She blinks across the table at my sister. “Yeah. He’s probably more excited about it than any of us.”
A strand of her hair catches on her lip, and I reach to free it, but she beats me to it. I find myself pulling my hand back, awkwardly and abruptly. Emily catches my eye across the table, and I offer her a little whatever shrug before looking away and reaching for the enormous platter of meat Dave has grilled for us.
My pulse is like gunfire. Quite frankly, I don’t think Hazel is all that into Tyler, but the fact that she’s giving him this much of a chance makes me think she’s not all that into me, either. I just hope we’ve put an end to this friends-who-sleep-together thing early enough that I won’t be the guy pining after her for the rest of our lives.
“Tyler and Sasha, episode three.” Dave looks directly at me. “So, it sounds like you guys are done with the blind date experiment for a while?”
With effort, I avoid looking over at Hazel. “Oh, for sure we are,” I say.
In my peripheral vision, I can see her poking at her plate. She’s not eating a ton, and hasn’t touched the margarita in front of her. Aside from basically anything my mom makes her, Dave’s carne asada is her favorite food in the world. Usually she eats it as though she’s restraining herself from shoving it into her mouth by the fistful. “You feeling okay?”
Startling a little, she looks up. “Yeah. I’m good. I was just thinking about what Dave said. I’m sort of sad to think we’re not going to be doing any more double blind dates.”
“Really?” I rear back in playful shock. “You actually enjoyed that string of disasters?”
Hazel shrugs, and her enormous brown eyes meet mine. “I like hanging out with you.”
Emily kicks me, hard, under the table, and Dave’s foot reaches diagonally across and steps on mine. I kick at them both, and Emily lets out a little yelp.
“We can still hang out, goober.”
“I know.” She picks up her margarita, licks some salt off the rim, and then puts it down again. “But it was like we were having adventures.”
“Terrible adventures,” Emily reminds her.
“Terrible adventures that never ended in sex,” Dave adds with triumphant emphasis, and the table falls into a nuclear-winter-level silence. “Well,” he amends, “except for that one time.”
Hazel peeks at me and I have to take a long swig of my water to keep from coughing.
Emily plants her elbows on the table, leaning in. “Was there another time?”
My smile straightens at her judgmental tone. “Can I remind you that my sex life isn’t your business?”
“If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one bringing it up at the front door a few weeks back.”
“That was me,” Hazel agrees, “and only because I am constitutionally incapable of keeping my mouth shut.”
Dave looks like he wants to take a good swing at that one, but wisely keeps it restrained to a gleeful gleam in his eyes when he looks at me.
“You guys really slept together again?” Emily asks.
I look over at her, replying quietly, in Korean. “Ten seconds later, and it still isn’t your business, Yujin.”
She purses her lips but lets it go.
··········
When we climb out of Tyler’s Jeep in the parking lot on Sunday, it seems as if everyone around us is still recovering from whatever debauchery they took part in the night before. There are a lot of man buns, plaid shirts tied around waists, beards, and artfully distressed jeans.
It’s also barely ten in the morning, and everyone I see milling about on the lawn has a beer in their hand. On the distant stage, a pair of roadies strum a few echoing chords before switching guitars for the sound check, and the scattered crowd rustles nearby, beginning to press forward. Sasha packed a picnic of what I imagine is something like bulgur and tofu wrapped in grape leaves, or hemp tortillas stuffed with tempeh, but she looks really happy carrying the basket over her arm so I’ll eat some to be a good sport and then get a giant hot dog with Hazel from one of the vendors. Sasha’s also left her hair down . . . I’ve never seen it all, and it completely freaks me out. It’s really long—as in several inches past her butt long—and with her window down for most of the drive, her hair ended up crawling all over me. When I closed my eyes to try not to freak out about it, it wasn’t any better; it was like being pushed in a wheelchair through a room of cobwebs. I can now definitively check the no box regarding hair fetish.
