Hanson, p.5
Hanson, page 5
Ethan and Ava run toward him as I trail behind, making every attempt to hold a poker face.
“Olá, Miss James,” he says.
“Hanson,” I say. “To what do I owe the pleasure today?”
“I brought you chocolate,” he says. “You know, just checking that list of pebbles off as I go.”
“Pebbles?” I ask, confused.
“Like penguins. The males gather pretty stones and leave them at the females' feet for courting. Men do the same. With flowers and chocolates and teddy bears, according to you.”
“Ah, right,” I laugh. “Penguins.”
Hanson nods proudly, adjusting the bag beneath his arm.
“Very well then,” I say. “Let's see this latest pebble.”
He hands the bag off to me, and I make a note that it's not nearly as heavy as the bag of flours, thankfully. Pulling it open, I immediately recognize the contents. It’s a sack full of giant size candy bars. All the good ones. The kind with nuts and nougat and peanut butter. Did I mention they’re giant? Like literally fucking huge.
“Gourmet chocolate is fine and all,” Hanson says. “But we all know none of it compares to a good old-fashioned peanut butter cup.”
He's right, of course. I don’t know who decided gourmet chocolates in those heart-shaped boxes had to be filled with weird orange cream and gritty coconut crap, but anytime I’ve ever been gifted one, I never finish it.
“Thank you,” I say. “I agree too. These are better.”
“I’m glad you like them,” he says. “Despite the cleverness of flours, this one feels more useful.”
“I agree,” I say. “But it doesn’t land you a date.”
“Why would it?” he asks. “We’ve got one more pebble to collect.”
“Mom?” Ethan’s voice cuts in.
“Yeah, what’s up?” I ask, taking this opportunity to direct my attention away from that smile Hanson is flashing at me.
“Ava said she can help me,” he says. “She can tutor me.”
“Oh right, I’d forgotten,” I say. “Um, let me ask Hanson. You all go play over there.”
The pair of them walk off in the direction I pointed, leaving me again alone with Hanson.
“So, I know you guys have a lot going on over there, but Ethan is struggling in math, and even though his mother is the math teacher, he seems to think having a peer to help him may be beneficial. He and Ava get along so well and she’s top of the class, so he asked for her, but-”
“Ava can help him,” Hanson says, cutting me off. “It’s no problem. I can help with logistics.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Sim, of course,” he says. “Would you like her to come to your house or him to come over or what?”
“Um, well,” I say. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, admittedly.”
I scan through the calendar in my mind, trying to find a block of time where it would work.
“Could she be free this Saturday?” I ask. “Ethan goes to his father’s right at dinner time but we’re free earlier in the day.”
“Okay, where?” he asks.
The thought of having him bring her to my house unnerves me. He’d know where I live. And he’d be in my apartment. And he’d take full fucking advantage of the situation. Well, no. I don’t mean he’d make a physical move. But we’d be closed in, and he’d be able to try to persuade me to go on a date and I would have no escape. Eventually, I would break down and we’d have a wonderful time. Then we’d probably fuck against the back of my front door as soon as I invited him in for a nightcap. And then, in two weeks, I’d be pouring wine into my ice cream and spooning the mixture straight from the carton to my mouth. Wow, exaggerate much? Get a grip.
“How about a picnic at the park?” I blurt out. “I’ll bring it. It’s the least I can do for her help.”
“Sure, do you want to give me your number so we can coordinate the specifics the day of?” he asks.
NO, I DON’T WANT TO GIVE YOU MY NUMBER. ALERT. ABORT. “Um, I don’t know. What if you take advantage of having it and berate me for a date at all hours of the day and night?”
Hanson laughs. “I pinky promise no such thing will happen. Unless it’s about Ava and Ethan meeting up, I promise not to use it at all. If I do, you can block me.”
He draws a little X over his heart with his index finger, but that doesn’t stop my eyes from squinting apprehensively.
“Fine,” I say. “Give me your phone.”
Hanson happily hands it over and I know he thinks he’s one step closer to closing the deal. I punch my number into his phone and text myself from it.
“There,” I say.
“Great,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will,” I say, unable to stop my smile this time.
Ava runs over to him as he waves for her, and I watch the pair walk off in the direction of the studio. I know exactly where it is. I’ve never been there personally, but I know the place. It’s a very successful shop.
“Ethan, honey, let’s get going,” I call out.
My mind begins the tedious job of sorting through all my racing thoughts as it attempts to prioritize them so I know what the hell I’m doing next. It’s always like this. The school day ends, but nothing is over.
Before we can land home, we have to go to the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the shoe store because Ethan says his shoes “fit but aren’t comfortable”. Although, he can’t tell me what that means. I asked him if something is rubbing against his foot, if there’s a lump or something in the sole, or if we’re lacing them too tight, but to all those, his answer is no. This leaves him shrugging and I am confused as hell. So, we’re off to the shoe store.
Of course, I know that tomorrow Hanson will be bringing me another pebble, the next day I’ll be meeting with him off school grounds for a longer period than these afternoon encounters, and then I have a date that night with Clint that may turn out to be more than my tired brain can process.
