21

My Heart Insists I Might Be a Supernova


The door to Hannah’s apartment isn’t opened by Hannah, but instead by a tall, muscular woman, with a head covered in braids tied at the back of her neck. She’s lean and sharp, angular in a way that communicates the agility of her body.  She’s scowling, then offers a polite smile when she realizes that I’m not whoever she thought I was on the other side of the door, which makes me look around to check even if I don’t know who I’m looking for. This must be Jewel, and I admit I’m slightly terrified of her badassness. She takes her hand off the bat next to the door, and I’m curious why she’d think she needed it. 

I’m afraid I already know.

“You must be Seth.” She steps back to let me in and glances at the wrapped gift I’m holding, then back to my face.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more judged, but if this is Hannah’s gatekeeper, I’m all for it.

“And you must be Jewel.”

“The one and the only. That gorgeous woman on the couch is my girlfriend, Joy.” She points, and I turn around.

A cute woman, cocooned in a hoodie with the hood up and a blanket, offers me a quick wave. “Hi.”

“Where are you taking our girl?” 

“Well, there’s this puppy bakery and cafe in town. I thought we’d go there.”

“You’re taking Hannah to Puppy Paws and Cupcakes?” Jewel’s eyes are wide, and I can’t discern if this is because it’s a terrible idea or not.

I nod.

She shakes her head but smiles. “She’s going to want to adopt them all.”

I smile because that’s exactly why I chose it. Hannah is going to love the place. “I promise not to bring home a dog.”

“Oh but–” Joy says, unfurling herself from her blanket with excitement.

Jewel points at her. “Three years, Joy. Three. We’ve discussed this.” 

Joy deflates back onto the couch with a pout.

“You’re here!” Hannah says, walking into the main room from the hallway, and my heart palpitates seeing her. She’s dressed in fitted jeans and a cute, fuzzy pink sweater, her long, naturally curly blonde hair waving around her face. She has these gentle, round features that make me feel awake: pretty blue eyes framed by dark lashes, a smallish nose, these soft pink lips with a slightly fuller lower lip. I remember thinking she was pretty in high school, but now her level of hotness is otherworldly, as if I’m floating through space caught in her gravitational pull.

“You look great.”

She stops, and I can see she’d like to touch me but doesn’t. I don’t reach for her. Jewel snickers like she knows and retreats back to the couch.

“I got this for you,” I say and hold out the gift.

“What is it?” She turns and sets it on the counter.

I stand next to her, our backs to the living room. Our arms brush, and the sensation races across my skin, lighting up all my nerves like the opening sparks to a brush fire. 

“Open it.”

She grins, looking pleased, and a blush creeps across her cheeks. When she unwraps the fuzzy socks decorated with hearts, she looks up at me. “Socks?”

“You have some serious practice to do if we’re going to make the Olympic team.”

Her grin widens, and she giggles, and pressing the socks to her heart. “I love them.” She gives me an awkward cheek kiss, which I completely understand. Five dates. After what happened in the library, I think any amount of touching might cause us to combust, and with Jewel and Joy a few feet away, that might be even more awkward.

She sets the package in a basket near the door, retrieves her gray coat from the rack, and slips into black ankle boots. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t wait up,” she tells Jewel and Joy.

“Didn’t intend to, but text me anyway.”

I follow Hannah from the apartment and as soon as I close the door, she turns to me, reaching up to frame my face with her hands. “Thank you,” she says, then she presses her mouth to mine with a sigh.

I grasp her hips, then wrap my arms around her, and pull her closer. The kiss is as bright as the sun. Hot and illuminating all the space I didn’t know existed inside of me, sending light to those hard-to-reach spaces I’ve tried to hide. I can’t help the noise I make, a sigh mixed with a note of frustrated need, my hands squeezing her as I do.

“Same,” she says into my mouth and pulls away, grinning. “I needed that.” She shrugs into her jacket. 

I did too, but I don’t say it. Instead, I take her hand in mine and lead her to my car. When I park in front of Puppy Paws and Cupcakes a few minutes later, she looks at me with wide eyes and a huge grin. 