This is just as well, because there is zero chemistry between us, and it doesn’t seem to bother her, either. We haven’t kissed, we haven’t really even flirted. I’m not really sure why we went out on Friday. It was almost like . . . well, Hazel was having Tyler over for dinner, I may as well take Sasha out, too. The fact that I took her to see King Lear when I knew that Hazel wanted to see it was actually unintentional—I’d just spaced about it—but in hindsight I wonder whether my subconscious was stabbing little holes in the Hazel kite.
Beside me, Hazel is carrying a small pile of blankets in her arms. Her perfect-kind-of-long hair is still wet, and twisted up in two side buns high on her head. She smells like some kind of flower I’m sure grows in my mother’s garden every spring, and the scent has me feeling both nostalgic and queasily lovesick.
We reach a stretch of grass, and it looked so much nicer at a distance. Up close, it’s patchy and muddy. Sasha heads out to locate the bathrooms, and Hazel gamely spreads the blankets over the threadbare ground, gestures for me to take a seat, and then promptly kicks off her shoes and jogs a little in place.
“I forgot how much I love these things!”
“Outdoor events with day-drunk, aging Gen Xers?” I ask.
She smacks my shoulder and then turns, bouncing, throwing her arms up in a distractingly catlike stretch. I glance at Tyler as he watches Hazel sway to nothing but voices and the crowd shifting around us. His attention goes from her to the groups in our immediate proximity, some of whom are watching her with curious looks. And then he looks back to her, eyes tight.
“Come sit by me, Craze.”
Irritation shoves the words out of me: “I’m not sure that’s a great nickname, Ty.”
Tyler—I’ve known him at the gym for a few years now. He’s always seemed like a good guy, usually smiling, helps spot anyone who needs it. But right now, he’s looking at me like he sees every seductive thought I have about the woman dancing before us and he’s figuring out how he can pull my brain out through my nostrils.
“Well, it’s my nickname for her, Josh.”
“Always?”
He shrugs. “Starting now.”
I can’t help but push. “What did you call her in college?”
Tyler smirks. “ ‘Babe.’ ”
Well, I guess I can understand why he’d want to go for something more original this time around.
“Because that’s what she was,” he says, looking me up and down a little now, appraising what he must realize is the competition. How did he not see it before? Hazel and I are together all the time. “She was my babe.”
With impeccable timing, Hazel turns and plops down cross-legged in front of us. “Who was your babe?”
Tyler scratches his jaw, fidgeting. “You.”
Her frown is immediate. “I was your babe?”
I lean back on my hands, grinning at them both.
“I was just telling Josh, that’s what I called you in college,” he clarifies.
“You did?”
God, this is so deliciously awkward. He glances at me, huffing a little. “Yeah. Remember?”
She screws up her nose, and then looks at me, gauging my reaction. The realization that she always looks to me, for solidarity, for my opinion, for reassurance, lights a fuse in me, and it’s honestly all I can do to keep from leaning forward and kissing her in front of him.
The roadies clear the stage closest to us, and cheers rise like a wave across the park. My phone buzzes at my hip with a text from Sasha. “Sash
a says she found some friends down in the pit and is going to hang there if anyone wants to join her.”
“Who’s opening?” Hazel asks Tyler.
He blinks blankly at her for a beat, and then smiles patiently. “Metallica.”
“They’re opening? I thought they were headlining.”
Tyler’s wince makes me want to giggle. “No, they’re getting it started.”
“I don’t think I can handle that much body slamming at ten in the morning,” she says, with a genuine smile back.
With a look to me, and then a look to her, he pushes up and lopes off to meet Sasha down near the stage.
··········
As soon as he’s gone, we both flop back on the grass and stare up at the churning clouds overhead.
“It might rain,” I say.
“That cloud looks like a turtle.”
I follow where she’s pointing. “It looks like a bowl of popcorn to me.”
