by Claire Adams
Mason turns his head a little to one side and peers at me, asking, “Why not?”
“I call them dad and mom,” I tell him. “Well, they prefer ‘father’ and ‘mother,’ but you know what I mean.”
“So when you see all those commercials about the one percent that’s destroying the world and everything in, on, and around it, they’re talking about your parents?” he asks.
My mouth comes open and I take in a breath, not sure how to begin to respond to a question like that.
“I’m not…” I stammer. “That’s not…”
“Whoa,” he says, putting his palms up toward me, “I was just messing with you. So, you’re a rich girl, huh?”
“My parents are rich,” I tell him. “I’m going to college and studying to be a nurse.”
“On your parents’ dime?” he asks.
“I don’t think that’s relevant to—” I start.
He puts his hands up again, saying, “Another joke.” He says, “I’m sorry, this is bringing out the comedian in me.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” I tell him. “They’re not in my life that much anymore.”
“It wouldn’t be a problem if they were,” he says. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m done with the walls and all that.”
I’m not used to this kind of forthrightness. I almost don’t know what to say.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I’m glad it wasn’t the other thing.”
“Oh hell no,” he says. “You’re way too high on the sexability scale to break up with like that.”
I half-scoff, half laugh. “Charming,” I smirk.
“You wanna go out and do something?” he asks. “Or, if you want, we can stay in. I don’t think we have to worry about getting interrupted.”
“Let’s stay in,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll make us some dinner.”
“Hey, Mason?” I say.
“Yeah?” he answers.
“I’m in, too,” I tell him. “Should we make this an official thing?”
“That’s kind of what I was hoping for,” he says.
We’re still different and some elements of his past and present continue to make me a little nervous about what may be to come, but I feel better having talked to him. Whatever that means.
What it means for the two of us right now is that we’re going to have dinner together and we’re going to talk and we’re going to stop worrying about all the whys and why nots.
That sounds pretty good to me.
Chapter Nine
Spoons
Mason
The first night of the championship and I don’t know where my newly-official girlfriend is, apart from the fact that she’s not here.
This isn’t her scene, and I get that. I really do. Still, I’d kind of hoped the tournament aspect might catch her interest.
No time to think about that, though, as it looks like my fight’s about to start.
The two guys in the ring are superheavyweights. They’re actually the only two in that weight class who I’ve ever seen show up.
The one with his hair up in a man bun is local and, at about three hundred pounds, I think he first came here in hopes he could stay the only super in the group and never have to actually jump in the ring.
A few months later, the one with the bald head and the Dick Cheney look of contempt showed up. He’s from out of town and he’s pretty solid at his game.
Man bun doesn’t stand a chance.
Soon enough, angry bald guy wins the fight to the boos of the local crowd and Logan pats me hard on my bare back, saying, “All right, do you know anything about this guy?”
“I was hoping you did,” I tell him.
“Well, they wouldn’t have put him in the match if he wasn’t tough,” Logan says uselessly.
“If you’re not going to offer any decent advice, would you mind leaving me alone so I can get my head in the game?” I ask.
He pats me on the back again, hard enough that the sting pulls me out of my thoughts a moment while I consider slapping Logan right here in front of everyone.
Mitch, the only guy here who actually wanted to announce the bouts, walks to the center of the group while they drag man bun out to wallow in his shame.
“Next up,” Mitch calls out above the volume of the crowd, “we’ve got two guys in the featherweight division.”
I don’t know if he says anything more than that or not. I don’t know if he says my name, but when he points to me, I raise my hand. When he points to the other guy, he raises his hand.
We’re touching gloves now, and I try to catch him off-guard with a quick right, but he dodges it.
He counters with a knee meant for my gut that I manage to block with my forearms, and I kick his stationary leg. His foot comes down and he quickly catches any balance he may have lost.
The guy’s not bad, but he’s leaving himself open.
I shin kick his right leg again, aiming for the same spot, but he moves and the blow is deflected up his leg.
He’s a striker. I like that.
I can do the Greco-Roman wrestling thing and jiu-jitsu, but I’m much more comfortable on my feet.
He tries giving me a straight punch to the sternum, but I turn and counter with a hard left to the side of his face. If he’s dazed, though, he’s not showing it.
I step back, keeping my feet moving. I can hit him, but he’s got good stamina and a strong jaw. If he can get me to wear myself out before I can knock him out, he might just win this thing.
He comes at me with a flying knee, but it’s mostly for show and I easily sidestep the strike.
I give him a hard knee to the gut and he doubles over just enough for me to land a solid right uppercut to his jaw, snapping his head back.
He’s unsteady now on his feet and I’ve got this if I just stay smart and don’t let him dictate the pace.
I throw a halfhearted left hook and he takes the bait, leaning in to strike me from the other side, but I duck the blow and hit him right in the mouth with a right.
