Chaps & Cappuccinos

by A. J. Macey

  “So, uh, Meredith, what does she do?” My words were quiet and hesitant, my stomach turning slightly from my nerves.

  “Sweetheart, we don’t have to talk about them until you’re comfortable with it,” my dad tried to tell me.

  “I’m not going to lie and say it isn’t an adjustment,” I murmured, one shoulder lifting slightly in a half-hearted shrug. “But they’re a big part of your life, and... I’d like to get to know them.”

  “I would love that too because, if you want, they could be part of your life,” he offered hesitantly. Giving him a soft smile, I nodded.

  “I’d like that.” It wasn’t a lie either. It would be difficult to adjust, but I knew it would be worth the awkwardness and weird interactions in the end.

  “Good. To answer your question, she works in financials at US Bank. She handles small business loans.” As if the universe knew we were talking about her, Meredith called out in the background.

  “Honey?” Her melodic voice was far away but moving closer. “You on the phone?”

  “Yes, talking with Emma.”

  “Oh, then I’ll let you two have some privacy,” she started.

  “Wait,” I called out. My dad’s brows rose, but he didn’t say anything. “I mean... hi?” My greeting went up at the end like a question, my cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Did you know the name Meredith has Welsh origins and means ‘great lord’?” Why, Emma? I nearly groaned. Normal, need to work on the whole ‘normal’ interactions.

  My dad chuckled, waving Meredith into the frame. Well, at least browsing Pinterest in my little bits of free time had some benefits after all, I thought glumly, remembering all the random names and meanings I had read through when I browsed last.

  “Come say hi, Mere,” he prompted. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Hopefully nothing horrid,” she joked. When she stepped into the frame, she gave me a warm, welcoming smile. Her curly red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she didn’t look to be wearing any makeup except some mascara. My dad’s fiancée was pretty, and the way he looked at her—with so much love—made my chest squeeze. I had run away without giving any sort of time to get to know her or her kids. “It’s nice to meet you, Emma.”

  “Yeah... sorry about last time.” I cringed.

  “No need to apologize, it was completely understandable. I’m happy to get to talk to you now. Your father’s told me lots about you.”

  “Really?” I perked up, the awkwardness dimming as my intrigue increased. A very small sliver of me had worried, for whatever reason, that the last five and a half months of distance would have ruined our relationship. Knowing that, even in that time, he hadn't forgotten me, meant more than I could put into words.

  “Of course,” Meredith chuckled as she talked, “about how you love facts and coffee, about how one of your favorite places to go is the arcade, that you’re ambitious, all of that amazing stuff.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I murmured, a wave of emotions washing through me as I processed everything she said. Pride, nostalgia, and the sensation of being loved, built to the point that I felt my eyes start to prickle and burn with the urge to cry, but I blinked them away, my cheeks hurting from how wide I was smiling. “So, he tells me you work at a bank? Does that mean you help with the vineyard financials?”

  “Sometimes, but Todd and your father seemed to have their financials all figured out before I came along. They went through the bank I work for to help ensure a contingency loan for the expansion, but I didn’t have much to do with that. Not that you want to hear about numbers and paperwork, I’m sure, but—” A crash sounded in the background, followed by shouting, that cut Meredith off as both she and my dad looked over their shoulders at something I couldn’t see. She sighed and shook her head, turning back to the camera. “That would be the teens causing mayhem and destruction. I’ll let you two keep talking while I go deal with that. It was great getting to talk with you, Emma.”

  “You too,” I replied, my smile genuine as I gave a small wave. With that, she turned and started back out of the room, her fading yells silenced by a door being closed.

  “So, how’s everything going there?” Dad asked once we were alone again. I tried to keep my face smoothed over, but a small hint of a grimace slipped out, and his brows drew down. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah,” I tried to tell him, but his gaze narrowed and he gave me ‘the look,’ the one he always did when he called me out on my bluff. “It’s been fine for the most part.”

  “Yes, but fine doesn’t necessarily equate to good. I won’t force you to tell me what’s going on, but I’m here to talk to whenever, wherever, okay?”

  That single statement seemed to be the moment that tipped the scale. My eyes watered, yet my heart felt so full that I honestly was surprised it didn’t burst. I had wanted so desperately to be able to talk to my mom about everything, for her to see what was right in front of her, and I was just now realizing I had been doing the same to my dad. I had expected him to come talk to me, and he did, but I had brushed it off amidst everything going on. He was there for me to talk to, and right then I realized I wasn’t alone like I had been feeling.

  “I know, it’s just… been a lot, you know?” I started, and once I began, I couldn’t seem to stop. Everything over the last few months came tumbling out, though I glossed over some of the more intimate details. Once it was out there, I felt so much lighter. There would still be hard times when the memories of the party from hell would creep up but knowing I had at least one parent on my side helped.

  “Do you want me to talk to your mom?” Dad asked, his tone serious as he looked at me.

  “No, I don’t want things even more tense than they already are,” I explained.

  “Are you sure? Because testifying and all of that is stressful, and I want to make sure you’re not going through even more stuff because of your mother’s stubbornness.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. The guys and my friends help keep me sane among the miles of corn fields,” I joked.

