That friend who is too woke

Within three months of their relationship, Hazel knew, without a doubt, that Frank Zhang was the single best man she had ever dated. She didn’t say he was the best she would ever date because that implied there might be other people down the line, and she already knew that either he’d put a ring on her finger or she’d put a ring on his. In her opinion, this was a loss for every other woman on the planet, but she didn’t care in the slightest because Frank was hers, and she had no intentions to change that, other than marrying him harder than anyone had ever married someone. Frank was the single sweetest man Hazel had ever met – he co-founded a non-profit sanctuary for elderly dogs, for Christ’s sake – he was far more clever than he’d ever let anyone believe, and he was a 6’4 guy who could bench 250 while still being fat enough to give her the squishiest, best hugs of her life. Quite frankly, Hazel had hit the jackpot and she’d have to be a fool to give him up and her mama didn’t raise a fool. 

That wasn’t to say that Frank didn’t have his flaws. He was human, delightfully, infuriatingly so. Frank cared way too much about soccer and was one of those guys who shouted at the TV and needed a bit of coddling when his team lost. He was hopeless in a kitchen, both because he thought that adding a hard-boiled egg to his Cup Noodles counted as cooking and because he could not, for the life of him, remember to close the goddamn cabinets. He insisted that he liked sudoku, and picked up a puzzle every time he came across one, but Hazel had never once seen him actually sit down and finish one. 

All that paled in comparison to what Hazel deemed his greatest sin, though, and it was a sin she wasn’t entirely sure she could forgive. 

Like so many men in the world, Frank’s hair was soft and silky and healthy and he didn’t deserve it in the slightest. He kept it cropped fairly short, simply because anything longer than two inches was “a bit much” and he liked to save money on shampoo. That last bit hurt Hazel’s soul because Frank was very much a 23-in-1 person, and had even mentioned that he used Dawn on more than one occasion when he forgot he was out of shampoo because “if it’s good enough for baby ducks, it’s good enough for me.” Meanwhile, Hazel hadn’t run out of shampoo since the day she actually started caring about her hair because her preferred products were expensive so she stocked up each and every time there was a sale. In fact, she had three unopened bottles in her bathroom at that very second.

To be fair, Hazel also had soft, healthy hair, just like Frank, but she had earned every single strand. It had taken years of practice, of trial and error, of unlearning bad habits, and of so god damn many YouTube videos that all seemed to say something different, but eventually she’d found her rhythm. It wasn’t a perfect natural hair routine, but it was her perfect routine and she wasn’t inclined to give it up. 

Frank didn’t understand a bit of it, bless him, but he did listen. Yes, every word she said about hydration and protein levels went straight over his head and made his eyes glaze a bit, but he still stayed with her on FaceTime during wash days and kept her company. He also asked so many questions, even if they were a little dumb, but it proved that he was listening.

“How come none of your hair stuff is scented?”

“Does wearing your hair in twists like that hurt when you sleep?”

“Why do you have to use a bonnet and a fancy pillowcase?”

“Wait, you change your sheets how often?”

“So, does the oil you put in your hair have to be a specific kind or can it be the regular vegetable stuff?”

“This is really important to you, huh?”

That last one had landed heavier than Frank had probably meant it to. Hazel had just sat there in her fluffy bathrobe, finger detangling her hair for several moments before she spoke. Then she explained herself. She explained the cultural significance, and the community aspect of it, and how so much of a Black girl’s self image could wind up tangled in her hair, and why every minute of effort, every dollar spent was entirely worth it to her, and always would be. Frank had thought about that for a moment, really let the words soak in, then said she inspired him to maybe consider buying conditioner. Hazel had laughed at that so hard she had to put down her hairdryer, and Frank looked very pleased with himself.

Really, Hazel had figured that was the end of it. She liked that Frank acted so interested in her haircare routine, but, at the end of the day, her hair was her own responsibility, and she wouldn’t blame him for getting bored of it, just like everyone who didn’t get it always did. And yet, Frank just kept listening. Even on non-wash days, when Hazel hadn’t even brought up her hair, Frank would ask his questions, would check in when the weather turned humid, and would send her pictures of various products on sale and ask her opinion on them. Each and every time he listened like he was worried Hazel might quiz him later, and then he just went about his day. Hazel thought it was a bit weird, yes, but it was a harmless, good-natured weird that was probably just his way of showing that he was listening to her and wanted to get a good grade in boyfriend. 

