Page 40 of Liberating Bells
I startle and feel a piece of pancake get lodged in my windpipe, making me cough and choke. Ryan’s big hand pounds on my back, enough to dislodge the pancake, but gentle enough he doesn’t jostle my shoulder too much. Amusement is etched all over his face, but he remains silent, leaving this one to me.
“Um. No, I’m not. I used to be, but now I’m with someone else,” I try to explain.
Thalia goes silent for a moment before those green eyes go wide, and she looks between Ryan and me rapidly. “You were Ryan’s girlfriend he was going to marry!”
Ryan makes a strangled noise beside me, and I look at him with an eyebrow raised. This is news to me, yet I’m not surprised.
“Thalia, I never told you that,” Ryan reasoned with his little sister. “I told you we were together for a while, but then broke up.” He takes a bite of his pancakes and muffles out, “Sometimes things just don’t work out the way you plan.” Then he glances at me. “But at least we can still be friends.”
I know Ryan means well, but his sentiment doesn’t feel as good out loud as I know it should.
Lara, as if reading my mind, looks at me apologetically, and I offer her a small smile. Derek chooses that moment to join us, sauntering in and planting a kiss on his wife’s covered head. Derek is a tall, broad man who makes Lara look teeny in comparison. I notice his dark hair is now peppered with gray, same with the beard that dons his face. He gives me a nod and a friendly grin.
“Good to see you, Izabel. Heard about the engagement. Congratulations!”
“Oh,” I say, moving a piece of pancake around on my plate. I notice Ryan stiffen beside me. “Thank you.”
Lara moves over to her husband and says something under her breath. Derek’s eyes venture over to me again and then away as he grabs his coffee and walks out of the kitchen without another word. I wonder how much Ryan chose to share with his parents about the circumstances of my attending Sunday breakfast for the first time in years.
Sensing my discomfort, Ryan places a hand between my shoulder blades, effectively pulling my attention. “Did you sleep okay?” he asks as I look up at him. “Was your shoulder hurting you at all?”
I shake my head and move for my mug of coffee. I think it’s cooled down enough now that I can drink it without singeing my tongue. “I slept fine...thank you.” I know that being curled up next to Ryan had something to do with that. I always slept better next to him than I ever did alone. I'm sure that goes all the way back to our days spent together in that cabin. “And no, my shoulder didn’t bother me through the night, but it’s really sore today.” I move it slightly and wince as if to prove my point.
Lara notices and rushes over. Gently, she rolls up the sleeve of my shirt and gasps at what she sees. I glance down to find a giant bruise covering my deltoid muscle. It’s deep and purple, and the edges seem to go on forever.
“Oh, my dear, I’ll get you some ibuprofen to help take that edge off,” Lara mutters before hurrying over to the medicine cabinet above the kitchen sink. She shakes out three red pills, and I swallow them without argument, knowing they will help. I’d forgotten what a sweetheart Lara is. She’s so different from Mark’s mother. His mom is a country-club regular, always has her hair curled perfectly, and is never seen in public without her grandmother’s pearl earrings. And here's Lara, fussing over mewith pancake batter on her cheek, pajama pants, and a blue fuzzy bathrobe. Two completely different ends of the spectrum.
“What happened?” Thalia asks, her neck craning over her plate, trying to see what her mom is fussing at. I glance at Ryan, who’s watching me closely already. His eyes harden, and shame and embarrassment fill me.
Before anyone has a chance to concoct a story appropriate enough for an eight-year-old, the ringer on my phone goes off, the screen lighting up with Mark’s name.
Ryan’s shoulders stiffen again, and he locks eyes with his mom. She nods once, and then grabs Thalia’s hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s give them some privacy.”
“But I’m not done!” Thalia protests as her mom leads her out of the kitchen.
My phone is still ringing as Ryan takes another bite of his pancakes. He leans back against his stool, any and all amusement wiped from his face. “You better answer that. Put it on speaker.”
I take a deep breath, my stomach in knots. My finger swipes across the screen, and I press thespeakerbutton.
In a hesitant tone, I say, “Hello?”
“Izabel?” Mark asks. His voice is raspy, broken. I can tell he didn’t sleep a wink all night, as if he was waiting for the sun to be up to call me.
My fingers find the edge of my shirt again, and I grip the hem. “Hi, Mark.”
“Baby,” his voice cracks. “I amso sorryabout last night. I don’t know what got into me.”
Ryan lifts his coffee mug up to his lips and takes a gulp. He doesn’t meet my eyes and instead goes back to his pancake. Although he seems uninterested, I know he's listening intently to every word.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“There was just a lot going on,” Mark says. “The stress of the whole thing, being around your friends, plus you dancing withRyan.” His voice starts to rise, but he quickly gets control again and lets out a sigh. “But it’s no excuse. I’m so sorry, baby. It will never happen again. You know I’d never hurt you.”
I hear Ryan snort next to me. Looking at him out of the corner of my eye, I pick up my phone and walk to the edge of the kitchen. I leave it on speaker, though, so Ryan can still chaperone, but I feel like we have a little more privacy.
“I know,” I say. “But you did. You hurt me. Mark, this cannothappen again.”
“Yeah, I know, I know,” he mutters back at me. “It won’t. I promise.”
