HAZEL

A month of normal hang-out time is what Josh and I seem to need in order to stop having to make a joke about the Drunk Sex all the time to show how OKAY WITH IT we are. Every weekend for the subsequent four weeks, we do very friend-appropriate things, like catch a couple of plays, peruse local art galleries, have dinner with Emily and Dave where we assure them we haven’t slept together again, and avoid bars and drinking (and nudity) whenever possible. Josh even starts bringing me lunch every Wednesday at school so we can Just Hang Out.

In the end, maybe it’s good that I have intimate knowledge of his penis so that I can confidently recommend him to my friends for the dating?

We are definitely—very vocally—Totally Ready to Try the Double-Dating Thing Again, so I pick up his date, Sasha, at the yoga studio where she teaches, because she says it will be easier for her to shower and get ready there than go all the way home on the bus. Things I have learned about Sasha since asking her to come on this blind double date:

1.She has never owned a car, nor does she ever plan to.

2.Her clothes are all made from hemp, vegan leather, or recycled soda bottles.

3.She hasn’t cut her hair in four years because she doesn’t feel it’s given her permission.

Although she seems like a conscientious and lovely person, I’m no longer feeling very confident that she’s a good match for Josh, per se. To be perfectly honest, it might be time to admit I’m not a very good matchmaker—we’ve had a lot of duds.

We’re having dinner at one of John Gorham’s restaurants, Tasty n Sons. Toro Bravo is probably my favorite restaurant in all of Portland, but I’ve never been to this one of his, and I have purposefully not eaten anything since breakfast so that I can stuff my gob and require Josh to roll me home in a wheelbarrow, date or no date.

When I pick her up, Sasha looks fantastic. She’s wearing black jeans and a cute red T-shirt that shows off great boobs. Good job, hemp! Her hair is up in some sort of Rapunzel braid that looks like it weighs about seventy pounds. When we walk into the crowded restaurant, heads turn. I’m pretty sure if Josh and the guy he’s bringing—someone named Jones—didn’t show up, Sasha and I could have a pretty hot ladies’ night out.

But a hand goes up in the back and waves us over; of course Josh is already here.

“Oh my God, is that him?” Sasha leans to the side, staring toward the table where Josh has now stood. I start to agree that yes, I am the most generous yoga student in her class and she should totally give me a discount, but then the person beside him stands, too, and oh.

My head goes blank for

one,

two,

three,

four breaths.

I already know “Jones.”

He isn’t Jones Something. He’s Tyler Jones.

I rarely have moments that throw me, but this one is a doozy. Tyler was my six months. Six months together followed by years of him studiously manipulating me into thinking we might happen again someday so that I’d sleep with him again, and again.

Josh knows about Tyler, but not the extent of the head games he played, and without a doubt Josh has no idea that my ex Tyler is the gym buddy he calls Jones.

And damn it, Ty looks good. He’s still got that soft floppy blond skater hair that falls over his left eye. His knee-buckling smile hasn’t changed with time, the scar on his chin is still the best way to make a great face better, and he’s still insanely tall for no good reason. Tonight he has on a well-worn flannel and some perfectly beat-up button-fly jeans that cover up what I know to be a magical dong. I bet under the table I’d see his requisite black Chuck Taylors and in his back pocket he’s tucked his Yankees cap. It’s like walking backward into my life from six years ago.

The expectant smile is wiped clean off Tyler’s face when he sees me and moves around the table. He pushes his way through the crowd, coming at me like a predator, and I’m the prey with no survival skills—just rooted in place. Sasha has made her way to Josh and I assume they’re doing the introductions without us because all I can really see is Tyler marching closer, heads turning because—let’s face it—he’s a hot man on a mission. Before I’ve decided whether I’m going to stay, or turn and run, his arms are around my waist and I’m off the floor with his face pressed into my neck as he says my name over, and over, and over.

Hazel, Hazel, Hazel.

Oh my God.

Holy shit, what are you doing here?

How are you?

I had no idea it would be you!

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Josh’s eyes meet my wide gaze over Tyler’s shoulder, and I can see him trying to work this out. Without context it must look like one hell of a blind date greeting. His brows pinch down in question, and I mouth a simple Tyler.

I can make out the swear word from here. Tyler Jones? his lips say next, and I nod.

Sasha puts her hand on his arm to redirect his attention back to her, but I can tell he’s only ten percent there. Every few seconds he looks up at me, and I’m watching him as if he can somehow guide me on what to do here.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Tyler says, putting my feet back on the floor, cupping my jaw, and bending so we’re face-to-face.

