hazel, too,” he says, and I don’t have to tell you that I am freaking delighted by this. “Haze, this is my mom, Esther Im.”

“It is nice to meet you, Hazel.” Her smile spreads to her mouth and it takes over her entire face. It’s Josh’s unexpected, sun-coming-out smile. I love her already.

My first instinct is always to hug, to glom all over people as if there’s some direct line that leads from my heart to my extremities. Fortunately I happen to be holding the world’s largest fruit basket and my arms are otherwise occupied.

Unfortunately, every K-drama I’ve ever seen chooses this exact moment to shuffle through my brain and I bend, bowing deeply at the waist and sending apples and oranges sailing across Mrs. Im’s spotless entryway floor.

A few things happen in rapid succession. First, I let out a stream of curse words—something I shouldn’t be doing in front of anyone’s mother, let alone my new bestie’s sweet Korean umma. Next, I throw the rest of the basket at a very surprised and unprepared Josh and dive for the floor, scuttling across the rug on my hands and knees.

Josh doesn’t even sound horrified by my antics anymore: “Hazel.”

“I’ve got them!” I say, frantically scrambling for the bruised fruit and making a basket out of the front of my shirt for safekeeping.

“Hazel.” His tone is firmer now, and I feel his hands on my waist as he drags me back toward them and helps me to my feet.

Hurricane Hazel strikes again.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, smoothing my hair and twisting my skirt so it’s facing the right direction. “I’ve been so excited to meet you and of course that means that I do something like launch a fruit basket.” With as much grace as I can muster, I pull a couple of clementines from the vicinity of my cleavage. “Can I put these in the fridge for you?”

..........

Seated at the kitchen counter, I glare down at the glass of water Josh sets in front of me, muttering, “At this rate I won’t even be invited to the wedding.”

Josh’s mom is at the stove, dropping onions into a pot that looks like it is at least as old as Josh.

“What are you talking about?” he whispers, and kneels down at my side.

“She started speaking in Korean. Was she saying she hated me?”

“Of course not. She thinks you’re a pretty funny girl.”

Pretty funny? Or pretty, funny? Is that a half compliment, or two solid ones? Either way, my eyes widen and I grin. “Your mom is pretty comma smart.”

Without expecting me to translate this, Josh taps me on the nose and moves to the counter, reaching for something in a cupboard too high for his mom to reach. He isn’t exactly what you would call redwood tall, but he’s got at least a few inches on me, and looks like a giant standing next to her.

Mrs. Im glances over at me. “So, Hazel, where does your family live?”

“My father passed away a few years ago, but my mom lives here in Portland.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She turns again to give me a sympathetic smile. “Josh’s grandmother died last year. We still miss her very much.” She scoops rice into two bowls, handing one to Josh, who immediately tucks into it. “You have no brothers or sisters?”

“No, ma’am. Just me.”

She crosses the room to set the other bowl in front of me. It smells amazing. “And you’re a teacher?”

I pick up my chopsticks—metal, not wood—and manage to scoop the first bite into my mouth. It’s delicious—fried rice and vegetables. I may marry Josh myself if it means I can eat like this every day.

“She teaches with Emily,” Josh offers.

“Oh, that is nice,” she says. “I like Yujin-ah having good friends at work.”

Good friends. I manage to tear my face from my food and give him a thumbs-up, right as the bomb drops.

“And Tabby?” Mrs. Im asks. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen her.”

My eyes dart to Josh’s. Like the soul mate I always knew he’d be, Josh is already looking my way. I give him an encouraging nod, one meant to remind him that this is his life and he only has to tell people as much—or as little—as he wants.

Even if those people are his family.

Clearing his throat, Josh pretends to be super engrossed in his empty bowl. He is a terrible actor.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” He clears his throat again. “Tabby and I broke up.”

Now, obviously I am an outsider and privy only to the things that I’ve been told, but I don’t think I’d be off base in describing his mom’s immediate reaction as fucking elation.

She does her best to look casual, though, pinching his waist with a frown before depositing another scoop of fried rice into his bowl, but the terrible acting gene is obviously genetic. “So Tabby is not your girlfriend anymore.”

“No.” Her gaze slips to me and Josh reads the silent question there. “No,” he tells her meaningfully, and I might be offended if I didn’t have this delicious bowl of rice keeping me joyful.