“Pull it up.”
He grins and reaches in his pocket. In a minute, his phone is in front of my face with YouTube open. I make out the interior of Shenanigan’s. The video starts playing. I’m jerking the first guy through the air. The camera is on me and then hits the guy just as he lands in the middle of the table.
I’ve seen myself in a number of videos before, but it’s always been wrestling bouts that I’ve had to watch to see where I lacked or where I fucked up. I’ve never seen myself in a street fight. Now I know why people don’t fuck with me after they see this.
The camera gets closer as my elbow strikes the second guy across his mouth. You can hear muffled voices whispering back and forth as his teeth go bouncing down the bar.
“Did you see that?” Will asks, pointing at the screen.
“It was even better first hand.”
“That thing is everywhere. Literally on every MMA forum, social media, the whole thing, man. I know you’re dealing with serious shit right now, but you’re kinda fucking famous again. Google yourself.”
“It’ll just bring up Minnesota shit,” I say, starting to hand his phone back to him. I do not need a reminder of what used to be, what could’ve been. I’m acutely aware.
“Nah, it won’t.” He takes the phone away from me and pulls something up. He hands it back. A ton of search results come back, but instead of the University of Minnesota after the top results, it says, “Crew Gentry: This Guy Beat Hunter Davidson.”
“You’re a legend,” Will says. “But that hip toss shit was a little sloppy.”
“What the fuck do you know about anything?” I laugh.
“Dude. I watch Ronda Rousey videos.”
“Oh, I bet you do.”
“I do. It’s my way of multi-tasking. Porn and fighting in one.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I laugh. “She’d kick your ass.”
“It’d be a real hard fight when I’d throw myself to the mat and say, ‘Mount me, baby.’”
I laugh, handing him his phone back.
Will shrugs. “So, what are we gonna do tonight? Want to head to Shenanigans?”
“I’m gonna grab a shower and then probably just try to go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
He stands and stretches his arms over his head. “All right. I’m outta here then.” He walks to the door and pulls it open. “If you need me, call me. Otherwise, I’ll probably be with this little redhead I met a little while ago.”
“Do I know her?”
“Nope. But she’s totally my type,” he grins.
“Doesn’t having a pussy make them your type?”
“You know my type: a little bit of sugar, a little bit of spice, and a hint of whore.”
“Have fun,” I say, shaking my head.
He laughs and closes the door behind him.
JULIA
I loathe waiting rooms.
They’re inhumane boxes of random people expecting bad news. You just eye each other but try not to make actual eye contact. You hear each other on the phone, crying, talking but try to act like you don’t hear any of it. You are all in there for some serious reason, maybe even life or death, and you have to maintain some sort of composure because if you totally break down, there are a bunch of strangers there that ‘won’t’ be watching or hearing it.
I dig a notepad from my purse and try to keep my mind from going into a spiral.
I need to control what I can.
A theme of my life is feeling out of control, like the world spins and I’m always trying to catch up. I’ve battled that for a long time by taking care of the things that I can. Sometimes it’s having the laundry done or the kitchen clean before bed, but those things allow me to feel a bit like I have some sort of say in my life. Like Olivia said last night, I have to control what I can and let the other things go.
“Just think about it, Julia.”
“Olivia, I can’t do that to you. You do so much for us. I can’t move in with you!”
“Yes, you can. You need to realize how hard things are going to be and you’re going to need help.”
“I know, but I—”
“It’s okay to take help. Especially now. You aren’t going to be able to work as much as you did and by living here, we can share the bills. I can take some of that responsibility off of you.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I do. You can’t do this on your own.”
It felt like I was giving up, admitting defeat. But when I realized how many shifts of work I was going to miss and how much attention Ever was going to need, I realized I had to get real. Crew was right. I had to pick and choose my battles and cancer had already chosen me. War had been declared and I had to put all my resources towards it, even if that meant giving up a little pride.
I start making lists of hours I might be able to go into the office and hours I might be able to swing at Ficht’s based on the “cycles” the doctors have laid out. She’ll do a one week on and two weeks off rotation until we get her into the new therapy. While we want to hit it hard, we also need her body to stay strong and not completely wear down from the treatment.
I grab a sip of the water bottle next to me and then start another list. This list covers things I need to get rid of before we move. I try to look at it objectively and not get as emotional about it as I did when I did this very same thing after Gage died and we moved into the apartment.
They’re just things. Things can be replaced.
It doesn’t make it any easier. Some of these things are the last reminders of a life before things went bad in ways I’d never considered.
My purse shakes on the floor beside me, my phone ringing inside. I grab it and look at the screen. The number seems vaguely familiar and I think it’s Mr. Ficht.
“Hello?”
“Julia?”
I cup my hand over my forehead and squeeze my eyes tight. I consider just hanging up before anything else is said. I don’t know why she’s calling, but I know she’s going to want something. Although I normally have very little to offer her, I have even less now.
“Julia? It’s your Ma.”
“Yeah?”
She snorts. “Well, don’t act so damn excited to hear from me.”