I bite my lip, pulling back a little because I have the distinct impression he’s about to kiss me. “It was … a surprise for me, too.”

“Really?” His mouth takes on a cockily skeptical curve. “I thought Josh told you who you were meeting.”

“Yeah, but … I never knew you as ‘Jones.’ ”

Only now does it occur to him that I wasn’t trying to surprise him with this “blind” date, and that I had no idea that he would be here. God, it’s so typical of Tyler to think this has somehow all been orchestrated for him.

He ducks down again, catching my eyes. “I hope it’s a good surprise?”

This throws me a little, this display of hesitance.

“I’m still deciding,” I tell him. “The last time I saw you, you were sneaking out of my bedroom without saying goodbye. You left for Europe the next day with the person I later realized was your girlfriend.”

His eyes hold on to mine, and he’s nodding the entire time I’m speaking, like my words are gifts bestowed by a benevolent goddess. “I was a shit. I was a complete shit to you, Hazel, and it’s haunted me every day.” Tyler lets out a shaking exhale, and he seems genuinely thrown. “Holy crap, I can’t believe you’re here.”

He jerks me again into his chest, and my expression of surprise is smashed against his sternum.

My fingers are shaking when his giant hand engulfs them and he tugs, leading me back to the table where Josh and Sasha are seated and ordering drinks. I come up right as Josh is saying, “Aaaand the woman walking up just now will have a double Bulleit and ginger.” He meets my eyes, and adds, “In a short glass.”

Josh knows I need to toss one back right now. It must be written all over my face.

“Josh, dude!” Tyler smacks the table and the salt and pepper shakers clatter together. “You didn’t tell me Hazel is Hazel Bradford! Did you know she’s the love of my life?”

Josh’s jaw drops to the floor, and I too want to guffaw heartily at Tyler’s declaration. How many Hazels has he met in his life? I also want to let out a banshee scream loud enough to break every window in the establishment.

“We were together for two and a half years, man,” Tyler says, and as I start to challenge this calculation, he sees Sasha and apologizes for being rude (Tyler? Apologizing for social snubs?), reaching to shake her hand with the one that isn’t still wrapped around mine. “Sorry, sorry. I’m Tyler.”

“Sasha,” she says, dazed, like we are as fascinating as early-days reality television.

“I’m totally freaking out right now.” Tyler looks back at me and wipes his free hand across his forehead as if he’s sweating from the shock of it all. “Josh and I work out together sometimes. I had no idea he was fixing me up with my ex. I’ve been thinking about this woman every day for the past four years.”

I’m not even sure how to absorb these superlatives, so I just give him a tight smile and sit down across from Josh, who’s staring at me with such singular intensity I worry he’s burning a red dot into my forehead.

The delivery of our drinks, and the time Tyler takes to order one for himself, gives me a few seconds of oxygen, and head space.

1.Tyler looks fantastic.

2.He seems genuinely apologetic, if not a little over the top.

3.My brain is goo. This is the Tyler Jones Effect. He’s charming, and beautiful, and has always been my kryptonite.

So much for growth.

I remember the first time he broke up with me, how it felt to hear him say that I was fun, but not long-term material.

I remember the first time he left my bed after coming over for sex, and told me it was always so good that way between us, and thanks for a fun night.

We probably had sex twenty more times after that, and every time I felt like shit afterward. It got to the point where it wasn’t even that I wanted Tyler Jones so much as I just wanted to not have this weak spot in my heart. Every time I thought, This time, I’m going to say no! This time, I’m going to ask him to get out after I’ve come but before he has!

This time, this time, this time.

I reenter the conversation as Tyler is telling the story of the time we went skiing and I made it down the mountain alive after somehow losing my poles and careening face-first over a thick sheet of ice. It’s not a story I particularly relish him starting off with, but at least it’s one where my undergarments are intact and my skirt isn’t over my head.

Yet.

“Yeah, Hazel has a pretty hard skull,” Josh jokes quietly, and I’m the only one to burst out in a nervous, too-loud cackle. He looks at me, grinning at my awkward hysteria too close to the surface. Josh reaches across the table and brushes his fingertips across the back of my hand in what is either an I’m right here, you’re okay gesture or a Be cool one.

Tyler is full of Hazel Bradford is the wildest ever! stories, and regales a riveted Sasha and Josh with The Time I Looked into Adopting a Tiger, The Time Senior Hazel Went Streaking Through Freshman Orientation, and most mortifyingly, The Time We Decided We Should Have Sex in the Bathrooms at Every Major Museum in Portland.