“Puppies?” She claps. “I need this!”

I don’t have time to ask what she means, but another red flag is raised in my head. Jewel and her bat. The scowl. Why does Hannah need this? But I let it go. For now. I concentrate on Hannah in the present.

Hannah with puppies is perfect. Way to go, Seth. I’m proud of myself for thinking of it. Being with bundles of furry energy makes her look so happy. We hang out, playing with the puppies, then grab some cupcakes for Jewel and Joy, before I take her to dinner at a local microbrew spot where Trace said the food is dope. I might not drink, but I’m down for good food. The light is low, the music loud but not overpowering, and it’s full of people.

“That was so much fun,” she says, scooting into the high-backed booth across from me. After taking off her jacket, she uses her hands to flip her hair.

Watching her is satisfying, like with the puppies. Her smile. Her laughter. The way she bites the inside of her lip sometimes when she’s thinking. “The puppies were cute,” I say, even if I was more enamored with observing her. She’d sparked to life, which made me realize that the Hannah I’ve been reconnecting with hasn’t been sparkling like she used to. I saw through a window in the wall that didn’t used to be there. 

“I wanted to take them all home.” She grins and leans forward.

I try not to notice her boobs, but it’s fucking hard. She looks good enough to eat, a confection in that pink V-neck sweater. I imagine tasting her, my tongue sliding along that seam, then blink, chastising myself for my inability to think straight. What had she said? The puppies. Right. “Jewel said as much.” 

Hannah straightens, both saving me from my baser thoughts and torturing me because my curiosity is deactivating my brain and reducing me to instinct. Why did I sit on the other side of the table from her? If I were closer, I could kiss her. Oh. Wait. That’s why.

The waiter returns with water and takes our drink order.

“She knows me,” Hannah says about Jewel.

I look at my glass of water and take a drink, hoping to reset my brain. “She answered the door with a bat. Is that the norm?” 

Hannah blushes. It’s noticeable even in the dim lighting of the pub. Her eyes slide away to look at one of the TVs hanging in the room, and I know she’s not telling me something. I’m not sure how, but I’ve spent a lifetime spinning tales in the name of self-preservation. Maybe it’s because I know myself. I’m not entitled to whatever is in her head, but it adds another red flag to the others I’ve been collecting.

The waiter returns, sets down our sodas, and glances at Hannah, his eyes lingering, though I don’t think she notices. We order. Move along, buddy, I think and realize I’m being ridiculous. I just can’t seem to help the response. Sitting across from Hannah like this was years in the making, and now I’m possessive of it. 

I take a breath to focus myself on what’s important—Hannah. Right now.

“What is the normal door-answering protocol at your place?” I ask, curious. “I don’t remember seeing the bat the other night.” I grin at her.

Hannah’s mouth screws up to the side, and she bites her bottom lip, a nervous movement. I have a feeling I know what her answer is going to be.

“That’s a new thing.” She takes a sip of her soda and glances at me. When she says, “Sebastian showed up to our place,” I understand.

I knew it. “Again?”

“Can we not talk about it?” She leans forward and sips her soda again, then leans back, and moves things around in front of her, reorganizing them. It’s a tick I recognize, having done it my whole life. Putting things in their place, perfecting the space, trying to get it just right. It’s a control thing, when everything else feels like it’s chaos. I know why I do it, and it makes me wonder why Hannah is doing it.

“I don’t want him here,” she says, “on our date.”

“Sure,” I say, “but now my mind is going to spin on it anyway. So… may I ask some questions to get rid of that?”

She gives me a short smile. “Okay. Go.”

I move through our timeline, aligning opportunities. “When?”

“When I got home from work. The other night.”

My heart seizes up thinking about the possibilities of what could have been. I should have made sure she got home safe. There’s something about that guy that’s cracked. “So, Jewel thinks she needs to answer the door with a bat now? Did he hurt you?” 

