My Heart Insists that it’s Time for a New Pattern
Although I’ve told myself not to make a big deal about the fact Hannah has left me on read, my heart and body haven’t gotten the memo. While the logical side of me is trying to tell the rest of me to remain calm, my insides are bouncing around with anticipation and worry, like balls from one of those lottery ball machines. I’m lying on my bed, showered, and thinking, replaying all the moments we shared that night.
Her ex-boyfriend showing up at the game could have derailed our time together. It hadn’t.
The risk of taking her hand in mine hadn’t felt like too much of a risk. I’d been responding to her on an emotional level, which could have been an overstep, but she’d seemed to need comfort. It was accepted, reciprocated even.
Our history rooted in friendship took us back to the beginning when laughing and enjoying one another’s company was as natural and easy as breathing.
And then dinner. There had been a shift between us.
Talking about the beach. Her blush.
She’s still into the idea of us, and I think I probably floated through the rest of the meal.
I look at my phone and wonder if maybe I should have waited to text, but that feels like a younger Seth choice. A game, or rather, a lie. This new and improved Seth is really working hard to stay present in his feelings. To be honest with himself, and now her.
She texted back right away, but now she’s gone quiet.
I’m in my head, freaking out and wondering if I’ve done something that was too much, came on too strong. When my phone alerts a new text, I jump from my skin—lunging for it—and push the device off my nightstand where it thuds on the floor. I dive for it, hanging off the side of my bed, and slide the screen open. When I see Hannah’s name, I take a breath of relief.
Hannah: Sorry. Got caught up with something. Yes. I’d like to hang out more.
I right myself on the bed and text her back: Everything okay?
Hannah: Yes. Sebastian showed up at my apartment. Thank goodness for my roommate.
My body tenses. It’s the last words that freak me out: Thank goodness for my roommate. Thoughts swirl filling gaps of what isn’t said. Why would she be glad her roommate was there? Was she threatened? I text her back: Whoa. Did you need your roommate there because he was out of line?
Hannah: No. No. Sorry. He was trying to beat a dead horse, and I had to ask him to leave a couple of times.
He’d gone over to get her back, and I suspected he would do as much at the game when I saw him. I’m not sure how I knew, but there’s something about him that feels familiar even if I can’t identify why, yet. A couple of times? I wonder if she’s being flippant about his appearance and his disrespect of her wishes for my benefit or telling herself it isn’t an issue. I wonder what she wants and ask her: Is it a dead horse?
Hannah: Yes.
Then she adds: Poor horse.
Me: Is there anything I can do to help?
Hannah: No. Thanks though.
I decide it’s probably best to change the subject and get to the reason we’re texting in the first place.
Me: So if you’re open to hanging out some more, what are you doing this weekend?
Hannah: I’m going home. To Cantos.
Me: Right. When do you get back?
Hannah: Sunday. Maybe we can hang out when I get back?
Me: I’d like that.
Not seeing her for two days sounds like a horrible stretch of time. I remind myself that I’ve been without Hannah for two and a half years before reestablishing this connection, but it doesn’t bring me comfort.
Hannah: I’ll text you when I get back to town.
Me: Great. And you don’t have to wait until then. (wink face)
Hannah: (smiling face) good to know.
I’m not sure how to keep the thread going since it seems like we’ve come to a stopping point, but I don’t want to stop talking to her. I just don’t know what to say to build a new bridge. I don’t want to say the wrong thing or be too forward. I know we’re friends, but I also know that the reality is we’re getting to know one another again. She’s had experiences I don’t know about, and the same for me. As I’m overthinking it, my phone alerts me.
Hannah: What are you doing right now?
Me: Lying in bed, texting with you.
Hannah: Want to talk? Instead of text.
Fuck, yes! I sit up.
Me: Sure.
Hannah: Let me get a quick shower. I’ll Facetime you after.
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.
Me: Okay.
While I wait, I clean up my space. Not that it’s super messy. I tend to be neat. There was a time when I believed I did it because I grew up with a drunk tyrant who beat the crap out of me if things weren’t in their place. So, to avoid conflict, I did everything to appease my father’s mercurial moods. Some things stuck. I once told Dr. Bethany that I tried to be a mess after I left home, during that first year of college, and hadn’t been able to do it.
“Why do you think that was difficult?” she’d asked.
“I think maybe I’m still afraid,” I’d said. “Like if I step out of the line he set, then the world will collapse into what it once was.”
“Could you predict the line of his that you might cross to make it collapse?”
“No. I mean, I knew what had set him off before and did everything I could to make sure not to repeat those mistakes.”
“And by not repeating the mistakes, did it keep him from hurting you? From getting angry again?”
“No.”
“So, what if your need to clean up has nothing to do with him, but instead, something you like?”
Dr. Bethany’s question had been the first time I’d considered that my opinions were my own in and of themselves and not some way to stick it to my dad or keep him from lashing out. That moment had felt like a mental turning point.
My phone rings.
I situate myself on my bed, leaning against the wall with a pillow behind me and answer it.
