Chapter Twenty-Seven
By Christmas evening, Hazel knew what she had to do: drive to Ash’s house and, once she was there in front of him,…magically figure out what to say. She was unlocking her car when her phone buzzed. JUST ASH. The happy surprise of his name on her phone sent her heart into her throat. She had to swipe twice to open the message.
Just Ash: Hey, just wanted to let you know I’ve got a ride home. Merry Christmas, Hazel.
She waited, but nothing more came. It felt abrupt and final. No opening for questions, for persuading him otherwise. Even that Merry Christmas stung—like he’d done her a favor, freeing her from her obligation to him. Merry Christmas! You never have to face me again!
Yes, she’d said horrible things. Yes, she’d cut him off. But only for two days. She was back. She was ready—or at least willing—to face the mess she’d made, to figure out how to fix it with him, even if that meant trapping them in her car for eight hours until they talked everything out.
But the longer she mulled over his message, the more her stomach twisted and her hopes withered. He’d gone to the trouble of finding another way home so he wouldn’t have to ride with her. This, from the guy who’d worked so hard to fix his last relationship, the girl had to cheat to get rid of him. The guy who, at his essential core, kept trying. He was just…giving up. Just like that.
So, she sent the only response that wouldn’t expose how crushed she felt: a cheery, totally fine Okay. Merry Christmas!
Then she immediately texted Sylvia, asking if she could come see her for a few days, and retreated to the comfort of her bed.
Not five minutes later, a knock sounded on her door, and then it cracked open, and Val and Lucy were standing at the threshold. Val held up a basket of nail polishes. “We were just about to do our nails. Want to join?”
Hazel eyed their coordinating Christmas-red hair and wondered if their nails would match, too. But where she’d once found their matching a bit cringey, she saw it differently now—a mother who was willing to look a little silly in the name of bonding with her daughter. Hazel saw the love in the gesture, and she surprised herself by saying, “Okay.”
To her further surprise, they both moved in and flanked her on the bed. Hazel flipped over a few bottles half-heartedly, trying not to let her focus drift to her phone and thoughts of Ash, and read the polish names: Teal It Like It Is, Burn It Down, Reclaiming My Thyme, Blood of My Enemies. “These are…intense,” she said with a laugh. “They’re, like, weirdly aggressive feminist affirmations.”
Val waved a bottle of bright purple. “I’m doing Nobody’s Girlfriend.”
“Is there one for getting over a—” Break up, she almost said.
It didn’t matter that she cut herself off. Something about Val’s soft-eyed head tilt told Hazel she knew. Maybe her sudden lack of plans with Ash after running off with him all week hadn’t slipped Val’s notice. Hazel took a deep breath and said instead, “Getting over academic imposter syndrome?”
Lucy selected a light brown. “How about Taupe of the Class?”
Hazel took it.
Val started filing her nails. “So, what’s this imposter syndrome about?”
Hazel shrugged.
“You know, this is kind of my wheelhouse. My foundation helps shape smart, driven, sociologically disadvantaged women for leadership roles in business, media, local politics…Nine times out of ten, these amazing women, like you, already have the goods a million times over. They just don’t believe in themselves yet.”
Hazel considered brushing off her admission but decided instead, as they filed and then began to paint their nails, to tell them about her struggle to handle all her grad assistant responsibilities, Sheffield’s endless errands, the hostile upper-year student making her lab hell, and her hesitation to request the transfer to Dr. Tate.
“So, wait. You’re actually thinking of staying in the lab with the jerk,” Lucy piped up, “just so you don’t have to disappoint your professor, who doesn’t even let you do the work you want and takes total advantage of you?”
It wasn’t far from what Ash had said that night at the Country Kitschin’.
Val raised an eyebrow at Hazel. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but…”
“But I should submit my transfer request?”
“Right now.”
With her non-polished hand, Hazel opened her laptop and did just that.
Now that she and her father were speaking more openly, Hazel wasn’t quite ready to leave. He seemed to feel the same, circling her car for the third time, checking every inch of it for some sign of impending threat, some excuse, she thought, to make her stay longer. Finally, he said, “Well, kiddo, guess you’re good to go.” He hugged her, one hand securing her head to his chest. “Friday. Don’t forget.”
They’d agreed to a weekly phone call to keep their respective doors more open to each other. “Five o’clock,” she confirmed. “I won’t forget.”
It felt like she was locked in a time loop, retracing her route out of town again so soon. She half expected to end up stuck in Garrettsville a third time.
She did not expect a detour that sent her through her old neighborhood.
Though she didn’t have to, Hazel took a few extra turns and eased to a stop in front of her old house. An inflatable snowman lay airless in the lawn, like it had melted. A basketball hoop had been mounted over the garage. She wondered if the same boy she’d assumed put Star Wars posters on her old walls returned to this home from college on holidays, or if a new family lived here now.
Once, every little change had felt like she was losing a piece of herself. She’d thought if she didn’t see it, she wouldn’t feel it. But now, Hazel didn’t feel heartbroken, only curious.
In the side yard, a tree stretched its branches into the clear sky, and she realized it was the pecan sapling her father had planted, which had never produced nuts before they moved. Now mature and tall, it cast shade over a good portion of the yard—more in summer probably, when its leaves were full. And dangling from its branches and littering the ground below was an absolute bounty of pecans.