Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(34)
Dax wants to know about Hazel’s extended family, her job, her home. He asks her whether she plans to buy a house versus rent. He seems concerned that she doesn’t know what kind of retirement plan the school district offers.
While Michelle and I make idle small talk, I overhear Hazel answering his questions happily, even throwing in little anecdotes, about her mom (“She has the most beautiful singing voice, but really only in the shower”), her apartment (“It flooded like an ocean a couple months ago … maybe that’s why all my dreams are about being on a boat?”), and her job (“Two days ago I came home smelling like tree sap, and I have no idea why. Third graders, man.”). But, for all of her efforts to be amiable, Dax continually answers her return questions with single words—even monosyllables.
When Hazel gets up to make a call, Dax meets my eyes and gives me an exasperated look I think is supposed to communicate Wow, this one is crazy, but I pretend I don’t understand.
“What?” I say, hearing the aggressive edge to my voice.
He laughs. “Nothing. Just …”
“Just what?”
I can feel Michelle looking at me, and the awkward tension rises like fog.
“She’s, ah, a bit eccentric for my ta—” Dax snaps his mouth shut just as Hazel returns to the table.
She plops down onto her chair and explains, “Sorry. That was my mom. She got new boots, and I think she was going to keep spamming me with pictures until I called her and agreed that they’re awesome.” Stabbing her fork into her dinner, she adds, “For the record, they’re rad. They’re turquoise with shell beads around the top, and I bet they make her look like a fairy unicorn goddess when she’s gardening. Even though they’re, you know, cowboy boots.”
Dax bites his lip, frowning down at the table. Although Hazel is handling him with her trademark breezy cheer, when he gets up to go to the restroom a few minutes later, she catches my eye and pantomimes drinking down a bottle of alcohol.
“Oof,” she mumbles.
“He seems a little … intense,” Michelle says quietly, wincing over at Hazel.
Hazel grins, popping a chip into her mouth. “A smidge. I thought he bred ponies? How can he be so grouchy when he breeds ponies?”
“Sorry.” I reach across the table, squeezing her hand. “We can shuffle him into the Never Again pile.”
Dax returns and immediately looks over at Hazel’s plate, where only a small bit of beans and the last bite of her enchiladas remain. “You finished all that?”
She stares at him for a long, steady beat. Inside my chest, my heart feels like a chunk of hot coal. I watch as she pushes a grin across her face. “Hell yeah, I did. My dinner was fucking awesome.”
Dax lifts his glass, and if it’s possible to take a judgmental sip of water, he pulls it off. He sets the glass down carefully before looking up. “Is it fair of me to say now that I don’t think this is a good fit?”
He hasn’t said this only to Hazel, he’s said it to me, to the entire table, and a hush falls over the four of us.
“Are you for real?” Michelle can’t seem to hold it in anymore, and she throws her napkin on her half-eaten burrito. “I’m sure Hazel felt the same way the minute you asked her about her fucking 401(k).” She turns and levels her glare at me. “Josh? You seem like a nice guy. But can I give you some advice? You’re on the wrong date tonight.”
Standing, she waves limply at Hazel before leaving.
Dax lifts his napkin, tapping it to his mouth. “Good idea, Josh, wrong ballpark.” He stands, too, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a twenty. Smiling over at me like nothing is wrong, he says, “Let’s grab lunch this week?”
I meet Hazel’s eyes. It’s at this moment that I realize I know her as well as almost anyone alive does, except maybe Aileen. She’s wearing a carefully practiced look of amused indifference, but inside she’s scratching his eyeballs out.
He’s hovering, waiting for me to reply.
Happily, I say, “Go fuck yourself, Dax.”
..........
“I feel like I got in a fistfight tonight,” Hazel says, following me into my house. She collapses on the couch. “Dax is going to exhaust some decent woman someday.”
“He used to be cool.” I drop my keys in the bowl near the door and toe off my shoes. “Or maybe he’s always been a dick and I just never hung out with him around women.”
“Lots of guys are great with other guys, and legit assholes with women.”
I stop on my way to the kitchen, bending to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Sorry, Haze.”
She waves a tired hand and points at the television, indicating that she wants me to turn it on. I reach under her couch cushion and pull out the remote, handing it to her.
Straightening, I continue to the kitchen, and I am immediately reminded that my mom was here earlier. My stomach rumbles to life; I’d essentially pushed my tilapia Veracruz around my plate—too preoccupied with Dax and Hazel to eat very much.
Is that what Michelle meant on her way out? That I should have been on the date with Hazel?
A rush of heat hits my cheeks, as if I’ve said it out loud and Hazel has heard me. On the counter the rice cooker is holding a batch of rice on the warm setting, and in the fridge I find shelves full of Tupperware and old butter containers, all labeled with whatever’s inside and the dates they need to be used by. There are even a few with Hazel’s name, filled with what I’m assuming is my mom’s kimchi fried rice—Hazel’s favorite.