Hanson, p.3
Hanson, page 3
“Wow,” I say. “That’s rough. What’s the plan?”
“Derek and I are going to stay here with Hawk and Drew to help with the baby and Ava in the evenings. We were hoping you could continue to drop Ava off at school and pick her up?” Will’s words are pointed in my direction and a bell dings over and over in my mind.
“Definitely,” I say, trying not to sound too excited about it but also wondering how long it’s going to take me to wear Thea James down.
“Great,” Derek says. “Hawk and I are going to take turns helping Mom. It will be easier for us to lift her if needed.”
“Smart,” I say. “Let me whip you guys up something to eat.” I push past them in the kitchen.
“Oh you don’t have to,” Will starts.
“Nonsense,” I say. “I already fed Ava and we went over her homework. The baby still looks to be asleep so if you want to put him in his crib, I’ll warm up something for you.”
“You’re a lifesaver, man,” Derek says, cupping his hand on my shoulder as he retreats with Will down the hallway.
Honestly, it’s the least I can do. Being in a hospital all day is draining. I’m not sure why since you’re mostly just sitting there, but it takes it out of you. Plus, Momma Tanner is like a mom to all of us. We go to cookouts at her house and for holidays. This is a group effort.
A few minutes later, they emerge and sit at the bar just in time for me to sit some plates down in front of them.
“It’s not much,” I say. “But it’s pretty good.”
“Hanson,” Will says. “This looks amazing. How long were we gone?”
I laugh. “Long enough.”
I’ve been cooking for myself for a long time. If I learned anything, it’s that unless you want to eat ramen every day, you’d better get good at cooking. And when I first came to America, I had like no money, so I got pretty good at making something out of nearly nothing.
“Is this ham?” Derek asks.
“Yeah, grilled ham and cheese, with a little pickle and mustard,” I say. “Fried a couple of slices of potato on the side.”
Derek takes another large bite, seemingly satisfied with everything. I also really love feeding people. Something is satisfying about elevating someone’s mood using food. It’s like a hug for their stomach. It’s better than a regular hug but not as good as sex.
“So there’s this woman,” I blurt out.
Both of them stop chewing, their eyes growing wide. I don’t know why I said that. It’s going to be a whole thing now.
“Like as in a woman you’re interested in?” Will asks.
But her tone gives her away. She’s suppressing a heavy amount of excitement. Her pretend calm could use some work.
“Yes,” I say.
“Since when?” Derek asks.
“Since today,” I say. “It’s Ava’s math teacher. Her name is Thea James.”
“So did you ask her out or something?” Will asks.
“I tried,” I huff. “Walked away with the sting of rejection.”
“What? But you’re like, awesome,” Derek says.
I nod, agreeing with his statement. It’s not that I’m trying to be arrogant, but I am confident. On the rare occasion I do approach a woman, I’m not usually rejected. I can’t remember a time before today.
“She’s older than me,” I say.
“So?” Will says.
“So, I think she thinks it’s a bad idea. If I had to guess, she’s maybe six or seven years older. And she has a son.”
“You’re great with kids, though,” Will says. “She’s missing out. Screw age. It means nothing.”
I nod again, completely in agreement about the age thing and the fact that she has a son. Neither bothers me. I wonder why they bother her? And after seeing her ex, I think it may be that I remind her too much of him. Shane’s in good shape, heavily tattooed, and would fit right in if he walked in the door at Bird’s Eye. Hell, maybe it’s a combination of all those things.
“I think I’m going to try again,” I say. “Not in a creepy stalker way. I don’t want to badger her. I have to be subtle about it.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Derek says. “Show her what you’re about.”
The sound of my foot tapping against the hardwood floor becomes more prevalent as I sink further into my thoughts. The sounds of Will and Derek eating and talking to one another fades until it’s only muffled background noise. Sometimes I get like this when I’m tattooing. All I can see is the canvas of skin in front of me. I only hear the buzz of the machine. It’s a very specific sort of bliss.
I think back to my conversation with Thea, attempting to remember what she said about bad boys and how they “charm your pants off”. My best play is to prove to her I’m not the kind of guy she thinks I am.
Now, if I can just figure out how the fuck to do that.
NONFICTION
THEA
There’s a small table in the corner of the teachers’ break room that has a wobbly leg. It’s only really large enough for one person so anytime I can, this is where I sit. I adjust my laptop, the table tilting in response before leveling back out. I don’t mind it. Especially because it means I can put my earbuds in and ignore everyone.
It’s not that I dislike my colleagues. They’re very nice people. But for whatever reason, this school lacks teachers under the age of fifty. Almost everyone here is so much older than me, it’s like talking to my parents. They all try to give me parental advice and attempt to invade my personal life like it’s their job to guide me through life. I know they’re just trying to be nice but it’s overwhelming most of the time. So, I stick to my one-man wobbly table.
I’ve got about forty-five minutes until my next class and like most days, I don’t get to take a break during this time. I’m always working on lesson plans and other things. Occasionally, though, I get to work on my passion project. No one knows about it but I’ve been secretly writing a book. I’ve always wanted to and I’ve had this idea in my mind for years so I finally decided to give it a shot.
