I have to take control of this conversation before Cassie has me spending the rest of the night rolling around on some wrestling mats with a group of strange men. While that might be Cassie's idea of a good time, I'm in no way ready for that experience. "Um, you teach self-defense?"
"Yeah," Zach answers. "I do a lot of classes with kids, but I do teach adults, if you're interested."
"Well, I'm not sure about that. But I do have two boys who might like to learn martial arts."
"Oh?" Zach's brows lift and I see him flick his eyes to my hand. I've just started wearing my engagement and wedding rings on a chain around my neck and I feel the weight of them between my breasts.
His gaze returns to my face. "You could come by the studio next week and check it out. It's right down the street." He fishes in his pocket for his wallet. "Here's a card. You can come by and we can talk about options." Winston Martial Arts is printed in plain black font. Zach Winston, owner and trainer, neatly positioned underneath with the address, website, and phone number of the studio.
"You teach karate?" I look up from the card just in time to catch another crooked grin.
"Not exactly." Zach ducks his head. "You should come by and see for yourself."
"Okay." I grin back. "Maybe I'll stop by this week with Noah and Charlie."
"Sounds good. It was really good to see you again, Julia."
"You too, Zach." And then the man with the incredibly toned backside is walking out the door.
"That is not what he looked like in high school," I say and Cassie laughs.
"No, it isn’t."
"What’s the story there, Cass?" I can't help but ask her once he's out of earshot. Cassie doesn't wait around if she sees something she likes. "Previous conquest or next on the list?"
"No way." Cassie shakes her head. "Tempting though he may be, I'm not willing to fight every soccer mom in town for a piece of that. I don't think I have the niceness Zach would require. And I know I don't have the patience to be around that studio. So many kids. Just wait until you see it, Jules. It's enough to make even my ovaries explode."
"But if he's got your ovaries exploding..." I try to imagine what kind of a scene could possibly do this to Cassie. "And he looks like that..." Cassie lifts her drink to this. "Then why is he still single?"
"Divorced," Cassie answers. "A terrible, awful, painful divorce apparently. I don't have all the details, but from what I know it sounds like he got his heart ripped out and stomped on. Which, by the way, is another thing I try to avoid. I'm not really the best shoulder to cry on." Her face freezes. "Shit. Sorry. Except for you. For you my shoulder's always available." She shifts in her seat, not quite looking me in the eye. "What is it going to take to get another round of drinks over here?"
2
Zach
I love the feeling of unlocking the gym doors first thing in the morning. The click of the bolt as I turn the key settles something in me. I get the same feeling at the end of the day when I lock the place back up for the night. That click means I've got something solid. Something that needs to be protected.
I like to run here and back. I could do it in ten minutes, but instead of taking the fastest route, I like to cut through the park. It's the opposite of a shortcut and if something catches my eye, I might end up running longer. I listen to the thump, thump of my shoes on the pavement and then the trail; I listen to the beating of my heart and the steady in and out of my breathing. When it rains, I turn my face to the sky and let the drops hit me. Today I’m also replaying those four unexpected minutes with Julia again and again. I’ve always been a sucker for those big brown eyes and there’s no ring on her finger. That’s a fact I shouldn’t have noticed and shouldn’t be so excited about.
Then I'm alone at the gym, surrounded by the silence. If there are other guys here I make a show of putting on some heavy metal because that's what people expect when you're going to practice beating the shit out of each other. Alone I want quiet. I work the bag and then move to the jump rope and the kettle bell. I've got martial arts classes for adults and kids from about noon until dinnertime and after on most days. I take Fridays off, but not from my run. I'm a creature of habit when it comes to my exercise; I need to feel my body work to remind myself of what it felt like not to.