Josh gives me a pruney face because we were just at the Portland Art Museum two days ago. “Gross,” he whispers, and wipes his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

I admit Tyler’s a good storyteller, and I come off sounding like the Olivia Pope of Fun in most of them. I can tell Sasha and Josh are genuinely entertained. But as he goes on and on with all this shared history, I’m weighed down by the drooping awareness that I gave Tyler so much of my heart and my time, and received so little in return.

It is astonishing to me that, in all the time we were together and the years we’ve been apart, this is what he remembers. If I had to share my Tyler Jones stories, there would be a couple of great ones, including The Night He First Brandished the Magic Dong™ and The Time He Showed Me Why Women Love Oral Sex, but otherwise, they’d mostly be That Time Tyler Said He Loved Me to Get in My Pants, and That Other Time Tyler Said He Loved Me to Get in My Mouth.

A glance at Josh tells me that, as his gym buddy rambles on and on about our escapades and sexcapades, the bloom is coming off the rose. I understand immediately; if you asked me which is the more meaningful relationship in my life, I’d say Josh without hesitation. But for sure Josh can see as clearly as I can the imprint that Tyler has left on me. I’d have a spoiled-milk expression, too, if Tabby were here talking about all the shenanigans she and Josh shared.

His jaw ticks, and when Tyler stops to actually breathe, Josh cuts in to engage Sasha on her interests, her job, her life.

Tyler takes this opportunity to turn, and reach for my hand again, bringing it to his mouth. “Hazel?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Something squeezes my lungs until the air is all gone. “For what?”

He nods, eyes closed, and his lips move up and down my knuckles with the movement. Over Tyler’s bowed head, Josh catches my eye and we both quickly look away.

“I’m sorry for ending things, and making you feel that you weren’t worth my time long term.” So Tyler does remember. “I’m sorry I couldn’t let you move on afterward. I’m sorry I used you as an escape whenever things got hard in other areas of my life. And I’m sorry I disappeared without a word.”

When he looks at me, I give him a little smile. It’s nice to hear all this. I can’t pretend it isn’t. But I’m obviously still in shock because I don’t really have words in response, even all the wrong ones.

The waiter deposits a Diet Coke in front of him and with that, things click into place.

“You’re in recovery,” I blurt.

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah. I am. I’m so much happier.” He lets go of my hand to lift his glass and take a sip. “I wish I could do a lot of things over again.”

I’m thrilled for him, because it’s obviously a good decision, but I’m so windblown by Tyler’s appearance that I can’t even enjoy the food. One sip in and my drink tastes rotten. My meal is overflavored and feels like a fluorescent bulb in my mouth.

Tyler and Sasha—and to a lesser extent Josh—seem to do just fine with minimal input from me, but I can’t pretend I’m not relieved when the check comes, and the two dudes whip out their wallets. I don’t even put up a fight.

“Haze,” Josh says quietly, “you want to box that up and take it home?”

I look at my plate. I’ve had maybe two bites. “Okay. Sure.”

Josh grabs my bag of food as we stand, and puts a brotherly arm around my shoulders before Tyler can pull me aside. “That was a fun night,” Josh says quietly, looking down at me.

“It was great.” I can hear the question in my words, like Wait, was it fun? I was on Planet Freak-Out for most of it and didn’t notice.

“Let me give you my number.” Tyler slips my phone from where it’s loosely held in my hand, and opens a new text box, texting himself This is Hazel’s number, followed by a little smiley face.

I want to snatch his phone and see how many of those texts he has with different girls’ names. But then I feel like an asshole for thinking it, because he bends down and puts a chaste kiss on my cheek.

“You’re a bigger person than I am,” Tyler says, and it’s awkward because Josh still has his arm around my shoulders so Tyler’s practically kissing Josh’s hand, but Tyler doesn’t seem to mind baring his soul in public anymore. “It was really good to see you.”

Josh walks Sasha out; he says he’s going to drive her home, and something in my chest forms a fist and punches both of them for that. Tyler hops in a Jeep Cherokee, and waves as he drives off. My car starts on the second try, and I drive home in a haze, pulling up outside my building without paying attention to anything along the way.

Because Josh is at Sasha’s.

The thought sticks in my head like a tack in a corkboard: Pay attention to this. Josh is at Sasha’s. Obsess about this later. Just … not yet.

