Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(31)

Mark is early in transition into Margaret, and thought she was being set up with Josh’s male roommate.

Turns out, Josh called her from his car and the reception was a little spotty along the way. Margaret made sure to clarify that Josh had heard her explain that things were a little … different these days, but with Josh’s Bluetooth cutting in and out and clueless to the details he was missing, he assured her with a “Yeah, definitely. I’ll text you with the time and place,” and ended the call.

It might not go entirely according to plan, but we do have a great night and my winged liner has never looked better.

..........

My apartment is ready a couple of weeks before school begins, during the very last humid gasp of summer.

As happy as I’m sure Josh is to get me and Winnie out of his clean living space, I think he might almost miss us.

A little.

I say this because by the last day I think even Josh was surprised by how normal it was starting to feel to live together. Loud? Yes. Chaotic? Absolutely. But also: comfortable. Dare I say easy?

On a typical day, Josh would drag himself out of bed, Winnie trailing sleepily behind him, to find the cup of coffee I’d poured for him on the counter. I would cook some variation of burnt breakfast food, and we would talk as we ate, text all day, and then come home, eat dinner together, and fall asleep watching TV. It was as close to being in a normal relationship as I’ve ever been. I think it’s been good for Josh, too: the name Tabby hasn’t been brought up in weeks.

I’ve always loved my apartment and living alone, but as I walk through the freshly painted door and stop on the new wood floors to survey what they’ve done, it’s impossible not to notice how empty it feels.

Winnie seems to have reached a similar conclusion. Sniffing a path through the doorway she does a quick circle of the front room before stepping outside again, emitting a heavy sigh, and then flopping down on the mat.

“I know what you mean,” I tell her, making my way inside and dropping my bags on the newly delivered couch. Other than this, there isn’t much furniture. A lot of it was ruined when the pipe broke, and most of what could be salvaged was old and not really worth saving anyway. Like every twenty-something I know, I ordered this new one at IKEA, but it seems a million miles away from the soft, worn-in leather in Josh’s living room.

Winnie is reluctant to admit that this is where we’ll be staying. Even after I coax her inside she insists on camping out near the door. Stubborn. I unpack a few things and get the rest of the animals situated, put new sheets on the new mattress and inspect the updated bathroom fixtures and kitchen cabinets. With nothing more than pet food in the house and no real desire to rectify that tonight, I order dinner and work on untangling the box of cords and hooking up the TV again.

I’m at the stage in the technology setup process where I’m whimpering and facedown on the living room floor when my phone chimes from the corner I threw it into not long ago.





Fondness squeezes at my heart but I push it away before I begin typing out a reply.





I think about that one as I look around the bright, clean living room. Empty walls, a stack of boxes that need to be unpacked, a disgruntled labradoodle. I suppose it could be worse.





I snap a few photos, including one where half my face takes up most of the screen, and another where a mass of tangled cords lies next to a sad, dark TV.

Because Josh is a caretaker, my phone rings almost immediately.

“Hazel’s House of Hedonism.”

“Do you want me to come help?” he asks, and there’s a feeling inside my chest. Victory, yes, because I was hoping he’d come over, but something else, too. Like warm rain, a warmer blanket. I really want to see him. And I mean, so does Winnie. Look at her. “I could hook up the TV while you work on other stuff.”

As a strong, independent woman, I should tell him no, that I’ll take care of it myself—which I would, eventually—but RuPaul’s Drag Race is on tonight and saying no would be both inefficient and inconvenient.

“I ordered dinner,” I say instead. More than enough for two, now that I think of it. “Winnie will be happy to see you. Maybe she’ll even stop sulking.”

“Let me shower and I’ll be over in twenty.”

“Deal. I’ll probably still be in this same spot when you get here so let yourself in.”

“Got it. Oh, and Haze?”

I smile into my phone. “Hmm?”

“Tell Winnie I miss her, too.”





TEN


JOSH


After I help her move things into her new classroom, I barely see Hazel for days—which, given that she only moved out about a week ago, is oddly disorienting. I went from being in a long-term relationship to being single, and having my life turned upside down with a roommate of sorts, in a matter of days. You’d think I’d be glad to have my own space again and not have to worry about what someone is doing—or lighting on fire. You’d think I’d be ready to find some kind of new normal. And yet, you’d be wrong.

Who knew normal could be so boring?

Just like I’ve seen my sister do half a dozen times before, Hazel dives into this intense teacher zone, and I can’t exactly criticize her for being so focused. From what I can surmise in observing her bouncy bliss stapling borders to her bulletin boards, the beginning of the school year is better than Christmas and birthdays combined.