  “Which of your boys was the one who stopped that bastard?”

  “Jesse.”

  “Keep that guy around,” he told me with a stern nod. “I like him a million times better than your ex.” I felt my jaw drop in surprise. I guess I’d just lumped my dad in with Mom. I mean, obviously she preferred Tyler over everyone else.

  “What? Did you really think I actually liked Tyler? I only supported you because that’s what made you happy,” he added.

  “Well, you could have told me that before, might have saved me lots of trouble,” I teased. My dad laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in.

  “So,” he continued when our laughter finally settled, “I know you said you were thinking about doing a marketing or business-related degree and want to continue working at Coffee Grounds. Have you maybe considered opening your own coffee shop or café?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve really thought about anything other than getting through the rest of senior year, but I could think about it. My gut reaction is that it seems like a lot of work, and I don’t know where I’d even start.” My thoughts swirled with all the questions that popped up from his suggestion.

  “You don’t have to worry about it right now. It’s just a suggestion to think about. Like I told you the other day, I’ll support you in whatever you want to do, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “I should start getting ready. Todd and I have a meeting with the brew team to go over and taste test some of our new brews in about an hour. Feel free to text or call me whenever you have a chance. I’ll be sure to check in more, all right? I love you, sweetheart.”

  I nodded, giving him a final ‘I love you’ before we hung up. It hadn’t been an overly long conversation, but I felt like I had a weight lifted off my shoulders. Even when I started on my homework, I had a smile fixed on my face and an odd sense that I could do anything. I can totally get through the rest of the year and get to g
raduation, I told myself.

  Nebraska definitely isn’t so bad.

  8

  February 17th

  I expected to be lazy for most of my Monday, but Lyla had other plans, so here’s a quote to help channel my inner warrior. “If you spend too much time thinking about a thing, you’ll never get it done” -Bruce Lee.

  #PerfectPracticeMakesPerfect #IGotThis #IHope #MotivationMonday

  Looking out the passenger side window at the passing fields, I tried to surmise where Lyla and I were headed as we made our way into the city. “Can you tell me where we’re going yet?” I asked after we’d passed the tenth cow.

  “Guess!” Lyla exclaimed, drumming her fingers on the wheel to the beat of the rock song permeating the cab of her truck.

  “I’m going to assume somewhere requiring some sort of physical exercise or something where I won’t be sitting,” I guessed, waving toward my outfit. “Seeing as how I’m currently wearing athletic-y clothes.”

  “Warm,” she hinted.

  “A gym?” I hazarded next, not bothering to hide the reflexive crinkle of my nose. This is not going to be pretty.

  “Cold,” she said, making a left when the light turned green. Glancing around us even more, I tried another guess.

  “Uh, going to the playground?” I seriously hoped I was wrong. My weak Cali blood would freeze in today’s crazy high of mid-thirties.

  “Colder, though that sounds very fun,” she countered. “We’re almost there.”

  “Martial… arts?” I trailed off when she pulled into the parking lot of a building, my eyes drawn to the studio’s name in bright neon lettering above the bank of windows.

  “Ding, ding, ding!” Lyla nearly shouted as she threw her truck into park. “Women’s self-defense class to be specific.”

  “Really?” I asked, feeling as if it was the hundredth time I’d said that today.

  “Yup, I told you last time we went shopping that you should look into it, but I know you’ve been super busy, so I figured I would drag you to one.”

  “You’re doing it with me, right?” I questioned, a small bubble of nerves settling in at the thought of doing it alone. But based on her ‘are you serious?’ expression, I knew the answer.

  “Come on, let’s go get signed in and fill out the paperwork stuff before class starts.”

  The wind whipped around us in a wave of cold, sending a shiver down my spine, but it was only for a few moments before the heat of inside the building washed over me. I stayed quiet, letting Lyla get everything arranged with the girl at the front.

  “Welcome!” a man called, stepping over toward the desk, a small and lean woman trailing not too long after. They both wore a white uniform, with a black belt knotted around their waists. The woman had blonde hair tied back in a braid, while the man had buzzed, graying black hair.

  “I’m Sensei Eric Hortil, and this is my wife, Sensei Sarah Hortil, and we’re happy to have two new faces joining us tonight.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you,” Sensei Sarah said, her hand coming out to shake ours.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Lyla started, shaking her hand first. “I’m Lyla.”

  “Emma,” I told her when she turned to me. Her husband followed suit, shaking our hands before stepping over to greet the next person who had walked through the door.

  “Is this your first time at a defense class?” Sensei Sarah asked, her smile warm and welcoming.

  “It is for her, I’ve taken a few over the last couple years at various places.”

  “Wonderful, well we’re happy you’ve decided to come to our class tonight. The rest of the students should be arriving over the next ten minutes or so if you both would like to fill out the paperwork and come into the dojo.” At the end of her instructions, we stepped over to the counter to get our waivers and other typical paperwork. After a few minutes of filling them out, we took off our shoes and stepped into the space.

