I have nothing to show yet, I literally just started this morning. Got a fresh kit in the mail yesterday.
Looking at the supplies in my lap, the heap of yarn looks like nothing more than just that. A tangled up bundle of yarn. When I’m done though, it will be a cute little plush frog to go with the others I’ve made. My eyes cast over to the shelf George made for me and look at the growing collection of crocheted animals and plants I’ve created. What started out as an impulse buy in the middle of the night while I was scrolling social media, quickly became my favorite way to turn my brain off after a long week. Now I have a subscription that sends me a new crochet kit once a month to work on while I wait for the next box to come.
Dad:
Well I can’t wait to see what you make this time honey. I love that you’ve picked up a hobby. It’s so good for our brains to have some sort of mindless activity we can focus on from time to time.
Mom:
Richie, I love you, but please stop psychoanalyzing our daughter before breakfast.
I will see you all soon! Can’t wait to kiss your face, honey bee And you too, Richie, if you’re lucky
Dad:
I’m crossing my fingers and toes.
Rolling my eyes, I toss my phone down and get in a few more stitches—following the directions step by step. I wasnever super creative as a child. My brain has always leaned more analytical over imaginative. When teachers asked me to color, it was always inside the lines. When I took a creative writing class in college I almost flunked because my stories came off as “too formal” and “not engaging enough.” That was fine with me, I understood then like I do now that some people are more left-brained thinkers and some lean more towards the right. Even though that’s pseudoscience and no one uses more of one side of their brain than the other.
Finishing my stitch, I carefully set my new craft on my coffee table and stand from the couch. Normally I’d be going on a walk with Dad since it’s Saturday, but Mom is going out of town for work for a week and a half and asked to meet us for breakfast before she flies out. After leaving her big corporate job, she went the consulting route and now flies all over the world helping major brands and companies streamline and expand. While we have a wonderful relationship, Dad was and still is my person. Maybe it’s because he was home more growing up while Mom worked long hours or maybe it’s because he and I think in similar ways. I like to believe I’m the best parts of both of them.
Heading for the door, I check myself in the mirror to make sure I look okay. I love the outfit I picked out because I feel like it’s trulyme. Perfectly oversized jeans I thrifted a few years back hug my waist while a soft linen button down hits right at my waistline. The penny loafers my mom bought me as a graduation present are on my feet while the bandana I swiped from Dad and George’s house is tied around my head. Rae likes to tell me I look like I’m about to go waltzing through a flower field when I dress like this.‘You look like a ’70s hippie who’s about to go smoke a jointwith a guy named Steve,’she likes to tease. Hippie or not, I look cute today.
It doesn’t take me long to get to breakfast since it’s a few blocks away from my apartment building. Stepping inside the busy restaurant that’s been designed to mimic that of an old East Coast diner, I spot my parents already at a table out on the patio. We’ve been blessed with clear and sunny skies the last few weeks after a major tropical storm rolled through right around Halloween.
“Hello, family,” I greet, leaning in to give everyone a hug. While George may not be my family in the traditional sense, he is in the emotional sense. He’s been part of my life for years now and getting to watch him love my dad as he discovers who he is has been one of my greatest honors.
“Good morning, Hanna. Your dad tells me you’re working on a new project. Still have enough room on the shelf I built you? Or do I need to get my tools out?” he asks before taking a sip from his mug.
“Oh, I have plenty of space. I’d need to complete at least eight or nine more kits before things even start to feel cramped.”
“You can get your tools out if you want to anyway.” Dad smirks. “You look awfully cute in your toolbelt.” They exchange a flirty glance before Mom cuts in.
“Oh, Richie, would you relax? Please don’t talk sexy like that in front of our daughter,” she teases.
“What? It’s not like Hanna hasn’t had sex before,” he interjects. Suddenly, three pairs of eyes are on me and I feel my cheeks flush.
“We are sonottalking about my sex life at the breakfast table,” I protest with a head shake. “I’d much rather talk about Dad and George’s.”
“Well a few days ago—” Dad starts in before George puts a hand over his mouth.
“We’re not talking about our sex life either,” he adds with an embarrassed half-smile.
Mom studies me out of the corner of her eye and I know what’s coming. “So, honey bee, are you seeing anyone right now?”
Haven’t even been able to order my breakfast and she’s already trying to marry me off to the next man who walks down the sidewalk.
“Mel, let the girl live,” Dad starts to protest for me.
“Well, she’s a beautiful and successful young woman. I only want to know more about her life, that’s what mothers do.”
“Mothers try to pry into their adult daughter’s lives and ask them intrusive questions about their dating lives?” he counters.
“It’s not prying, it’swondering,” she banters back, staring him down. Any other family and this might be considered an argument. In mine, it’s nothing more than an average conversation. She turns to face me again. “So, Hanna, seeing anyone new?”
Almost as if to save me, the waitress comes and takes our order. I hem and haw at the menu to prolong my eventual need to answer her question, but in the end I have to let the nice girl go so she can do her job.
“No, Mom, I’m not seeing anyone new right now. Are you?”