For a half a second, I wish for a normal relationship with my mother. I wish I could ask her to come sit with me, talk to me, distract me . . . maybe bring me a coffee that hasn’t sat in the pot all day.
“You still there?” She sounds annoyed and instead of making me angry, it just depresses me. It makes me feel lonelier.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I need a favor.”
I look around the room as a doctor in a white lab coat comes in. He glances around, a blank look on his face, and makes eye contact with me for just a second. It causes my heart to nearly stop beating.
He announces, “Parker,” and a family that’s been crying all day stands and follows him out. I can’t help the relief that washes over me and I feel guilty for being happy that it was them and not me.
“Julia! I need a favor,” she repeats with an exaggerated sigh.
“I’m kinda busy.”
“Aren’t we all.”
God, if you let this be okay, I promise to never complain about being busy again. I won’t complain about laundry or dishes or having to work two jobs. I get it now. I swear. All that matters is that Everleigh gets well. Please. If this is a lesson, I’ve got it loud and clear.
“It’s just ‘til next weekend,” she rambles. “Your daddy is going to Atlantic City with some buddies and we need just a few dollars to get there.”
“I—”
“I promise we’ll give it back to you . . .” She goes on, her smoker’s voice crackling at the end of every word.
The door opens again and my eyes find Crew’s immediately. He watches me nervously as he makes his way over.
A wave of relief washes through me and I can’t focus on anything my mom’s saying. All I can do is watch Crew walk
across the room towards me. I didn’t know he was coming. I didn’t expect him to come, but I can’t deny the gratefulness I feel seeing him.
“Julia! Are you even paying attention to me?”
“Yes, Ma. I hear you. But I don’t have it. I’m sorry.”
“We’ll pay you back. He’s gonna gamble a bit while he’s there and you know how good he is at Hold ‘Em.”
“I just don’t have the money, Ma. I’m kinda going through a lot right now—”
The phone is snatched out of my hands in an instant. I gasp and whip my head to face him.
“Don’t you ever call her and ask her for anything again, do you hear me?” Crew’s eyes are burning holes into mine as he holds the phone to his ear. Heads turn to face us from around the room and I feel my cheeks heat.
I hear her spout off before Crew speaks again. “I don’t give a shit. Call her again and I’ll be knockin’ the fuckin’ door down to your house.” He listens for a minute and laughs, a growl emitting from the bottom of his throat. “Send him over. 1112 Culver Street. It’d make my fuckin’ day.”
He pulls the phone back and looks at the screen. The call was ended. He hands it to me, the vein in his temple throbbing.
“She calls you again, you tell me,” he orders. The blues of his eyes are rolling and clouding like a storm.
“It’s my ma, Crew.”
“She’s not your ma, Jules. She’s never done one decent thing for you.”
“What brings you by?” I ask, hoping he’ll let it go.
“I work the night shift tonight, so I wanted to drop by now and see how things were going.”
“They’re just doing a final set of tests and then they’re going to get everything set up for the first round of chemo. I think it starts on Monday.” I sigh, the weight of the world on my shoulders. “We should be able to go home tonight.”
He nods and I know he’s thinking. He glares at the onlookers until they look away. Finally he says, “I got a call today.”
“Who from?”
“The office manager of your apartment. They said I could either come by next week and pick up the security deposit I made for you when you moved in or they could mail it to me.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Since you’re moving and all.”
I sag.
“Where ya goin’?” His tone is too calm. I know there’s a burst of anger floating right behind the words.
I was going to tell him about the move, but I hadn’t gotten around to it. It was a last minute decision and, quite frankly, he’s not on the top of my priority list.
“You were right,” I say, sadly. “I have to stop fighting everything. I have no idea what I’m facing right now but I was struggling to make it before all this happened.” I hate admitting this out loud, to him, of all people. “I’m so far behind as it is and things are going to get worse. I just have to consolidate everything and try not to drown. So, we’re moving in with Olivia.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s trying to keep himself in check. He cracks his knuckles, his elbows on his denim-covered legs. His vision is focused on something across the room as he listens to me.
“She volunteered last night and I . . . I don’t want to. It feels like I’m losing every battle in my life, Crew. But what can I do? I can barely afford to survive at this point and the best I’m gonna be able to do is work at Ficht’s and the office when I can just so they keep me employed and I—”
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Stop rambling.”
“Rambling? If you don’t want to hear what I have to say, don’t ask!”
His jaw pulses as he studies me. He searches my face and starts to bring a hand up, but drops it back to his lap. “You’re moving in with me.”
“What?”
I know my mouth is sitting agape, but I can’t help it. I can’t believe he just said that. Of all the reactions I might have anticipated, that was not one of them.
“You and Ever are moving in with me,” he repeats. “Jules, I’m done playing games with ya. You two aren’t moving in with some neighbor lady when I’m here. No fucking way.”
“She’s not just ‘some neighbor.’ Olivia has been a blessing to me.”
“She’s good to ya. I know. But we are family.”
