And still, as awareness pulls me into the light of day, the nerves and the thoughts I can't keep at bay find me again.
I sneak out of bed, being as quiet and gentle as I can, unwilling to wake Hazel. I want to get some coffee. I want to think.
I creep over to the closet and pull on a pair of boxers and some shorts, grabbing one of my old T-shirts and throwing it on over my head.
When I step out of the closet, Hazel is still sawing logs. I smile at her as she lays there in my bed, liking this sight more than I care to admit.
For a few minutes, I just stare at her, watching her breath move up and down as she lays against the mattress with her eyes closed gently.
It occurs to me that I could watch her sleep like this for hours. So, eventually, I pull myself away and head downstairs to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.
The entire house is quiet. It's still very early, and I'm the only one awake. I reach inside the cupboard for a mug and then walk over to the coffee machine to put in the grounds and get it brewing.
I’ve never been a single-cup coffee kind of guy, so I never bothered with the Keurig. I know that I'll be drinking several cups by the time the day is over.
Caffeine and I have averyserious relationship.
When I know there's enough for at least one cup in the pot, I bring over my mug and fill it up. I usually take it black, so with my full mug, I walk over to the island and have a seat.
What in the hell happened last night?
I mean, logically, I know exactly what happened last night. I can remember every detail. I can feel all the places that Hazel and I touched.
We fell asleep after that first time, but halfway through the night, we found each other again, losing ourselves to the feeling of having one another so close.
We made love a second time, and it was slow, so much more gentle, and less desperate than the first. I realize it was that time that really broke me.
I don't know what's happening between us. I want to say that it's this beautiful miracle, that we'll have so much to look forward to. But I've got to admit to myself that I have no proof of that at all.
I didn't come back to Hazel all those years ago, and I know she worries that I will pull that shit again. She has every reason to. Sometimes I worry about it myself.
I'm not good at this relationship thing and being with each other and putting my trust in another person.
I've never been good at this.
And I don't know how to get any better at it.
It feels a lot simpler to just pretend that we got caught up in the emotions of everything that was going on instead of admitting the fact that I'm falling in love with her again.
Instead of admitting the fact that I don't think I ever stopped loving her.
Hazel is everything to me. And it is terrifying.
I'm taking a sip of my black coffee when I hear the stairs creak. I look up, not sure who's going to be joining me, and find Hazel coming down the stairs.
She's put on a pair of sleep shorts and a similar T-shirt to mine, old as dirt, probably from her college days.
I give her a smile, and she smiles back, looking around the kitchen.
“Did you make coffee?”
I nod. “I did. There's a bunch in the pot if you want some.”
She gives me a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and then walks over to the cupboard to pull down her own mug and pour herself a cup of the brown goodness.
It's a quick enough errand, so she sits down at the island next to me, but not too close. And then the room falls back into silence again, neither of us knowing what exactly we're supposed to say.
The air is charged, almost like the time that we weren't talking to each other in the past, but this feels different because so much has happened.