She responds to this with a simple “I feel like you and Tyler don’t like each other anymore.”
Rolling my head to the side to look at her, I say, “What makes you think that?”
“There was some testosterone-y thing happening just now.”
“About him calling you ‘babe’?” I look back at the sky. “I don’t know, I think ‘babe’ is the world’s lamest nickname.”
That might be hyperbole; I just really don’t like Tyler today.
“You never called anyone ‘babe’? Not even Tabby?”
“Not even Tabby.”
She makes a little thoughtful noise next to me and then falls quiet.
“Did you have fun on your date the other night?” I ask.
I can hear her grin when she says, “You mean, before you showed up?”
“Yeah.”
“It was okay. I wasn’t feeling great, and he really loves to reminisce about Ye Olden Days, but it seems like he’s trying so hard, I don’t really want to dog him.”
When I don’t reply, she adds, “I think you’re right that it’s worth giving him another chance.”
The air around me goes still. “When did I tell you to give him another chance?”
Her neck flushes and she looks at me, brow furrowed. “The morning after . . . the last time we . . . You said to give him another chance.”
Pushing up onto an elbow, I stare down at her. “I said if it’s where your head is, then it’s worth giving him another chance. It was about you, and what you need to explore, not about him and what he deserves or what I think you should do.”
She absorbs this for a few quiet breaths before turning away. “The weird thing about our dating game was that it’s left me feeling like I need to come out of this with someone at the end.”
I stare down at her, at the few strands of hair that have come free of the buns, and the way I can tell she didn’t bother putting on makeup this morning and she still looks stunning.
“I think we both know that’s bull.”
She nods. “I know. But it’s a feeling.”
“And even if it were true, it doesn’t have to be Tyler,” I remind her.
She turns back to me again, and her gaze drags across my mouth. “No. It doesn’t have to be Tyler.”
TWENTY
* * *
HAZEL
We’re quiet during the first few songs of the Metallica set. In fact, we’re so quiet, I wonder whether Josh has fallen asleep beside me. I’ve been people-watching, but neither of us has been paying any particular attention to the actual show. When I peek at him, I see that he’s awake, and just staring thoughtfully up at the sky.
“Don’t ask me what I’m thinking,” he says, grinning over at me when he sees me looking at him.
“I wasn’t going to!”
“You totally were.”
He’s right. I was. I lie down on my side and prop my head on my hand to study him. This is the perfect light for photographs: muted but bright, with vibrant green all around us. I’m tempted to pull my phone out of my bag and take a picture of his profile. I love the smooth, straight line of his nose, the powerful curve of his cheekbones, the geometry of his jawline.
“You’re staring.”
I love your face, I think. I tap his temple with my index finger. “I just like knowing what’s going on in that brain of yours.”
He shrugs, and adjusts his hands where they’re crossed over his stomach. “I was wondering what Sasha packed in the lunch basket.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“I will be eventually, and was thinking I might want to figure out where the hot dogs are instead.”
Laughing, I push up and crawl over him to peek. “She’s got apples, celery with peanut butter, and what looks like some sort of wheat berry salad. No sandwiches or like . . . food.”
He doesn’t respond to this at all, and given that he’s craving a hot dog, I’m pretty sure he’ll find no satisfaction in this basket. I look down at him from where I’m propped on all fours, and realize that he’s staring directly down my shirt.
“Are you looking at my boobs?”
His eyes move from my chest to my face, and instead of wisecracking or making a joke about how he forgot to bring tape and staples to keep my shirt on later when I’m drinking beer, he just closes his eyes and sighs.
It looks like defeat, or frustration, or something similar to the uncomfortable yearning that’s pressing tight against my breastbone. It feels like there’s a pile of bricks on my chest. I want to bend down and just put my mouth on his.