I scoff. “No, you and Everleigh are family. We,” I say, motioning between us, “are not.”
“Semantics.” His gaze narrows. “Look, if it makes you feel better, then fine. Let me do this for my family. Let me do this for Everleigh and Gage. Let me do what’s right by them, Julia. All it’ll do is help you out in the long run.”
“Crew . . .” I start to argue with him, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes me want to hear him out.
“I’ve pretty much done wrong by everyone in my life. I know this. I know you don’t trust me and you have every right not to.” The shadows across his face darken, his voice lowers. “But give me a chance to make some things right. Give me a chance to do something I’m proud of, for once.” He smiles to himself. “Give me a chance to man up.”
My heart twists in my chest. I’ve not heard Crew talk like this in a long time. I’m reminded back many years ago, before he left to wrestle. Everyone would come up to him to hear about his fights and exploits around town. But late at night we’d lay in bed and he’d tell me different stories. They would be stripped down, without the fanfare, and sometimes he’d question whether he should’ve done it or not. I could see that he wasn’t just the bad boy everyone thought. I spent a lot of time wondering why he acted out like he did when he was so clearly more down deep.
I thought this Crew was long gone.
“You and me, we don’t have anybody else,” he says. His eyes soften and he smiles sadly. “I’m not asking ya to be nice to me. I’m not asking ya to trust me. I’m not asking ya to like me or to not give me shit.”
His smile brightens a bit and I can’t help but grin back.
“Good. Because that’ll never happen anyway,” I laugh.
“I’m also not asking ya to move in with me. I’m telling ya that’s what’s gonna happen.”
Maybe it’s because he seems so genuine. Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted. Or maybe the antiseptic odor of the hospital has demolished too many of my brain cells. But whatever the reason, I don’t argue. But I don’t agree, either.
It’s probably another mistake on my part, but it can just be chalked up with the rest of them.
JULIA
The afternoon light pours in the windows. The bank is bustling, patrons going in and out, men sitting behind large desks laughing loudly from the offices lining the walls.
I drag my phone out of my purse and send a text to Olivia. I hate being away from Ever, but I have to do this and I need to know she’s okay. Her response is immediate:
Olivia: She’s coloring and watching cartoons. Everything’s fine.
If only.
My hands shake as a man announces my name from a door way. I drop the phone into my bag and stand, smoothing my shirt. I try to smile back at him, but I’m sure it’s a grimace.
I follow him through the door and down a long hallway. Each step gives me another moment to re-think my decision. I fight the urge to run from the building and jump in my car. I want to leave, I desperately want to leave. But I know the solution to a few of my problems is here and I have to go through with this.
I sign a book while he unlocks a large, steel door. Once inside, I sign another book and show him my ID.
“Once you’re finished, just press this button,” he says, pointing at the wall, “and someone will escort you out.”
I nod and thank him. He leaves, letting the door shut tightly behind him.
The room is large with steel boxes lining three of the four walls. I’ve only been in this room once and today I’m just here to re-do why I was here the first time.
It smells cold and I shiver, probably more from nerves than from the actua
l temperature. Letting the stagnant air fill my lungs, I walk around the table in the center of the room and find box 7285.
Slipping the key out of my pocket, I unlock the box and pull the drawer out. My hands are trembling, the box shaking, as I remove it from the wall. I sit it on the table behind me and take a step back.
I’ve never really looked inside.
Gage got the safety deposit box soon after we were married. I know our marriage license is in here, as well as a few things of his mother’s that he didn’t want to get lost. But that’s all I know. When I was here the one time before, I just dropped my wedding ring inside and left.
I pull out a chair and sit. I look around the room and wonder if someone is watching me. I’m sure they’re taping this and it feels like I’m being spied on, like someone is privy to such an intimate moment. I want to flip them the bird and have a little meltdown for all of them to see. Strangely, it seems like a cathartic option at the moment.
I don’t want to do this, but I don’t see another choice. Crew was right when he said I have to stop fighting everything. Everleigh is my only priority right now. And as much as this is going to rip me in half, I know Gage would understand. He always said we’d do anything we had to in order to make sure Ever had a better life than we did.
He’d understand.
The lump in my throat that seems to be permanently lodged there starts to burn as my hands make their way to the sides of the box. A baggie is laid on top and I remove it. I open the top and let the contents fall to the table.
A locket that belonged to Gage’s mom reflects the lights above. A couple of old coins roll around before spinning and stopping. There are two old Polaroid-style pictures of Gage and Crew from when they were kids. In one, they are at the beach, probably seven or eight years old, Crew giving Gage bunny ears. In the other, it appears to be Christmas morning and they’re both asleep in the middle of a wrapping-paper mess. They’re adorable, all tousled hair and sweet little faces. They remind me of Everleigh and I press a gentle kiss against them before sitting them aside.
I pull out a couple of concert tickets. Beneath that is a picture from our very first date. My eyes water heavily at the sight of us. I’m looking at him through the corner of my eye and he’s smiling at the camera, his hand protectively around my waist.
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