Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(53)

Hazel moves to the fridge for eggs. Her phone vibrates on the counter.

“Who is it?” she asks over her shoulder.

I look down and my stomach drops.

When I don’t answer, she leans over to catch my eyes. “Josh. What’s wrong?”

“Oh. Nothing.” I show her the screen. “But Tyler texted you.”

“Seriously?” She shuts the fridge door. “Already? What’d he say?” Is that anticipation in her voice?

I don’t want to read it. Literally the last thing in the world I want to read is this text.

But that might be a lie, because I also really, really want to read this text.

“You honestly want me to read this aloud?”

“Yeah, come on, we have no secrets.”

With a heavy sigh, I unlock her phone with the thumbprint she had me program months ago, and read the text.

“ ‘Hey, Hazel. I’ve had more time to process the shock of last night.’ ” I pause, looking up at her. “You sure?”

She cracks an egg into the bowl and nods.

“ ‘You looked beautiful. I’ve never used the word radiant, but it kept looping through my head every time you smiled at me.’ ” I rub my finger below my lower lip. He’s right; she did. She looks even more radiant now—I like to think I did that. “ ‘You’re different, but still the same untamed wild thing I loved. It nearly hurt to see you because I know I fucked up.’ ”

Damn it.

“I really think you should read this yourself,” I say.

She looks at me, pleading.

I lift my coffee, washing down the fire that bubbles up from my stomach. “ ‘I said it last night, and I’ll say it again today: I walked away from something good, and I would do anything to undo it. Will you give me one more chance?’ ”

I put her phone down and run a hand down my face. “That’s it.”

It’s a few seconds before she speaks, and in that time I watch her whip the eggs into a frothy peak.

“That wasn’t bad, was it?” she asks.

I want to punch the wall. “What are you gonna say?”

She drops the whisk and drags the back of her hand—and another smear of flour—across her forehead. “Josh. He’s my ex—the Ex—and he’s back, trying to fix things. You’re here. You’re shirtless. We had sex again last night, and was it good? Yes, hell yes. But am I right for you? Are we anything? Or are we just friends who bang? What would you say, if you were me? Tell me what to do.”

I let out a long, controlled breath.

If she felt what I felt, it wouldn’t be a question. If Hazel is at all torn about the question of Josh versus Tyler, then it’s pretty clear she needs to figure it out before she and I can move forward—if she even wants to. The kitchen clock ticks while we maintain eye contact, and I calculate the odds of this going to complete shit.

She’s my best friend, I’m hers.

We’ve had sex twice.

Amazing sex.

I might be in love with her.

“Josh.”

She may, or may not, be in love with me.

Either way, she’s not settled yet.

“Josh.” Her voice is so thin, it’s like blown glass.

I rap my knuckles on her countertop. “If this is where your head is, then I think it’s worth giving Tyler another chance.”





EIGHTEEN


HAZEL


I realize it’s melodramatic, but when Josh leaves that morning, I stare at the closed door for a full fifteen minutes.

I used to wonder what it felt like to stand in the middle of a cyclone, a tornado, at the epicenter of an earthquake. Once or twice, when Tyler had bruised my feelings without any awareness of it, I would think, These emotions are tiny. Imagine standing right there when the entire Earth rumbles. I wonder whether what’s happening inside me is simply a smaller version of a tropical storm: everything is being blown around and upended.

Being near Josh feels like landing after a yearlong flight—arms flapping, energy depleted. The feelings I have for him have become so enormous, they’re nearly debilitating. They terrify me, and make it clear that whatever I felt for Tyler six years ago was like a drop in a bucket; last night with Josh was a tidal wave.

But I honestly don’t know if I want a tidal wave. Mom says she wishes she had one; I’m not so sure we’re tidal wave kind of women.

Tyler wants another chance, and Josh thinks I should give it to him. That seems to be what everyone else would do—what normal people would do. My gut isn’t totally on board, but without any experience in this degree of emotional combustion, my internal barometer feels unbalanced. I just don’t know what the right answer is.

So I straighten my shoulders, kiss Winnie for good luck, pray to Daniel Craig for wisdom, and reply to Tyler’s text.



..........

Tyler shows up at my doorstep holding a piece of paper and two bottles of red wine. It would be easier for all involved if we went out to dinner, but if he really wants to redeem himself, he can eat my cooking and endure the car wreck that takes place while I do it. If that doesn’t test a person’s constitution, nothing will.

As soon as he steps into my apartment, he seems to crowd everything out of the space, looking around, nodding as if it’s what he expected before turning to me with a smile and the offered gifts.