He stumbles, landing on his knee at one point, but he’s back up and his face is a deep red, his eyes narrow, focused.
He throws a left and a quick right in succession, and then comes at me with a calf kick that I move right into, expecting him to go from the other side.
My leg comes a little off the ground, but I bring it back down just as quickly, using it as my pivot and my other leg comes up and around, cracking him against the side of the head and he’s down.
I’m on top of him, throwing blows, but the ref stops the fight.
It’s not cockiness that has me laughing as I get to my feet and the ref lifts my hand in the air. It’s the pure love of adrenaline that comes from knowing I just kicked the living crap out of this guy.
Three to go.
I’m almost expecting some beautiful scene like you’d see in a Hollywood sports movie where everyone comes in and lifts me onto their shoulders in a celebration of mirth, but if anything, they just want me to get the hell out of the ring so the next fight can get started.
I make my way back into the crowd and wave at Tom as he checks on the other guy.
I’m not going to need his services tonight. The guy barely touched me.
I take another look at the crowd, hoping to see Ash off standing in some corner away from everything, but she’s not here.
That’s okay. She may not love this part of my life and she may never want to come to another match, but at least she hasn’t tried to tell me I can’t do it.
That would be a problem.
I grab my new bag and slip out the front to get some of the cool night air and D gives me a knuckle bump when he sees I don’t have a scratch.
“Didn’t even touch ya, huh?” he asks.
“I don’t even remember,” I smirk.
“So either you did really well or he knocked you stupid,” D laughs.
“I’ll let you know when I find out,” I tell him.<
br />
Tonight, we’re holding the matches in what I think used to be a TV repair shop. Whatever it used to be, it’s empty now. Well, except for the large crowd of men and women shouting for each other’s blood.
I was a little nervous about the location, being as it’s right in the middle of town, but there’s no one on this block. Everything’s commercial and everything’s been closed for hours.
My phone rings in my duffel bag, which I set down and unzip.
It’s Ash.
“Hey beautiful,” I answer. “I didn’t see you at the fight.”
“Is it over?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “You wouldn’t believe it, I totally—”
“Are you going to need a ride to the hospital?” she asks. “Or is this going to be something I can swing on my own?”
“I’m almost completely untouched,” I tell her. “I might get a couple of bruises over the next couple of days, but even those should be pretty minimal.”
“You did well, then?” she asks.
“Yep,” I tell her. “I got in there, and—”
“You wanna come over?” she asks. “I can take a look at you, make sure you don’t have any internal bleeding or anything like that.”
“You can do that without equipment?” I ask.
“I can see the signs,” she says. “I never said I’d be able to do anything about it.”
“Well,” I laugh, “that’s a good start anyway. I’ll be over in about half an hour.”
“You can shower here,” she says. “Starbright and her progeny are out collecting mushrooms in some campground outside town and we’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“All right,” I tell her. “I didn’t drive here, so it’ll be a few, but I’ll be over soon.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice finally starting to brighten. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
I hang up and put the phone back in my bag.
Walking back toward the entrance, I ask Big D how I look.
“Walking around in nothing but fight trunks,” he says. “I’d say you look like a damn fool.”
“I wouldn’t frighten the townspeople or anything as long as I put on some normal clothes, though, right?” I ask.
“I suppose,” he says and looks back to the front.
“Something on your mind, D?” I ask.
“Ah,” he groans. “Just female problems,” he says. “You ever been with a girl that thinks you got eyes for everyone else? I’m tellin’ you, girl would think I got a thing for my moms if she wasn’t dead.”
“That sounds miserable,” I tell him. “I’d dump her.”
“Yeah…” he says, his pitch rising as he cringes at the thought.
“I’m telling you, D,” I say, “keep going for the ones you think might kill you in your sleep and you just might wake up one morning to find yourself dead.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his sports jacket and pulls out his cellphone. He barely looks at the device as he unlocks it, and he turns the phone so I can see.
The background is a picture of a gorgeous woman with smooth chocolate skin, pouty lips and other… sizeable assets.
“I get it,” I tell him. “A woman like that tells you she’s a serial killer and you get tempted to help her get rid of the bodies, but if you’re having these kinds of problems in your relationship now, you can only expect them to get worse.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I guess. Why does she have to be so fine, though?”
I laugh and give him a facetious pat on the shoulder. “I know, bud,” I tell him. “I know.”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy feeling like the guy who’s gotten it all figured out, even if I am, in reality, more in an entry-level position than anything. Still, D seems to appreciate the advice.
At least, that’s what I think he’s trying to convey as he stares past me again, his phone already back in his pocket. It can be hard to tell with D sometimes.
I grab my stuff and go through the front door of the building and find a corner where I can get changed into more normal attire without too much interference. After that, the strap of the bag slung over my shoulder, I leave the building and start walking toward Ash’s.
