“Those sound pretty. Did you make that, too?” She nods to the far wall. A trunk of a tree is rooted in place, its branches stretching up along the wall. At various points, custom shelves sprout out from the branches, holding up all my thriller and nonfiction reads.
“I made everything in here,” I admit. “But before you’re impressed, know that I created a lot of my furniture when I was just starting to learn. I can’t open half of the drawers that hold my clothes, and I wouldn’t recommend sitting on that chair.”
Hazel smirks. “Your clothes are trapped, so you’re left to wear that.” She points to my orange and yellow swirled long-sleeve shirt.
I feel a smile start. “I know they look goofy, but Mrs. Walkermade these for me, thank you very much, and she’d be appalled to hear you say that, even though she’d agree. She went through a tie-dye phase.” I shrug. “Honestly? They’re some of the most comfortable shirts I own.”
“That’s actually sweet.” She runs her hand down my arm, rubbing the cotton between her fingers. “Somehow, you pull them off. And that’s a big compliment,” she says with a chuckle before growing serious again and giving my hand a squeeze. “For you to go to this inn… you must’ve really been hurting.”
I consider what to say that might help alleviate her concern. “I needed to get away.”
It sounds dramatic, but at the time, it felt true. Urgent. Necessary.
For a second, I forget that my left hand is out of commission, and I ram it into the bag while trying to reach for a can of pears.
“Go rest while I make food,” Hazel says. Then she points at my casted arm. “Hope an infection sets in and you never heal.”
I laugh, remembering the night at the pizzeria and our break-a-leg conversation. “Okay, maybe we shouldn’t make that a thing.”
She nods in agreement. “Probably for the best.”
I resist her commands by stepping closer. “I’m not making you cook for me while I lounge.” Walking Toffee, being here, unloading groceries… it all feels so natural with Hazel. We’ve slipped into an easy rhythm together. I make a point to remove a bag of rice with my hurt arm. “See? I’m fine! If anything, it’s my ego that took a hit. There’s no graceful way to fall down a flight of stairs while ending up covered in lo mein.”
“And that flip you did at the end, wow.” She draws a loop through the air with the taro she’s holding. She turns serious. “This is a lot, especially with everything going on at work for you. And now you have to miss work. It’s so shitty.”
I’m unsure how to respond. She’s not downplaying my fall or comparing it to something worse. There’s no mention of luck or good timing. She’s just calling it as it is.
And shitty is exactly what it is.
She peers over her shoulder at me. “Are you doing okay otherwise? If there’s anything else I can do to help, please tell me.”
Share all your pieces.
My arm hurts. I’m stressed. Everything’s falling apart, and I don’t know what to do.
“I could’ve broken my back” is what I end up saying. “At least I’ll still be able to be at the theater and help where I can.”
Hazel stops what she’s doing, holding a package of goji berries midair. Instead of pushing back, she just nods. “I’m making almond tofu with fruit, pork, and taro stew, and eight-treasure sticky rice. They’re lucky foods, which is the point. In some European countries, almonds have been a good luck symbol. We’ll eat those with oranges, which in Chinese culture represent good fortune.”
“I bought you a Band-Aid. You’re making me a three-course meal. This hardly feels like a fair exchange.”
“It isn’t,” Hazel says with a grin. She moves to the sink and washes her hands. “But it’s happening. You did also keep your word about splitting the money. I sent the money to my brother.”
What a relief. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“I did also pay off the rest of my student loans.”
“Congrats! That’s great.”
“Yeah, I never thought I’d see the day.” She sucks in a long breath through her nose, shaking her shoulders on the exhale. “I’ve never spent that much money all at once before.” She looks over at me. “Hey! Why are you not on the couch?”
“Tell you what,” I say, standing firmly in place. “While you make that, I’ll make dessert.”
“No. You’ll just get in my way.”
I place my hand over my heart. “I’ll stay so far out of your way. All-the-way-over-on-this-side-of-the-counter out of your way.”
She props her hand on her hip. “You think that flirty voice you’re using is going to work? On me?” She takes a confident step forward.