That’s what I’m working on today for at least a few minutes. Though, I’m having a difficult time concentrating. Every few minutes I review different parts of my date with Clint last night. It’s crucial to me that I choose a partner that’s good for me and Ethan. I refuse to live the life I did ten years ago. And even though it’s been that long, I’ve only introduced Ethan to maybe two or three of the men I’ve dated. Call me crazy, but I’m just really cautious.
My phone vibrates next to me, and Clint’s name pops up on the screen as I reach for it.
CLINT: I had a really good time with you last night.
CLINT: I was hoping we could do it again?
My fingers hover over the keys as I contemplate my answer. Honestly, I’m torn. He’s a good guy. He’s stable and has a reliable career. He’s not bad-looking. Truthfully, he’s not physically what I would go for but it’s not bad. Then again, what I used to go for is what got me in trouble. Maybe I can get used to it?
ME: Sure, I’d love to. When were you thinking?
CLINT: This Saturday night?
ME: That sounds good to me.
Fortunately, this is also Shane’s weekend to have Ethan. Although, it’s not even an entire weekend, in my opinion. He picks Ethan up just before dinnertime on Saturday and then brings him home Sunday night. Sometimes he will keep him until Monday morning and drop him off at school, but not often.
CLINT: Let me work out the details and I’ll get back to you.
ME: Sounds good.
CLINT: Hope you have a great day :)
Well, that’s sweet. Though, I’ll admit he sounds more excited than I do. I don’t know. I have a couple of days to think it over.
The bell rings abruptly, startling me from my thoughts and cutting our conversation short. That damn bell is so loud. Every year, several of us petition to lower it a little but it’s always rejected. Why? Mrs. Thompson is our eighty-three-year-old librarian. She also helps out in the media lab, and the front office, and she’s a cafeteria monitor. Mrs. Thompson also happens to be very hard of hearing. So the bell is set extra loud to afford her the ability to feel it. Of course, after this was explained to us earlier this year, we stopped petitioning for it.
Nevertheless, the bell ringing also signals that I’m due in class five minutes from now. Gathering my things, I think ahead to when school lets out. It’s a frequent daydream of mine. On several days and occasions, I literally cannot wait to get out.
Today, those daydream thoughts are a little different. They’re still about the end of the day. But they hang on one question swirling in my mind. I wonder if Ava’s uncle is picking her up again?
And then, I want to slap myself in the fucking face because no way. Not a chance in hell. My mind is on board. My heart is on board. However, it’s my lower bits… my lady button, if you will, that has another set of thoughts entirely. Very hot thoughts. Very inappropriate thoughts.
I can’t blame her. She’s a little starved at this point. I admit, with a great deal of shame, that it’s been almost two years since I’ve had sex. And let me tell you, that’s a long fucking time. Not to mention, with more shame, it’s been even longer since I had an actual orgasm.
So yeah, my loins are burning. My lady button is ready to be pushed. And Hanson Serrano is exactly the kind of man I get lusty for. Because I’m an idiot. And I like repeating the same mistakes.
“Oh, Miss James,” a voice calls to me as I exit the break room.
Principal O’Neal’s voice is unmistakable. It’s deep, carrying the faintest hint of a speech impediment. I find it endearing.
“Yes, sir?” I reply.
“Please, I’ve told you repeatedly to call me Patrick,” he says.
I know that without him reminding me but I nod a silent “my bad” to move the conversation forward.
“Don’t forget you wrote your name down on the volunteer list to chaperone the sixth-grade dance at the end of the month,” he says. “And we’re short on volunteers so if you know any parents who’d be interested, please send them my way.”
“I haven’t forgotten and I will do that,” I say, knowing full well I don’t know any parents interested in babysitting children who don’t belong to them.
“Great,” he says. “And please, stop calling me sir. I call my father sir. I can’t be a sir yet.”
I laugh, nodding in agreement. For me, it was never about his age. I was just trying to be respectful of his position. He’s new this year, and very different from our last principal, who insisted on being called sir. Patrick is a little more laid back. He very much wants to be your friend. I guess I’m still getting used to the differences.
He clasps me on the shoulder as he departs from me down the hallway toward the front office. And I could swear his hand lingers a few fractions of a second longer than I expect.
Or perhaps, I’ve just become so horny every cursory touch feels like it could be the one to turn me into Niagara Falls. Jesus, I’ve got to get a hold of myself. I’m about to be in class with twenty eleven-year-olds for fuck’s sake. If they detect even a hint of awkwardness, change in my tone, or any other lack of poker face, I’m done for.
Then again, if I don’t remedy myself—and soon—I’m going to end up drinking an entire bottle of wine while I simultaneously update my dating profile and go on an online sex toy shopping spree where I’ll max out my credit card in an effort to buy an orgasm.
FALLING DOWN
HANSON
There’s a pep in my step today, I’ll be the first to admit it. This morning, all our plans fell into place. I took Ava to school. Jericho and I opened the shop, and Will followed shortly after. She dropped the baby off at daycare. Derek went to work. Drew is at Momma Tanner’s place making it recovery friendly. Hawk is at the hospital with his mom.