It’s about a mile, maybe a little more, to Ash’s house, and I’m feeling the post-fight exhaustion setting in. Even the shortest fights will take it out of you, and the walk probably didn’t help, but I’m here.
I get to the apartment door and I ring the bell.
The door opens and Ash ushers me inside the door, stopping me just inside as she closes the door behind me and picks up a flashlight.
“How many hits to the head did you take?” she asks.
“None,” I tell her.
“I’m being serious,” she says, shining the flashlight in my eyes.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I ask as I’m now effectively blind in both eyes.
“Of course I know what I’m doing,” she says. “I just haven’t had a lot of practice yet, that’s all. Any dizziness, nausea?”
“Ash,” I say, smiling and lightly grabbing her hands, “he got one good kick to the leg and I blocked or dodged everything else. I’m fine.”
“Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath and blowing it out. “What do you want to do tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “It’s been a while since we’ve had your place to ourselves.”
“Yeah,” she says, coming a little closer and taking a sniff, “I think you should shower before we do anything else.”
“All right,” I laugh. “Care to join me?”
She smiles, but shakes her head. “I’ll get a movie set up,” she says. “You look pretty tired.”
“That sounds perfect,” I tell her.
I set my bag down and head to the bathroom while Ash looks over her movie collection.
The shower is nice, relaxing, but by the time I get out, I can barely keep my eyes open.
I dry myself and get dressed, “borrowing” a bit of Ash’s deodorant as I didn’t bother to pack any in my bag before I left for the fight, and I shuffle my way back to the living room.
Ash is sitting back on the couch with a large bowl of buttered popcorn and I sit next to her, leaning all the way back and letting gravity and the couch beneath me do the work of holding me upright.
“Feel better?” she asks, but I’m halfway to sleep.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Never mind,” she says. “Just sit back and I’ll get the movie going.”
That’s about the last thing I remember before losing the battle against sleep.
* * *
When my eyes open again, they’re greeted with another pair about an inch away from my face.
“I think he’s awake,” the strange woman in front of me calls out loudly. “Have you been travelling the realms?” she asks.
Despite her unnerving proximity, I still have to ask, “Are you talking to me?”
The woman stands up straight and says, “You need more kale in your diet. It’ll help you stay sharp in the morning.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell her.
I take a quick glance around, finding Jana standing over the sink, pouring herself a glass of water. Ash isn’t in the room.
“Where’s Ash?” I ask.
“Such a silly name for a beautiful young goddess, don’t you think?” the woman who can only be Starbright asks.
From Ash’s descriptions of Jana’s mother, I was expecting paisley and peace signs, but the only outward indication of Starbright’s eccentricity is the vivid purple and pink hair.
“She had to run to the store,” Starbright says. “We were out of hummus.”
“I love hummus,” I say, not knowing how else to respond.
“Great,” she says. “You should stick around. Have you ever had your palms read?”
I rub my eyes.
“No,” I answer.
“Well, I charge twenty for a full read
ing, ten for an overview, but since you’re practically family, I think I could cut you a discount if you’d like.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I tell her, making my way to my feet, hoping it’s not too obvious how uncomfortable I am right now.
“All right,” Starbright says, “full price, then. I do appreciate those who appreciate things,” she says and she’s staring at me as if she’s looking for some sort of approval.
“Me too,” I say, slowly making my way toward my bag and then, or so the plan goes, the door.
Jana’s mom seems nice enough, but she’s a little intense for my tastes. She’s just glaring at me.
“When was the last time you had your aura cleansed?” she asks.
“Mom,” Jana calls, “Ash made you promise not to do that in the apartment anymore after you spilled your frankincense all over the couch and burned holes in the cushions.”
“Oh, I’m not going to use the frankincense,” Starbright says. “I’m going to use sandalwood.”
“It’s not going to matter,” Jana warns, but seems resigned that her mom’s not going to listen to her.
“Really,” I tell Starbright, “I’m fine.”
“Have you ever studied demonology?” she asks, and I can’t begin to describe my relief when I hear the key entering the front door lock.
The door opens and Ash walks in, carrying five large grocery bags in her hands, saying, “Would you guys mind helping me bring the rest of this stuff in? There are like ten more bags out there.”
“I thought you were just going to the store to get hummus,” I say as I almost rush to Ash and throw my arms around her, causing her to drop a couple of the bags.
“Everything all right?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “You’re back, just don’t leave me alone with that woman again. She’s asking me if I’m into demons.”
“Demonology, actually,” Starbright corrects.
The woman has spectacular hearing.
“What’s the difference?” Jana asks.
“What time is it?” I mouth to Ash.
“Three,” she mouths back.
“Well,” Starbright says behind me, “demonology is the study of demons, rituals associated with them, how to banish and exorcise them—it’s a complete field of study.”