Hannah’s face comes into focus on my screen. She looks so pretty in the low light of her room that has those strings of tiny, white lights, and she’s leaning against a wall. Her blond hair is wet, slightly waving around her smiling face. She’s got on a teal sweatshirt. “Hey.” She smiles. “Every time I see you now, I freak out for a split second.”
Her admission makes me grin. “Why?”
“I went so long without seeing you. And now, when I do, it’s like my heart does a little double take to remind myself you’re real.”
Her words hit me like a gut punch, and it’s a good thing I’m sitting down; they’d take my feet out from under me. I don’t know how to interpret them, but I can interpret the feelings rushing through me that have me trying to catch my breath. Happiness and hope, and I don’t know if maybe I’m feeling them too soon. I remind myself that maybe she doesn’t mean them like I’ve interpreted them. “I’m real last I checked.”
“I’m glad. I mean, glad that you’re here.”
I notice her blush, which warms my insides. She can’t hide them at all, which I think is really cute. “Me too.” I grin at my screen. “Why are you going to Cantos?”
Her smile slides and while her lips remain curled, it’s the smile in her eyes that tempers. “It’s the anniversary of my dad’s–”
“Oh.” My heart twists for her. “Do you have a plan to honor him?”
She shrugs. “He had some favorite things he liked to do. That’s what we did last year.” She clears her throat and offers me a smile. “What will you do? Here?”
“Really important stuff. You know, homework and working out.”
Her smile brightens. “No parties with Trace?”
I shake my head, my smile slipping this time. “I don’t really party anymore.”
Her head tilts, taking that in. “Oh. Really?”
I offer a self-conscious affirmation with a slight movement of my head. This is the past catching up with me. Those from Cantos are aware of part of the truth, and my difficulty facing it. My heart speeds up in my chest. I’ve always thought these truths make me unlovable. I mostly know that isn’t true, but there are days when that lie rears its ugly head. Having to confront it with Hannah makes it terrifying. “Better if I don’t. I don’t really drink anymore. After the accident–”
She takes in what I’ve said and ponders it. I can see her thinking, a sliver of her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth. Her head tilts a touch further, and her eyes jump around until they reconnect with me. “Is that what you meant when you said you were going through stuff? Back then?”
“Yes. That and some.”
She nods, empathetic to my explanation. I can see she wants to ask about my dad, but for whatever reason, doesn’t.
“My dad is an alcoholic,” I share, which I hope lets her know I trust her. “In high school, I think I was right in line of finding a way to step into his shoes. But–”
She waits for me to continue speaking.
I’m self-conscious. Other than Dr. B, Gabe and, Abby, I haven’t really talked to anyone else about it. My ex-girlfriends knew a glossy, abridged version. It isn’t easy to face.
“You don’t have to–”
“I want to, Hannah.” With her, I do. I think. But my insecurities wreak havoc on my rational thoughts, however. “It’s just … ugly.”
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, making me wonder if she has her own uncomfortable layers I don’t know. And why wouldn’t she? Why wouldn’t any one of us? Life is like that. Like Dr. B says, “Life has a way of moving us around in similar patterns until we face the discomfort and make the change.” I wonder what Hannah’s patterns are. I can see mine. Shutting down, like with my exes. Being afraid of opening up. Which makes me realize I can keep doing the same thing with Hannah or make a different choice. That Einstein quote about insanity and doing the same thing but expecting a different result. I’d lived that and am trying to change it.
“I’m here to listen, you know, whenever.”
“I appreciate that,” I tell her and smile. “I knew that then, too.”
“You didn’t talk to me.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t really confide in anyone. Just Abby and Gabe.”
A bit of her lip disappears again, and I try to focus on what we’re talking about rather than the image of drawing that lower lip into my mouth with my teeth, which grabs ahold of my gut and spins it. I feel the thought deep and take a breath.
“We were friends. I would have listened.”
I nod. “There’s a big difference,” I say, and regret it because the follow up is going to reveal a lot about my feelings.
“And what is that?”
I realize I have a choice to tell the truth or to play it with a glossy version. I hear Dr. Bethany’s question: What do you gain by playing your life safe? So, I take a deep breath and commit. “I didn’t have a crush on Abby or Gabe,” I admit and offer her a smile. “That’s what’s different.”
She fumbles the phone. “Sorry,” she says when her face reappears. She’s beet red, and I can’t help but smile. “You did?”
“Are you telling me you didn’t know?”
“I didn’t.”
I laugh. “And here I thought I was super obvious.”
She smiles. “How? You never said a thing. There was only one time, maybe two that I wondered about, then fantasized with hope.”
“Fantasized?” I can feel my surprised expression on my face slide toward my belly with heat.
She grins, still blushing furiously. “This particular teenage girl fantasies probably aren’t the same as what I think you might be imagining.”
I laugh. “Okay, then. I’m curious. What were these infamous moments you wondered about?”
She adjusts, and I can see she’s shy about it, her eyes somewhere else. “Well.” She stretches out the word and situates herself into what I assume must be a more comfortable position. “There was this one time when we were working on the homecoming float. It was just you and me stuffing the chicken wire with tissue paper on our own side of the float.” She stops talking.
“And?” I prod. I don’t remember it but wish I did.
She’s blushing. “That’s it.”