Today when I round the corner, someone's crouching in the doorway. When I worked a desk job that slowly blunted everything but my fight-or-flight reflex, seeing the oversize outline of some random guy waiting for me at seven a.m. would've sent all my senses into overdrive. The adrenaline alone would have jacked me up for an hour. But not anymore. Today I'm able to assess the situation long before the Neanderthal part of me thinks there's any danger. This is no stranger and no one ready with a sucker punch, but one of the guys I've seen recently in my informal sparing sessions. As he rises to his full height, he calls out to me with a half-hearted wave of his right hand.
"Hey, man, sorry to surprise you so early, but..."
I slow my jog to a walk. Sweat trickles down my back. I can't for the life of me remember his name, but I recognize him. I wait for him to clear things up for me, just breathing in and out.
"Jason." He raises one hand and turns his index finger toward his chest. "I came last night with Bryan and he said you come in pretty early. Told me just to tell you that I needed to get a little aggression out."
Again his eyes flick to the pavement and he shifts around. But I know what he's getting at. I don't need the details, although I'll probably end up knowing more than I want to in an hour or so. Bryan is an old friend of mine, from elementary school, one of the blessings and curses of living in the same place for most of your life. He knows the gym saved me from myself and that I don't mind letting it do the same for other guys. I extend my hand and let Jason shake it.
"Sure, no worries. I was just about to go in and hit the bag for a bit. Come on." The look of relief that washes over Jason's face is worth giving up my solitude this morning.
When I discovered how my body felt when I really used it—when those endorphins were coursing through me—I couldn't imagine going back to the way I felt before. I could spend hours at the gym getting myself mentally and physically ready for a fight. I was never going to be some sort of Ultimate Fighting Champion, but I did toy around with the idea. Working with Jason, the sweat starting to gather on both our faces, I can remember thinking the fighting was what it was all about. In reality it isn't, but not many people get past that part when you talk about martial arts. Lots of guys like the idea of being the alpha male and think learning some Brazilian Ju Jitsu moves might just be the thing to make them into Conor McGregor. But this isn't about aggression. Instead of letting the aggression take over, I can control it. I can harness it. And as Jason and I go through the workout I'm reminded how much I love this and how much happier I am now that this is my routine.
Jason and I are both drenched and even though he hasn't done much talking, I've managed to figure out that he's got problems at home of the wife variety. I can relate to that so I leave it alone and focus on getting him to connect with the bag. The sound of the door opening surprises us both. Jason’s head jerks up just in time to see one of my sisters pushing the glass door with her rear as she balances two disposable coffee cups.
"Hey, baby brother," she yells before even turning around. When she finally makes her way into the main room she startles a bit. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you weren't going solo this morning. I would've brought another cup of coffee for, um, your friend." Kat gestures with a cup.
"No problem." Jason moves away from the punching bag and toward the door. "I need to get going anyway if I'm going to make it to work on time." He starts gathering his things, pulling his sweatshirt back on over his head as he walks.
"Kat, this is Jason. Jason, this is my sister Kat." I'm quick with the introductions but short on details. Jason extends a sweaty hand and to Kat's credit she takes it without wincing after juggling the coffee and a bag of what I hope is something sweet enough
to give us diabetes.
"Nice to meet you, Jason," she manages. "I do have extra donuts, if you want to stay a little longer."
"No, thanks. I shouldn't. Thanks for the time, Zach."
"No problem. I'm usually here by seven, if you need to stop by." I'm not sure if he'll take me up on my offer, but I extend it just the same.
Jason nods. "Thanks for that, man." And he's out the door.
"Is that another stray?” Kat pulls a donut from inside the bag. "I should probably wash my hands before I eat this, right? You guys are pretty sweaty."
"A stray?" I scoff a bit before coming over to her and wiping my sweaty forehead up against her arm. "He's just a guy who needed to work out some energy this morning."
She grabs a napkin and wipes the sweat off. "Gross. I think I've solved the mystery of all your disappearing dates."