I’ll hand it to him, Hanson certainly does leave an impression. Between his devilish good looks, his charming wit, and sheer persistence, it’s proven difficult to remain true to my newfound path to a better romantic relationship.
And by better, I mean good for me. And by good for me, I mean… fuck it, let’s call it what it is. It’s been boring. But maybe it just starts boring and gets better? That doesn’t seem right. Ugh. Life is dumb. Love is dumb.
“Hey, Mom,” Ethan says, interrupting my thoughts at the right moment for a second time today.
“Yes, honey?” I ask.
“Can we get pizza for dinner?” he asks.
Normally, I would object. I tend to try to keep our pizza outings to the weekends because it’s also when I let him have soda. But with the help of a mess I need to sort out in my mind, not cooking sounds like a pretty good fucking plan.
“Sure,” I say. I add stopping to get pizza to my mental checklist, which also means I can remove going to the grocery because dinner tonight is why I was going.
“Hey, Mom?” Ethan says again.
“Yes?” I ask. We’re in the car now, exiting the parking lot, which will be gridlocked for another twenty minutes.
“Do you like Hanson?” he asks.
Oh dear god. “Why are you asking that?”
“Ava says he likes you so I was just wondering,” he says.
“She said that, huh?” I turn out of the lot toward the pharmacy.
“Yeah,” he says. “Ava says he must like you.”
“How does she know that?” I swear children know too much. They hear too much. If you ever need dirt, ask whatever kid has been standing around. They will know something.
“She said his eyes glow when he sees you,” Ethan says, spilling these truths as he mindlessly stares out the window at passing buildings.
“Interesting,” I say, making a mental note.
“So do you like him back?” he asks.
“Why do you ask? Would that bother you?” I ask. It’s not even about liking Hanson or not. But I’m mindful of how my relationships and dating affect Ethan. I’m much more aware of it than his father. Shane’s introduced them to probably no less than ten or twelve women over the years, swearing each time that “it’s serious”. But he’s never right about that. Ever.
“I’m just asking because your eyes glow too,” he says.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. Note to self, make eyes less glowy.
“And no, it wouldn’t bother me,” he says. “You’re my mom, you deserve to be happy.”
An invisible claw reaches into my chest and squeezes my heart so hard it might burst. Ugh. Kids are so much smarter than we give them credit for. My son, my baby boy, just wants me to be happy.
And I owe it to him to try.
POINT OF NO RETURN
HANSON
We’re only a week into this arrangement and I’ve already grown so fond of it, I hope it lasts a while longer. Sure, I hate the circumstances that created this opportunity, but it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the silver linings.
And yeah, I’m talking about Thea James, sure. But I’m also talking about the one-on-one time I’m getting with Jericho at the shop, and the extra time with Ava. She doesn’t know it, but her presence brought a much-needed light into the shop. We were all just sort of out there, free-floating, not knowing what the hell we were doing. Drew and Ava’s arrival had a domino effect. A wonderful one to boot.
“Are you leaving to get Ava soon?” Will asks.
In fact, she asks me every day at roughly the same time.
“Yes, in about ten minutes,” I say. Which is what I say every single day in return. Because that’s when I’ve been planning to leave all day.
“Okay, just making sure,” she says. “How’s that going?”
“It’s good,” I say. “I’m enjoying it.”
“No, I mean the part about crushing on her teacher?” She laughs.
“Oh,” I laugh. “It’s good. I’m enjoying it.”
She rolls her eyes at my shenanigans. “Make any headway or are you just pestering the poor woman to death?”
“I want to say I’m making headway, but it’s too early to tell,” I reply.
“Well, I, for one, am looking forward to the weekend,” she says. “Having Knox has been fun, but Auntie Willette needs a break.”
“Oh, do Hawk and Drew not need help over the weekend?” I ask, realizing I need to solidify the picnic somewhere in here.
“They say they’ve got it,” she shrugs.
“Nonsense, there’s no way,” I say.
“That’s what I said,” she says.
“Well, I’m supposed to take Ava to meet Ethan and her teacher at the park on Saturday. Ethan wants her to tutor him,” I blurt out. “Do you think that will be okay with them?”
“Oh, so we are making headway,” Will says, a wry smile spreading over her mouth as her arms cross over her chest.
“Trust me, I wish. It’s not like I came up with the idea,” I say.
“Still, it’s more time to pester,” she says, walking closer toward me. “I think you got it in the bag.”
She smacks me on the arm a couple of times before disappearing into the office down the hallway.
“I think she’s right,” Jericho chimes in from over his booth wall.
He hasn’t spoken a word this entire time and just spouts off with that before he’s right back to quiet as a church mouse. The only sound is the hum of his tattoo gun against his client’s skin who, thankfully, is wearing headphones. I’m always delighted when clients do that. I don’t have to put a lid on myself quite as much.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe one or two strategic moves from now, Thea and I will be sitting down to dinner and laughing and I’ll try to see if I can make her blush. But if life’s taught me anything at all, it’s don’t make assumptions and don’t count on anything being predictable.