Honestly, it felt like it was going to be a lot. When you say it out loud, it seems that way. But aside from allowing for a little more time to do everything, I feel like we really nailed it as a team. Of course, it’s only day one. I don’t want to get too braggy.
Jericho and I spent the morning tattooing like usual. Hawk’s appointments were moved off the calendar for the next few weeks, and everyone was pretty understanding. Will is now and has always been a fucking badass at running this shop, so Hawk knows it’s in good hands.
I took my lunch break to run to the store and pick up a few things and now I’m off to pick up Ava. It’s the part of the day I’ve been looking forward to the most if I’m being honest.
I approach the same door I did yesterday, a heavy brown paper bag tucked beneath my arm. I push the mess of hair on the left side of my face behind my ear and I wait. I’m good at waiting. If it were an Olympic sport, I’d have a fair shot at gold. Though, today, I’m a little antsy.
This is either the most brilliant plan I’ve ever had or it’s colossally the exact opposite. It’s a go big or go home situation if you know what I mean.
The bell rings, causing me to stand upright from my slouched position. I don’t even know why I’m assuming Miss James comes out each day. Mostly, I’m just sort of hoping that’s what she does. Otherwise, this plan is completely fucked and this heavy-ass bag is for nothing.
Students begin to pile out as I keep my eyes peeled for Ava. Despite my attention being split, she’s still the priority here. But it doesn’t take long to spot her with the boy from yesterday which plays in my favor. Ethan is Thea’s son. That means she might be coming out. Score.
I wave to Ava just as she catches sight of me and the two meander through the crowd toward me.
“Hey, Hanson,” Ava says.
“Olá, princesa, como foi o seu dia?” I ask.
This is a test. We’ve been practicing her Portuguese. She knows if I ask any question in it, she’s supposed to reply in it. She pauses for a moment as she searches for the right words.
“Tive um bom dia, e você?” she says, her pronunciation better than I’d have expected at this point. Sure, it doesn’t seem like a lot. A very basic, "how was your day, mine was good, how was yours" exchange. But she hasn’t been my student for all that long and I’m impressed.
“Tem sido adorável, princesa,” I reply.
Ava’s face beams brightly. She’s enjoyed being my student as much as I’ve enjoyed being her teacher.
“Wow,” Ethan chimes in.
“Can you teach me too?” he asks.
I give a little laugh. “Sure, amigo. Anytime.”
Ethan’s face has a similar light-up reaction and I’m just now noticing his eyes are the same shade as his mother’s. In fact, after meeting both of his parents, I see very little of his father in him, if any. The same thing could be said about me, and though I don’t know how Ethan feels about it, I am relieved by it.
Moments later, Miss James appears at the doorway behind them, snagging my nearly full attention. Thea. When I say it in my mind, I like how it sounds. Here’s hoping she does too.
Her eyes draw toward me and then the kids and then me again. She sees me. And she sees me seeing her. Still, she hesitates for a moment before walking over to us.
“Ah, Mr. Serrano,” she says. “Good to see you again.”
Eck. Mr. Serrano. For the love of God, just no.
“Please don’t call me that,” I say. “Mr. Serrano was my father and I’m not him.”
“What shall I call you then?” she asks, a light tone in her voice.
“Hanson is fine,” I say.
“Alright,” she says. “Hanson.”
A shiver tickles the hair on the back of my neck.
“What shall I call you?” I quip. “Miss James?”
Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.
“You can call me Thea,” she says.
“Okay,” I say. “Thea.” I watch the muscles in her throat carefully swallow as her name rolls off my tongue and I take that as a good sign. “I brought you something.”
“What?” she says, her eyes darting from side to side. “Why?”
“Oh, I’m a bad boy, remember?” I tease. “I have to charm your pants off.”
“Oh my god,” she says. “No, I would prefer to keep them on.”
Somewhere in my mind, I make a note that I’d like to make her regret those words, but that is a very different, darker part of my brain entirely.
I present the brown paper bag, holding it out to her. But if her body language is saying anything, it’s that she definitely thinks there’s a bomb or a snake inside.
“I’ll hold it,” I say. “You just open it.”
She looks toward the kids, who’ve been mostly talking to each other but I guess at the mention of a surprise, their interest piqued. They definitely look more excited than she does.
There’s a heavy reluctance in her movements as she takes half a step forward to close the distance. Her hands reach for the folded over top and begin to pull it open. All I can do is hold my breath while I wait to see if this works or not.
Her eyes scan the contents of the bag over and over again. They dart back and forth and I get the impression her mind is trying to solve the riddle.
All at once, she begins laughing. Not a small, courtesy laugh. A real, deep belly laugh. And it’s beautiful to behold.
“You’re an idiot,” she says between giggles as she reaches into the bag.
Her hand produces a bag of all-purpose flour. She digs her other hand in and pulls out the almond flour. Handing both to the kids for a moment, she then pulls out cake flour and whole wheat flour.
“I don’t get it,” Ava says.
“Neither do I,” Ethan says.
“Guys,” Thea says. “He brought me flours. Instead of flowers. Get it? They sound the same but they’re spelled differently.”