“That’s it? Goodness, I must have really given myself away.”
She giggles.
“You’re going to have to jog my memory with more specifics, Hannah.”
She groans and covers her face with a hand. “I don’t know. There was just this moment… when our eyes met… and I couldn’t–”
“Couldn’t what?”
“Couldn’t stop analyzing it.” She shakes her head with a sheepish grin.
“And then?”
“That’s it. You got up and walked away.” She says it sort of strung together so I have to decipher it.
I can’t help but grin. “Most of the time I was around you during senior year, I wanted to kiss you. I bet I just got nervous and moved.”
She peeks through her fingers, then takes her hand away from her face. “You’re teasing me.”
“No. I’m not. I wanted to ask you to prom and chickened out.”
“Why didn’t you?” She leans forward with the vehemence in her question.
“Because that kid from Newport beat me to it.”
“He didn’t ask me.”
“What?”
“I asked him because I was afraid no one was going to ask me, and I needed a date because I was on the committee.”
“Had I known that, Hannah, I would have asked you to dance more than once.”
“I remember that dance.”
It’s my turn for a blush to warm my face, the heat suffusing my head and neck. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Why? It was my best dance of the night.”
I’m taken aback by her admission. “How can that be? I didn’t even talk to you.”
“Because it had been with you.”
My palms heat, and I remember her hand in mine earlier. My heart is a thousand marathon runners pounding against the inside of my chest. I don’t want to play this safe. She’s my friend, yes, but I’m feeling so much more than friendship. I want to know if I’m interpreting her honestly or through colored lenses of want. “Hannah?”
“Yes?” Her voice is quiet.
“I wanted to kiss you all the time. I probably did want to kiss you when we were working on that float. I wanted to kiss you at prom when we’d danced, and I’d been too nervous to even talk to you. I wanted to kiss you after graduation. When we finally did during the 4th of July party, I didn’t want to stop.” I swallow. “And to be completely honest, I wanted to kiss you tonight. And I’d like to kiss you now.”
She covers her face, again, and makes a strangled sound.
I freak out, a little worried I’ve revealed too much, given too much of myself away too soon, but I remind myself I’d played it safe with her before. I’m facing a pattern—my pattern—and trying to change it.
When she takes away her hand, she’s smiling, bright and bold, and so Hannah from high school. “I would have kissed you back all of those times,” she says, “tonight, too.” Her eyes look glossy and bright, and I wonder if she’s tearing up.
“Did I say too much?” I ask. “It is too soon?”
She shakes her head, and sure enough a tear slips from her eye. She swipes it away. “Sorry. I thought it was just me.”
“You’re crying?” I adjust myself, sitting up straighter, and wish we were sitting next to one another instead of talking over Facetime. “Shit, Hannah. And right after I admit that I’d like to kiss you. That’s a confidence killer.” I smile, hoping to disarm her.
She giggles. “No! It’s just that, I feel–” she cuts off what she would have said and adds– “it feels a little surreal. And now I don’t want to go home, but it’s the anniversary, and my mom needs me, so I have to. But I’d rather stay. Rather see you.” She strings the words and thoughts together. A very Hannah thing to do.
“Are you going to be okay going home by yourself?” And I wonder why I’ve asked. Am I willing to go with her, back to Cantos? And I realize I would.
She nods. “Yes. Now I’ll be looking forward to coming back.” She smiles and scoots down into her bed, laying down. Her hair spreads around her face like a halo, and my belly tightens thinking of the possibility of seeing her in real life like that under me. My body sheltered in hers. I look away to stop the train of my thoughts.
We continue to reminisce, laugh about being adolescents.
Eventually her eyes flick to something off screen as she says, “You know about my last relationship. Came face to face with him. What about yours?”
Amber. I take a deep breath. “That ended a while ago. April of last year.”
“May I ask about it.”
I adjust myself on my bed, laying back, preparing. “Sure. Go.”
Hannah looks up, her eyes and face scrunching to one side as she thinks about what she wants to ask, and I wish I was with her again. Wish I was lying next to her, so I could press a finger against her pretty mouth, then run it down the curve of her chin, trace her neck. My heart slams against the inside of my chest cavity with force.
“Did you love her?”
“We were together for five months. I think I thought I did, but there were lots of things that contributed to us breaking up.”
“Like?”
“Me, mostly.”
Her eyebrows arch over her eyes as if I’ve surprised her. I suppose it might be a surprise to someone who knew me way back when. Taking responsibility for the part I played in things hadn’t been my strong suit. I didn’t start that journey until after I woke up from the car wreck. She doesn’t say anything, though, waiting for me to elaborate.
It’s only fair, I figure, but I also hear Dr. B’s words in my head. A new pattern.
“I’m not the greatest at opening up.”
“What? No!” Hannah grins at me.
I chuckled. “Shut up.”
“Tell me more,” she says and pulls her blanket up to her shoulders.
So, I do, and as the story emerges from inside of me and out into the space between us, I realize how much better I feel having taken the risk to be honest with her, to be vulnerable. I’m still alive, still smiling, and full of feelings of victory, somehow.
We fall asleep with the app open, because when I wake up, my phone is dead.