"They can't disappear if they're nonexistent." I grab my coffee. Kat brings me coffee a few times a week before she goes into the office. Her marketing job means some late nights and early mornings, but she always makes time for coffee deliveries to the studio.
"Is he single?" Kat asks and I can't help but notice the smile she's trying to hide behind her pastry.
"He might be, soon. If you're willing to wait until his wife leaves him."
"That isn't you anymore, you know?" Kat blows on her coffee and waits for me to respond.
"I know." I take a big enough bite of my donut to keep myself from saying anything else.
"Well, you wouldn't know it from looking at your social calendar."
I chew. My social calendar isn't Kat's business, but I understand her concern. Since my divorce I haven't exactly been trying very hard to get out there. I wash the rest of the sugary mouthful down with a swig of coffee.
"No comment? Not even to tell me to fuck off and mind my own business?" Kat waits expectantly. Sure, I could tell her to leave me alone, to let me handle my own life, but I know that I’d be wasting my breath. Neither of my sisters can take a hint and they're not that great with direct threats either.
"I'm sure you're coming from a place of love," I tell her, trying for as much sincerity as I can.
Kat narrows her green eyes. "Fine, dumb ass. You can end up old and lonely. I'm not going to be the one to take care of you when you break a hip rolling around on the floor with your buddies."
"I'm not lonely." I reach for my coffee again. "I've got most of my nights full with classes anyway. No time to date."
Kat shoots me a knowing look. "I'm sure you couldn't possibly find the time for dinner with some attractive woman followed by a little something-something after."
Julia's face pops into my mind. No way I'll be telling my sister about running into her. An old high school crush suddenly reappearing would be too much temptation for meddling. Instead I put Kat back on the defensive.
"I'm sorry? A 'little something-something'? What is that exactly? Have you lost your ability to speak grown up over there? I expect that from Amy, but you? Last I checked you spend your days with adults." I wait for the blush to creep up Kat's cheeks. She hates teasing, especially when I compare her to our sister. They're twins in appearance only.
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Were you talking about sex? Because you don't need to date for that. And I've also heard that some people take care of that problem themselves. Alone." I raise an eyebrow at my sister and she scowls.
"That is way too much information, thank you very much. You can joke all you want but you can't deny that a little female company would be nice for you to have every now and then."
"Who's joking?" I prefer to keep teasing Kat rather than admit to a dry spell that would make the Sahara look like an oasis. I do miss regular sex, but, unless I'm just hooking up, that physical contact comes with strings. I'm not about to open myself up to the possibility of having my heart ripped out of my chest.
Kat manages one last snort, but ultimately, she leaves it alone. She knows what's at stake. My sisters and I have all proven that none of us are lucky in love. She grimaces when I reach for another donut.
"What?" I pause, hand suspended in midair.
"Now I'm just thinking about where that hand has been."
"Where would it have been?" I ask innocently.
"Just tell me it's clean so I can stop worrying about you contaminating the donuts."
"Don't worry, I'm right-handed. I'll just be sure to reach with my left." I wink.
"See? This is what happens when the only women you hang out with are figments of your imagination." Kat uses a napkin to grab a donut and pass it over to me. I try to rub the back of my hand on the top of hers and she pulls back like I'm patient zero.
"I spend plenty of time with you," I tell her, still trying to touch her with my supposedly contaminated hand.
"That's not a substitute for the real thing." Kat sighs. "We need to find you someone who will put up with your shit who isn't already related to you. And who might want to kiss you despite how repulsive you are."
"That might be tough." I finally manage to slide my hand over hers in an exaggerated rub. "Not many takers for that."
"So it would seem. For either of us." Kat's getting all somber now. Starting out the morning thinking about our dismal love lives is never a good idea. So I do the only thing a brother can do in this situation: I stand up and come over to Kat’s side of the table, putting my arm around her shoulder. I pull her into a half-hug and then grind the rest of my donut into her unsuspecting face.