I pull off my clothes and drop them on the floor right next to the laundry hamper in an act of rebellion that, most likely, Josh won’t even see. I scrub off my minimal makeup and throw the wipe in the trash with a violence that Tyler doesn’t get to appreciate. I get into my bed in my BAD BITCH T-shirt and DRAGON PUSSY underwear, and turn on the TV on my dresser with every intention of watching Steel Magnolias.

Five minutes in, I burst into tears.

“Hey. Hey.”

I gasp, clutching my boob as if it’s my heart, and look up at my bedroom doorway.

Josh is there.

Josh is here? I didn’t even hear him come in, and he’s moving over and sitting on the side of my bed while I melt down at the sight of Sally Field running around the house in curlers.

“I used the key you gave me. I hope that’s okay?”

I can only nod.

“Hey,” he says gently. “What’s wrong? What happened after I left?”

“Nothing.” I wipe away the evidence on my cheeks. “I just feel emotional.” I stretch across him to my bedside drawer, where not only are there several vibrators but there is chocolate. He watches me push past a messy pile of sex toys for sugar without saying a single thing, and also doesn’t say anything when I shove an entire Twix into my mouth, then start talking around it. “Seeing Tyler was a lot. I thought you were going home with Sasha and I wanted to talk to you.”

I bury my face in his shirt and inhale like I’m huffing him. He smells like Tide and the echoing tang of vinegar from his parents’ house, and I imagine opening my mouth and eating his shirt, swallowing it with the chocolate bar.

Then I realize that the blanket has slid off my body and he can see the back of my Dragon Pussy underpants. He pulls his attention to my face, eyes wide and unfocused.

“This night could be better,” I tell him, tucking my shirt over my butt.

“I had no idea Jones and Tyler were the same guy.” He runs an apologetic hand through my crazy hair. “I would never have set you guys up.” A pause. “I mean, obviously.”

“I know.” I watch him read my Bad Bitch T-shirt a couple of times before he laughs.

“Strangely enough,” he says quietly, “I adore you in this mood.”

I ignore the silvery, giddy monster that wiggles through me when he says this. “It threw me because he was being so nice, and I swear that for like two years all I wanted to hear were the things he was saying tonight.” I start crying again. Holy bejeezus I am a mess. “Tyler was the guy who broke my heart and has made me so wary of getting emotionally involved again and then he was there. He looked the same, but remembered all the ways he was shitty and apologized for them.” I let out a wail and use Josh’s shirt as a handkerchief. “And then you went home with Sasha and I wanted to talk to you.”

“You said that already, Haze.”

“Well, I really, really mean it.”

He holds me for a few minutes. Who knows, maybe it’s an hour. I lose track of time and space; if someone decided to invent a comfort machine, it should be shaped just like Josh Im. His right hand rubs slow circles on my back, and his left hand is anchored in the hair at the back of my head, and he’s saying quiet things like

I’m sorry.

I could tell how shocked you were.

Shh, I know. Come here, Haze. It’s okay.

Finally, I pull back and apologize in a sob-thick voice for covering his shirt in my melodramatic tears and snot. “You should totally go home and watch some TV and forget this ever happened. I don’t know why I’m such a mess.”

“I don’t know … I feel like I should stay.” He cups my face the same way Tyler did earlier, but instead of feeling mildly intimidating, it feels wonderful, even though he’s close enough to stare straight into my pores and I know I’m not a pretty crier. “I don’t like leaving when you’re sad.” His brows pinch together. “Actually, I’ve never seen you sad.”

“I’m okay.”

“I can stay.”

I go for lighthearted—for playful—but unfortunately my singsong words come out like bricks: “You can stay, but, I mean, I’m not going to have sex with you again.”

Insert record-screech sound here.

Josh rolls his eyes and lets go of my face. “Yup. Okay. I’m headed home.”

“Wait.” I swallow down the desperate edge to my voice. “I was kidding.” I try to salvage the joke: “I would totally have sex with you again.”

His expression goes dark and he slumps slightly in exasperation. His voice is rough and quiet. “Come on, Haze. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.” I wipe my face and try to look as collected as possible. “I really would love the company.”

He’s already kicked off his shoes at the front door, so all he has to do is step out of his jeans and he’s only in boxers and his T-shirt. His boxers have little jalapeño peppers all over them, and he draws my eyes away from the shape of his cock—Friend cock! Not for you!—by pulling back my sheets and climbing into bed beside me.

“Scoot over.” He takes the remote, and I rest my head on his broad shoulder, knowing as soon as I get a whiff of the warm tangy spice of him that I’m probably ten minutes away from sleep.

“But none of this Steel Magnolias junk,” he whispers. “Let’s watch the first Alien movie.”