She shakes her head and looks at the TV again, the smile gone from her face. I wonder what she’s leaving out. I know that technique too, but I don’t press her. It won’t work. Instead, I reach across the table and touch her arm lightly to get her attention. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes bounce from where I’ve touched her to my eyes. She nods. “Now.” She smiles again. A real one. “He didn’t touch me. His words were enough.”

I want to rant at her about that guy. I want to tell her she shouldn’t go anywhere without pepper spray, or that she should get campus police to escort her home after work, or to call me and I’ll be there waiting. I want to tell her not to talk to him, to ignore him when he tries, but I’m not in a position to do those things. It doesn’t take away the desire to, however, to protect her from what appears to have been an abusive relationship. I would know that too. 

I want to confront the prick.

My dragon wants to burn him to ash.

“Are you safe Hannah? Because–” 

“It’s fine,” she says, cutting me off. “Let’s talk about something else.”

I don’t want to move on, but I want to respect her agency. It’s probably a good idea. I’m heated, and not in a good way.

Deep breath.

“Favorite puppy earlier?” she asks.

“The yellow-lab mix.”

“A yellow lab.” She picks up her phone.

“What are you doing?” I lean forward.

She holds her phone out of my line of sight, typing and smiling. “What your dog choice says about you,” she reads. “Since a lab is a sporting dog, it says you are agreeable and conscientious.” She grins at me. “I concur.”

Good thing she doesn’t know what’s on my mind. “Yours. And no peeking.” I grab her phone.

“The dachshund.”

I scroll through her phone for it. “Tenacious, bossy, and want your own way.” I laugh. 

“I take it you agree?”

I slide the phone back over the table toward her. “That’s the Hannah I’ve always known. A person who knows what she wants and makes it happen.”

 The waiter returns with the food and sets it on the table. 

After he’s gone, I refocus on Hannah, seeing she’s lost some of her sparkle. “Did I say something wrong?” 

She shakes her head. “I feel different now.”

“I don’t think you’re alone in that. We all change.”

She nods and moves her silverware, rearranging the pieces again. I reach out and lay a hand over hers. “Since my dad died.” She looks up at me and turns her hand so she can hold mine. I like that she does this, connects.

I wish I could give her smart words, and I think about what Dr. B might say, but my brain flatlines with nothing. It’s the anger about Sebastian. It’s being so close to her. It’s my fear for her, because I can’t seem to not put her in the same category as my mom.  I’m somehow reduced to my lowest common denominator. I squeeze her hand. 

“I’ve carried a lot of guilt for not being there.” She’s looking at our joined hands, but she’s somewhere else in the memory of it. Then she pulls her hand from mine and puts it in her lap, disconnecting. “I sort of fell apart.”

It makes me wonder if I could tell her what I’d done. The truth about the accident. But I can’t get the admission past my lips. I’m ashamed of it, and even though Dr. B says that I don’t need to feel ashamed, I do. It hasn’t ever felt safe to share that with anyone, which is why I haven’t, aside from those that already know. I know that Hannah is a safe person to talk to, but that’s not the reason I don’t say anything. It’s about self-preservation. 

That thought suddenly makes me wonder if I’m sliding into my old pattern of behavior, but I dismiss it. That’s not it.

Instead, I say, “I think you’re entitled to fall apart, Hannah.”

“Except my mom did. My sister did. Who was left to hold our world together?”

And it makes me wonder when she allowed herself to fall apart. If she ever has.

After the server has delivered our diner, I say, “So,” and cut my hamburger in half, “even though you’re the dachshund between us, would it be okay if I plan our next date? I mean, if you’re willing to go on another date with me?”

She smiles. “I’d love that,” she says and takes a bite of a French fry.

“You sure now?”

She nods, sparkling again. “Yes, but then I get to plan the one after.”

“Will that be date number three?” I glance at her.

She’s staring at me, her eyes sliding to my mouth. My stomach clenches and shoots energy around to the base of my spine, lingering there, before climbing up my back. What was I thinking, sitting across from her instead of next to her? 

“Yes. You’ll plan date two, and I’ve got date number three,” she says, and I’m pretty sure her thoughts are in the same place as mine.