  The floor was padded with a sturdy foam that didn’t have much give as I walked over it. God, I hope it’ll give a little more when I fall on it. I get the feeling I’ll be falling a lot. There was a wall of mirrors facing the space, photographs and other martial arts items hanging on the remaining open wall space. Lyla hopped up and down in place next to me, her smile and eyes nearly glowing with excitement as we waited for class to start.

  “Ready for this?” she asked, nudging me in the arm with her elbow.

  “As long as I don’t hurt myself,” I joked quietly, but in all actuality, I was looking forward to the class. It wasn’t just because it was something nice Lyla had done for me. I knew it would never be a bad thing to have some self-defense skills in case anything were to possibly happen in the future.

  Don’t think about that, I commanded myself as Sensei Eric called class to start. Lyla and I stood quietly, listening closely to what he had to say. After some description on how to punch properly, things that were good to do in potentially dangerous situations, and ways to stay vigilant, we paired up. Sensei Eric and Sensei Sarah demonstrated a few combinations of movements then gave us the go ahead to practice with our partners.

  Lyla faced me, grabbing the front of my shirt in a tight grip. I tried the best I could at attempting the moves the teachers had shown us, but for whatever reason, I struggled to get it to work. On my third attempt, I groaned, my shoulders slumping in dejection.

  I’m so freaking screwed if I get attacked again.

  “Here, this may help,” Sensei Sarah said, coming up to us and directing me to face her instead. “Grab my lapels like she was.” Doing as she asked, I gripped the edge of her uniform and waited. “So when you grab the hand, make sure you’re not grabbing only the wrist. While that’s a major component of the arm, it’s a very fragile joint. The hand is what’s keeping you in place, so reach over and grip the fleshy portion of the palm, keeping your thumb on the back of the hand. All right?” She walked me through the steps as she moved. One hand grabbed mine the way she explained. “Now, what do you think someone would do in this situation if they were you, the attacker?”

  “Pull forward?” I hesitantly asked, tightening my hands and tugging forward like I expected someone would.

  “Exactly, and while your attacker could, and probably will be strong, you have something on your side.” Without warning, she dropped, the swift movement jarring my hold on her enough that she could work her way out of it. “Gravity and your weight. When you grab hold of their hand, immediately sink down, pulling him or her with your body weight and momentum. Just be sure to keep a solid base like this.”

  Looking to her legs, I took in how she was currently positioned. She explained that leaning forward or backward from your hips would throw a stance—the center of gravity—off balance. Her legs were out wide, but bent at the knee, allowing her to use that weight to her advantage without immediately falling off balance and to the ground.

  “Once you’re here, this is when the thumb on the back of the hand comes in. Twist, sticking your thumb out and pulling the fleshy part of the hand out.” She maneuvered my hand into that position, my hold on her uniform releasing and the start of a sting built telling me if she continued to tweak my arm that way, it would really hurt.

  “What after that?” I asked. “I still have a hand on you.”

  “You have a few things you can do. When you drop to this stance and that initial movement dislodges the original hold, take your forearm and either knock the other arm out like this”—her arm came up in front of her, knocking my hand out to the side—“or, what might be better because of how weak the thumb is in comparison to all of the fingers, is come from the outside and bring it down.”

  Raising her arm outside of my hold, she slowly brought her forearm down on mine, and I felt what she was explaining. My fingers held tight, but where my thumb was, was too weak to hold fast against the force.

  “And after?” Lyla questioned, watching intently from next to us. “I’m assuming some kind of attack to create some spac
e or stun the attacker?”

  “Very good. There are several targets that you want to keep in mind. When you’re in a situation, the attacker’s mobility and ability to see are the two things that you would want to target first. Can you tell me why that would be, Emma?”

  “Uh,” I stuttered, racking my brain. “They can’t attack what they can’t see, and… if they can’t move, they can’t… come after you?”

  “Exactly, and that gives you time to get away and get help,” she praised. “So, hit low and hit the squishy bits.”

  I knew it was a serious topic, but I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. Lyla couldn’t either, chuckling next to me. Thankfully, Sensei Sarah did the same, nodding as if she knew where my brain had gone.

  “Yes, it seems silly, and quite frankly, it is, but in a real situation, aim for the ankles and knees by kicking like this.” Shifting forward, her leg that was farthest away from me came out. When she slowly demonstrated how to kick out a knee or ankle, her foot angled so her heel hit the target and not the ball of her foot. “As for the squishy bits, obviously the groin—and that goes for woman or man because it’s a very sensitive area on both—as well as the eyes.”

  “The ability to see,” I murmured, understanding how all the components she talked about came together. With that understanding, I was already starting to feel tiny seeds of hope. If I could piece it all together in my head, maybe my body would be able to follow through. Eventually, it might become instinctual, but for now, I needed my mind and my body to try and get their act together and work as a team.

  “Very good. So, after the grip is dislodged, a well-placed kick to the groin like this”—once again she demonstrated, aiming with her shin bone instead of her foot for the target—“followed by a gouge to the eyes would be good, but it really is something that would be determined by the situation and what comes naturally. Muscle memory is important because when you’re in a fight or flight situation, that snap decision reaction is what’s going to happen.”