Hazel found out in month eight that she was wrong. Well, she wasn’t wrong, Frank had been listening, and he definitely deserved a good grade in boyfriend, but she had completely miscalculated the scale.

They’d been coming home from a concert – Percy and Annabeth’s girlfriend was in a band and they wanted everyone to come see her – and it was super late, way later than Hazel liked riding the subway, so Frank had offered to let her stay the night. It wasn’t a big deal in theory, seeing as they’d spent the night at Hazel’s apartment on more than one occasion, but it was her first time stepping foot into Frank’s. That was sort of deliberate, simply because Hazel’s apartment was nicer even without factoring in the whole “bachelor pad” thing, but that just made her choice to break that rule all the more breathtaking. 

Frank’s apartment was actually surprisingly tidy, much better than Piper and Leo’s place, and even had real furniture, which Hazel was admittedly impressed with.

“Sorry it’s a bit of a mess,” Frank apologized, sheepishly picking up a coffee cup that had been abandoned that morning. “I usually try to keep everything clean, but I got distracted this weekend.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “Though I do really need to try and scrub some of this glitter off. Do you mind if I shower?”

“First door on the right<” Frank said. “Do you want PJs?”

And that was how Hazel found herself standing in an unfamiliar bathroom, wearing a t-shirt and boxers about six sizes too big, and staring at a very familiar fuchsia bottle. Her hands shook and she couldn’t stop it when she reached out and picked it up. Still heavy. Unopened. She flipped the cap and inhaled. Unscented. She put the bottle down and then her eyes traveled to the green glass bottle right next to it. She grabbed that next and went to the bedroom where she knew Frank was waiting. Once there, she felt her breath hitch again. 

“Why do you have satin pillowcases?”

Frank looked up at her from his phone and then frowned down at the pillows. “Is satin not the right thing? I could have sworn you said–”

“The satin’s fine,” she cut in. “I just want to know why they’re on your bed. Why do you even own them?”

Frank just shrugged. “I bought them a few months ago, just in case you ever spent the night. I have a purple one and a red one, so I can make sure I only use one. The purple one is yours.”

“You have jojoba oil on your bathroom counter,” she accused, bottle clenched in her fist as she tried not to cry. “You have Hecate Mist shampoo and conditioner. Why?”

“In case you ever spent the night,” Frank repeated, looking no less confused. 

“I– I’m not exactly planning to do a wash-day here.”

“I know that,” Frank insisted earnestly. “But if something happens, I wanted you to be able to.”

Hazel stared at the bedsheets, which looked like they’d been changed recently, but not performatively. “Thank you.”

Frank didn’t accept her thanks with anything more than a nod before he produced a brand new bonnet with a smile. “I also found this. I bought it with the sheets. I don’t think it’s the exact same as the one you use at home, but it’s as close as I could find.”

“It’s– Whatever you got is fine,” she stuttered, suddenly feeling like she was on their first date all over again.

Frank just looked even more proud at her. Then he noticed that her hair was still loose because she hadn’t expected to have access to anything, so she hadn’t bothered to do her usual nightly routine and just accepted that it would be a problem for Future Hazel. “Do you want help with your bedtime twists?”

“Yeah,” Hazel said softly. “That would be great.”

Hazel wound up sitting on pillow between Frank’s knees while he sat on a desk chair, meticulously following every direction Hazel gave him. Just like he was with everything he cared about, Frank was gentle and kind and incredibly thorough when it came to Hazel’s hair. She coached him through separating her hair out into sections, applying the detangler he’d also bought at some point, and carefully twisting her hair around itself so it wouldn’t get tangled in the night. It was slow going because Frank’s only braiding experience was with dog leads and he twisted one in the completely wrong direction, and Hazel probably could have done it in a third of the time but it didn’t matter. What did matter was that there were fingers in her hair, fingers that spoke of love well before a mouth had courage, and she was content to soak it up forever. 

Forever was always destined to end, though, so Frank eventually wheeled away from his work to give Hazel room to breathe, and handed over the bonnet. Then she showed him how to actually use the jojoba oil he’d bought, and they went to bed pretty soon after that because there was nothing to stay awake for. At least, that’s what Frank did. As far as he was concerned, he’d behaved in a perfectly rational, non Earth-tilting way, so he was snoring within seven minutes because that was just a skill he had. Hazel did not have that skill, not even a little, and as such she just laid there and stared at him. As she watched his lungs rise and fall with every breath, Hazel felt a soft, helpless smile curve over her mouth.