With a tiny whimper, I imagine the relief of that, of kissing him outside, of how he might slide his hands to my face, cupping me and holding me there. For some reason, I don’t think he’d turn away. I stare down at Josh, with his eyes closed, and imagine straddling him, feeling him tense beneath me, teasing him where we can’t do anything about it.
Those are boyfriend things. These are girlfriend feelings.
I’m Josh’s girlfriend, whether he wants me or not.
I curl back up next to him. “Josh.”
Slowly, so slowly, he opens his eyes and turns his head to see me. “Yeah?”
Voices rise and I look up to see Sasha and Tyler stomping toward our blankets, grinning, sweaty, breathless. They tumble down beside us, chests heaving.
The quiet intimacy between Josh and me dissolves into a mist.
“Holy shit,” Tyler says. “That was epic.”
A tiny ripple of guilt works its way through me. I wasn’t paying any attention to the band, even though I knew how excited Tyler was to see them. I feel like I’m doing everything just a tiny bit wrong today.
I sit up and lean over to squeeze his hand, impulsively. “I’m so glad you had a good time down there.”
Josh pushes to stand. “I’m going to get a beer. Anyone else want something? Tyler? Beer?”
“I don’t drink,” Tyler reminds him.
Josh barks out a laughing “Okay” before turning.
Sasha follows him, and he doesn’t even look at me before he’s marching down the small hill toward the bank of vendor booths to the right of the stage.
“Can I ask you something?” Tyler says, sitting up.
Unease swirls in my belly. “Sure.”
“Did you and Josh ever . . . ?”
“Ever what?”
“Date?”
“Each other?”
He nods, and I shift, reasoning that it’s not exactly a lie. “No. We never dated each other.”
“It sometimes seems like there’s more going on with you two.”
And honestly, the only way to avoid this conversation is to stand when System of a Down comes on, and pretend I am very, very excited to hear all of their songs that I’m not even sure I know. I close my eyes, and for just fifteen minutes, I try to push out all of these emotions.
I dance away the feeling that I’m trying to talk myself into being attracted to Tyler.
I dance away the feeling that I’m in love with Josh, and am prolo
nging his rejection because I know it will slaughter me.
I dance away the feeling that I’m putting way too much of my energy into this, when I should be just enjoying my day, and the air, and the music.
I spin, and spin, and it’s so fucking fun, I haven’t had this kind of fun in forever, just dancing like a maniac. The air is cold on my bare arms when I toss away my sweater and I’m aware that most people on the lawn are sitting, but if they knew how good it felt to let it all out and dance like this—arms out, hips rocking, the grass cold and wet underfoot—they would be up here doing the exact same—
“Hazel.”
I turn and look at Tyler behind me on the grass. “Come dance!”
I reach out for him but he laughs uncomfortably, and then looks to the side, to the family on a blanket near us, who are watching us with smiles.
“Just—come sit here.” He pats the blanket next to him.
“I’m dancing!”
Tyler leans in. “You’re . . . being sort of embarrassing.”
It falls flatly, with a clang, like a penny into an empty bucket.
So this is what it feels like.
My smile doesn’t even break, and I laugh out an incredulous, “What?”
He stands, coming closer. “You’re like the only person dancing up here. Just come sit and talk to me.”
Finally, my feet stop moving. “Please tell me you’re not that guy right now.”
“What guy?”
“The guy you’ve always been, who wants me to be quirky but not weird, who wants me to dance only when other people are dancing, who likes telling all the stories about me but doesn’t remember how much he bitched about each of those moments when it happened.”
His expression falls. “I’m not trying to do that. You’re just—”
A fire is lit beneath my breastbone. “Just having fun?”
Grimacing, he shrugs. “Do you have to be so out there all the time? Can’t we just hang?”
“We are hanging!”
He looks around. “It’s just that some people were looking, and I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Hazel doesn’t get embarrassed,” Josh says from behind me with a laugh. But his smile falls when I turn to him, and he sees the expression on my face. “Whoa, what did I miss?”
Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating Page 18