Lessons Learned
“I’m thankful for every break in my heart
I’m grateful for every scar
Some pages turned, some bridges burned
But there were lessons learned.”
— Carrie Underwood
The sun had just sunk below the tree line as we rounded the corner onto West 78th Street; Jess’s Volkswagen Beetle, Bartleby, hummed softly, filling the silence that had fallen between us. Jess bobbed happily as we pulled into her parent’s driveway; killing Bartleby’s engine, she flung her door open with the force of an angry Bruce Banner. As tired of sitting in the car as I was, my stomach rolled and my legs shook; I was afraid they wouldn’t support my weight should I try to exit the car.
I remained glued to Bartleby’s passenger seat with one knee pulled up to my chest, gnawing my lip. There was a rap on the window, and I slowly turned to find Jess standing with a hand on her hip, an expectant expression on her face. I made her stand there, staring at her through the glass, for three solid minutes before the front door opened, followed by Mrs. Hanson rushing out to greet us.
“Do you girls need some help? Hi, Jessie!”
“Hi, Mom,” Jess gave her mom a tight hug, and then turned back to me. Her eyebrows now showed more annoyance, so I kicked the door open and greeted Mrs. Hanson with a hug.
“Hi, Ryland!” Mrs. Hanson wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me in what I can only describe as a motherly bear hug. She smelled like baby powder and fabric softener.
“Hey, Mrs. H,” I hugged her back tightly, breathing her in; when she pulled away, I felt like I was falling, my entire body so relaxed by her comforting warmth. It reminded me of the way it felt to curl up in my mom’s lap when I was a kid; she would stroke my hair and hum, her touch soft and gentle.
“How was the drive out? I hope you didn’t hit too much traffic. You made good time. Are you girls hungry? There’s meatloaf in the fridge; I could whip up some mashed potatoes and coleslaw for you. Oh, and I also have those little strawberry tarts you like, Jessie!”
Jess hung her head, shaking it back and forth a bit as we followed Mrs. Hanson into the house, dragging our luggage behind us. I stifled a laugh, feeling some of the tension roll off my shoulders. Mrs. Hanson was still chatting away when we got to the kitchen, setting about making us dinner as promised. Jess and I just let her go, interjecting a variety of acknowledgements, such as “Yeah, of course!” and “Uh huh,” at the appropriate times.
We sat at the breakfast bar in stools so high my Chuck Taylor’s dangled two feet off the floor. Like a child, I swung my feet back and forth, resting my chin in my hands as I watched Mrs. Hanson quickly peel and chop up a few potatoes. With my back to the doorway, I felt his presence before I even heard him; there was a sudden heat to my body and I just knew he was standing behind me. I swiveled around in the bar stool, our eyes finding each other instantly.
His lips curled into the crooked smile he tended to get when he thought of something amusing, and I felt the entire world melt around me. Everything around us seemed to be moving in slow motion, the only reminders of Jessica or Mrs. Hanson becoming the distant and rhythmic “clink” of knife-on-cutting board and the rushing of water from the sink. Or was that my heart pounding in my chest and blood thumping through my veins?
“Earth to Ryland…” Jess’s voice startled me, and I took a sharp breath, dragging my eyes away from Zac. I heard him chuckle as I found Jess standing next to me, her hands on her hips. “Stop making sex eyes at my brother. It’s gross, and my mother is in the kitchen,” she whispered loudly.
Heat flooded my face, my pale skin no doubt turning rosy. I turned around to face the breakfast bar again, resting my head on my arms on top of it. “Oh, Ryland—sit up, honey; dinner’s just about ready.” Mrs. Hanson reprimanded gently, as if she hadn’t heard Jess’s comment.
“Is that your World Famous Meatloaf I smell, Ma?” Zac asked, walking further into the kitchen.
Mrs. Hanson bent to get the meatloaf from the oven, side stepping Zac’s obvious attempt to pick a piece from the pan. “You have already eaten your dinner, mister. Once Ryland and Jessie have gotten served, you may have some–if there is any left,” she scolded with a smile, nodding toward the breakfast bar.
Despite three others, he slid himself into the empty stool directly next to mine, without even seeming to consider an alternative; as he did, he flashed me a goofy grin and a wink. A thick strand of hair clung desperately to the elastic holding his ponytail together, but gravity was winning this battle, the strand quickly slipping over his eyes. He tucked it behind his ear, shooting me a sidelong glance. “Hi,” his voice was low and husky; it reminded me of the last time we were together and the way his voice dropped an octave with anger.
“Hi,” I echoed, my stomach dancing itself into knots.
Mrs. Hanson interrupted the feeling of embarrassment that began to rise by setting a hefty plate of food in front of me. The large dinner plate was covered in a mound of mashed potatoes, meat loaf, and a vegetable medley; it was three times the normal amount of food I would serve myself, but I was hungry and dared not insult my host. I slowly ate around my plate, casually offering Zac bites off my fork when his mother’s back was turned.
We had already eaten half the plate by the time we got caught, Mrs. Hanson placing her hands on her hips and giving us a chiding stare. After a moment of eyeing both Zac and myself, Mrs. Hanson’s expression turned from amusement to something a little more serious. I turned to Zac seeking an explanation, only to be met with a look of confusion similar to how I felt. Neither Zac nor I were inclined to ask if there was anything wrong, and Mrs. Hanson didn’t seem to desire explaining her swift change in mood, so we left it alone, and went back to our dinner.
As we were finishing, Mr. Hanson came in the front door, carrying a few grocery bags. Zac jumped up to help him, and even though several inches had separated us On the stools, I immediately felt the lack of heat his body had generated. I watched son help father unload the bags onto the counter, then father greet daughter in a warm embrace. Mr. Hanson greeted me with just as warm a hug, asking how was I? Did we have a good trip? How close did we come to that gnarly tornado that swooped through Arkansas?
Jess and I answered his questions over the ice cream sundaes Mrs. Hanson had assembled while we weren’t paying attention. The five of us sat in the kitchen, joking around until I could barely keep my eyes open and excused myself for the evening. I made my way to the guest bedroom, changing into my pajamas and gathering my toiletries; when I opened the door headed for the bathroom, I came face-to-face with Zac.
A sheepish look crossed his face, and his eyes became glued to his bare feet. “I just…I wanted to say I’m really happy that you came. I think it will be good for us, to do this together.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, though I wasn’t quite sure I did.
“So, anyway…I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Ryland,” he locked eyes with me briefly before scurrying off to his old bedroom at the end of the hall.