There’s a fine line with Miss Thea James I have to tread. During their mating season, male Tasmanian devils have to beat the female into submission. If he’s too timid, she will beat him up. Of course, we aren’t Tasmanian devils. But something can be said about effort. No, I’m not going to roundhouse kick her or anything, but it’s still about effort. The female Tasmanian devil wants a fight and you must give her a fight. Thea James wants consistent effort and reliability. If you don’t give the devil her smacks, she smacks you back. If I don’t give Thea her stability, she’ll end up having unfulfilling sex while screaming the name “Clint” and I don’t care what you say, that’s not a name anyone wants to scream. It sounds like clit. You know it, I know it, even Clint knows it.
Checking the clock after my internal monologue about Tasmanian devil fight club sex and my arch-nemesis—a mystery man named Clint—I realize it’s time to head out to get Ava. I reach for the last pebble—the final brown paper bag—next to my workstation and make my way out the door. There’s little wiggle room for creativity with teddy bears, so really it just comes down to the one I’ve chosen. I made a serious effort to find one she’s hopefully never seen and will never expect. But that’s all I can do.
The fate of what could be between me and Thea James rests in the hands of this goddamn teddy bear.
MANIFEST
THEA
For the last ten minutes, I’ve been ferociously watching the clock on the wall. Which means I’ve been mad at myself for approximately nine minutes and fifty-three seconds. Why am I watching the time? Because it’s almost the end of the day on Friday and school is letting out in four more minutes? Yeah, sure. But also, I know Hanson is going to be out there with my last paper bag, er, pebble.
Of course, I’m still deep in my belief of rejecting him. I think he knows that. But it’s nice to be noticed and—dare I say—pursued with such…vigor. A chill runs down my spine when the word “vigor” crosses my mind. Something about that word feels slightly sexual in nature.
The bell sounds, snapping me from my indecent thoughts, and the next thing I hear is a mess of backpacks being slung over shoulders, chair legs squealing against the floor, and this magical thing that happens as soon as the end of the day arrives—all the children’s voices raise one hundred million decibels all at once like someone flipped a switch in the backs of their necks from normal to insane.
“Ready to go, Mom?” Ethan asks from the classroom doorway. He has History class down the hallway for his last period and stops most days so we can walk out together, especially on Fridays.
“Yeah, one second, let me grab my bag. Do you have your homework?” I ask. I got into the habit of asking this given there’s been more than a few occasions where I’ve had to use my work email to ask his other teachers for his assignments on a Sunday night because that’s when he conveniently remembered he had homework and forgot it on his desk.
“Yes,” he says. “You know, I haven’t forgotten my homework in almost a month. You don’t have to ask anymore.”
“You only remember because I ask you every day,” I laugh.
“Hey, Ethan,” Ava says, her sweet little voice sounding as she appears in my doorway.
“Hey,” Ethan says. “Ready to tutor me tomorrow?”
I’m glad he’s got a good attitude about needing a tutor. He could be annoyed by the whole thing, and hate the process, but his demeanor has been so calm and accepting.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll have you mathing circles around our class in no time.”
On the one hand, it’s hard for me to see Ethan doing that, but on the other I know if anyone can get him to, it’s Ava. I’m excited to see the results of this little experiment. I know they say you shouldn’t do experiments on kids, but this one is interesting. I’ve been trying to come up with a topic for my Master’s Degree thesis and peer-based tutoring or learning versus student to teacher or authority figure is quite the interesting comparison. Nothing is saying I can’t get my son help in math and also use it for self-gain, right?
“Let’s go,” I say. “Ava, is your uncle coming to get you again today?” I try hard to make that sound casual as if it’s just simple curiosity. Though, I think they both know my real motive.
“Yes,” she says, beaming up at me with the cheesiest grin on her face.
“Don’t do that,” I say, attempting to mask my own emotions.
“Do what?” Ethan asks, a matching grin all over his face. I swear the only time that boy looks like his father is when he’s being a little turd.
I give them both the stink eye before we exit the building. My eyes travel to the right, directly to the spot where I know Hanson will be standing. And he doesn’t disappoint. There he is, a paper bag tucked under his left arm and his fingers inside his pocket. Vigor.
Pushing my shoulders back, the kids and I make our way over to him as he stands from his leaning position against the post behind him.
“Hello, there,” I say.
“Hi,” he says, smiling.
Ava clears her throat from between us.
“Ah, olá, princesa,” he says, his free arm coming around her shoulder.
“Olá, Hanson,” she says.
“Hello,” Ethan says.
It’s a myriad of greetings as everyone takes turns and then silence falls over the four of us. I look down at the two beaming faces between me and Hanson. The children seem to be enjoying this.
“How about you-” I start.
“We know, we know,” Ethan says. “We’ll be over here when you’re done.”
I shake my head, laughing a little at the fact that even they know the routine at this point.
“How are you today?” Hanson asks.
“I’m alright,” I say. “It’s Friday, and that always makes me happy.”
“I bet,” he says. “Only one kid for the next two days.”
“He’s going to his dad’s after our park trip tomorrow and I’m not getting him back until he comes to school Monday morning,” I say. I don’t know why I said that. What does it matter?