3
Julia
It turns out my new beginning involves more cardboard boxes than I had ever imagined. They're stacked against the walls and overflowing in the kitchen. As my mother and I unwrap the things that used to belong in my shared life with Paul, Noah and Charlie run in and out of the room. They screech as they stomp the bubble wrap that coats the newly refinished wood floors, and duck back into a pile of boxes. My father is supposed to be watching them, but is spending most of his time trying to get reception on the flat screen TV he insisted on buying for us. Occasionally he yells to coax the boys out of their box fort and help him, but at five and six years old, neither of them are much help with television installation.
"Boys!" he bellows from his perch atop the stepladder. "I'm going to need one of you to hand me the screwdriver again. Noah? Can you hand me the flathead screwdriver? Where did you two go? Come here and help your grandpa."
My mother rolls her eyes, but she smiles. She loves having the boys closer, loves having us "home" even if it doesn't feel like home to us yet. "Steve, let those boys play," she calls to my father. "Better yet, take them outside so they can run off some of that energy. Julia bought this house with the big backyard for a reason."
"But the TV isn't hooked up yet," my father calls back. I know that this is of utmost importance to him. Since he loves nothing more than spending the whole day in his easy chair with a football game and a beer, he's making sure I'm comfortable in the only way he knows how. "I'm going to need to come back with Graham to get this mounted on the wall."
At the mention of my high school boyfriend my mother shoots me a quick look. She thinks I don't see her, but I'm not oblivious to her interest and I've had years to figure out how she and my father operate. Later, she'll corner Dad and tell him that maybe bringing Graham around so quickly isn't such a good idea. She knows that it hasn't been long enough for the two of them to start playing matchmaker, especially if their plan involves me getting back together with my high school sweetheart. She'll tell Dad that they have to take things slow. Let me settle in. Then they can try to get the son-in-law they always wanted back in the picture. She smiles at me—a patented Fran Myers smile, the kind that has been manipulating grocery store clerks and hapless waiters for decades now. But I'm her daughter, and I know that smile, so I return it with one of my own.
"It's okay for Daddy to bring Graham if he really needs help with the TV, Mom."
"Are you sure, honey? We don't want to stir up a
ny trouble." This isn't really the case, but I let her get away with the white lie. They liked Paul and they were devastated when he died, especially because losing him tore me apart. Not to mention the effect that losing a father has had on the boys. But my parents love Graham and they don't want me to be alone. And never-married Graham is still in town, still doing all the things a son-in-law would do. The idea is comforting, but I know that even if I was ready that it wouldn't be fair to Graham. I'm not interested in going backward.
But you might never guess that from the current situation. I've bought a house a few blocks from the house I grew up in, the house where my parents still live. To get to my brick two-story you drive by the neighborhood pool where I used to spend my summer days sunning in lounge chairs with my girlfriends. You turn right at the corner where I used to catch the school bus. My mother is in the kitchen unpacking for me and my father is in the living room. Even though so many things have changed, I am well aware that I have gone in reverse here. I've moved back because my plans have gone off the rails, because I need the familiarity of this place to get things back together again.
"How's Cassidy?" My mother interrupts my thoughts and I realize I've been holding the same glass for far too long. The unpacking isn't going very efficiently—one of the reasons she and my father are spending many of their afternoons here at my house.
I lean to put the glass away in the cupboard. "Cassie? She's fine." I don't know why I feel like a sneaky teenager. "She's a responsible grown up now, Mom," I joke, but that does little to change the pinched expression on my mother's face. Once you cross Fran she puts you on the shit list forever.
"Just remember, Cassie isn't a mother. She might not be the best friend for you to rely on right now, that's all. Don't you have any old friends who are more settled?"
Now it's my turn to make a pinched face. "Cassie doesn't need to be married with a house full of kids to be able to be a good friend." I unwrap another glass and crumple the empty paper in my hand. "She's got a successful career and takes care of herself."
Fight For It Page 2