Two Weeks

by Andrea Wolfe

  "I guess that's kind of true," I say, trying to remain composed. I press my head hard against the cushioned deck chair behind me. The sun is setting, and given the fact that it's summer, that means it's probably around nine.

  "What do you have to lose?" she asks. "You're too young to settle down. I know you thought you were ready, but hell, how many serious boyfriends have you actually had?" She takes a casual sip of her wine. "People change as they get older. They change all the time, really. Some people are better at dealing with that than others. Max clearly sucks at it."

  Liz is beating at all of the defenses I've built up during my time with Max. I'm suddenly filled with an aching confusion I don't quite understand, almost a feeling of wanderlust.

  I wonder if I was just settling for Max the whole time or if we actually had something.

  Liz seems to be watching me in amusement. Or maybe it's bemusement.

  The more I think about it, the more I feel like I wouldn't have the time to find someone else, not with my busy lifestyle. And it's clear that if I stick with this job, I'll be set for life. I'm already making a great salary, and if I get another promotion—which is very likely in a couple of years—I'll be making even better money. My insurance is good, my retirement plan is good.

  In the grand scheme of things, the next step is definitely settling down—but now it isn't even an option.

  "What if he says no?" I ask. "I'm just going to get too attached to him or something and it's gonna kill me when I leave."

  Liz runs a hand through her strawberry blonde hair and smiles. She's always been incredibly cute, and the sunset behind her head seriously complements her looks. "Those are just the risks you have to take." She finishes off her glass of wine. "Look, I know you probably think I'm all free love and all that bullshit because of how I was raised, and while it's kind of true, I'm still just looking for the right guy like anybody else. I'm just a little more... open about it." She chuckles quietly to herself.

  "No, no," I say. "I wasn't thinking that. And my method wasn't working either." I shrug. "I did all I could to make that guy happy, and look where it got me."

  "Well, you did all of that because you were in a relationship. The point of a rebound is just to have a good time with someone—without all of the seriousness." She gives me an evil smile. "And there won't be any awkwardness with his family."

  "You're terrible!" I snap.

  "I'm also drunk," she retorts.

  "You can only blame so much on the alcohol. Maybe you're mean too," I say jokingly.

  Liz stretches out her legs and uses the table with her empty glass as an ottoman. "No, that was a bit harsh, I'm sorry."

  I take a sip of my wine. "Damn right you'd better be sorry."

  She smiles. "What the hell are you gonna do in Boston right now, Ally? You don't want to see Max, but he's going to try to talk to you. Your best friend is pregnant and the dad is your now ex-boyfriend. Boston sucks right now. So does Red Lake, but I know you'll appreciate having your family around instead of just co-workers." Liz pauses to stretch out her arms before continuing.

  I fall momentarily pensive, digesting her words in silence, just as I do the beautiful summer night. It's strange to me that I'm not reeling from what happened with Max, but I realize that I don't want to shed any tears for that asshole. Still, the numbness is unusual.

  "And I'm pretty drunk," Liz reminds me again. "I'm sorry if I sound like a crazy person. You can tell me to shut up if you'd like."

  I skip right by her remarks as if she never said anything at all. "It's so weird that I'm not in more pain about this," I say softly. "I guess it's because it's so huge that I can barely comprehend it. It doesn't even feel like a real thing." Liz says nothing, aware that I'm just spilling my emotional guts. "I've got a boyfriend one day, and the next, he's knocked up my best friend and they're staying together for the kid. I wonder if I'll get invited to the wedding."

  "What the hell are they gonna tell that kid when it asks how they met?"

  A huge laugh escapes from my belly and floods my body with positivity. "I have no fucking clue. I can only assume it won't be honest."

  I'm suddenly really grateful for the fact that I'm in Red Lake. I'm grateful for the fact that I'm actually talking to someone about this. I'm grateful that when I go home, my parents will still be there waiting for me—and they'll love me no matter what.

  We wrap up our conversation—I also guzzle several glasses of water to help me sober up—and I hug Liz goodbye. I vow to keep in better contact with her in the future. I'm thrilled that we could pick up where we left off so seamlessly, so effortlessly it felt like we were never apart at all.

  I cautiously drive home and consider my options.

  6

  Jackson

  I wake up lonely with a headache. Well, also a heartache. I've missed an opportunity. A door has closed, so I'm back to my usual routine. It's disheartening, but it's also real. It's reality and I can't do shit about it.

  It's clear to me that I never should have allowed my emotions to run out of control like they have with Ally, especially given the fact that we only hung out one time! It's dumb. This sort of behavior would definitely make me lose in the ring.

  I drink a quick protein shake with a side of aspirin and hit the trail. The whole time, I'm checking all around me, hoping to run into Ally before she leaves.

  But I don't see her, no matter where I look. I want to see that beautiful face and incredible body creeping up behind me. I want her to pounce on me and send me tumbling into the grass. And then I'll kiss her and stroke her hair and...

  Get your head on straight.

  It's clear that she's not here and she's not gonna be. I want to smack some sense into myself, but somehow I keep my hand under control.

  I do my usual route and then I head into the garage. It's going to be hot today, so I turn on the air conditioner to get the temperature under control before it peaks. I wrap up my hands and start punching at the bag, circling it, overwhelming it the best I can. I want to intimidate it, even though it's an inanimate object.

  I'm mad at the bag.

  I punch until I'm out of breath, and then I douse myself with my water bottle instead of drinking it. The air conditioner is struggling to keep up with the day, and sweat is beading all over my body, dripping onto the mat. Maybe I need to replace it soon.

  I decide to take a break and make myself some eggs. I scramble six of them and gobble them down like nothing. I pace around the living room, trying to decide what to do next. Usually my days are so regimented, but today, I'm feeling totally lost. I feel like I've been on vacation for a full year and I've finally arrived home to get back to work.

  I've forgotten my schedule, forgotten my routines. I walk into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. I smack my cheek and splash my face with water.

  "Snap out of it!" I shout. I feel infantile and weak. But I also feel alive in a way I've never experienced before. And that knowledge—paired with the knowledge that it can't go on, of course—makes me squirm.

  I hurry back into the garage. I have to beat this thing, whatever it is. I have to beat it senseless. I'll lift some weights and burn off some more energy. Yeah, that's what I'll do.

  I open the sliding door of the house and sprint toward the garage. I'm on fire. I have to force myself to do this or I'm going to go crazy. I need to break this whole cycle of—

  "Hey!" I hear from down the driveway. There's a blue Ford Focus sitting there in the driveway, presumably a rental car based on the weird looking plates and tiny Enterprise logo on the side. "Jackson!"

  I stop running, but the momentum keeps me going. I stumble, but manage not to fall, coming to a very abrupt stop. I run into an invisible wall. I squint because the sun is so bright I swear I've gone blind.

  It's Ally. She's come to say goodbye, that's what this is. She's on her way out of town and just decided to make a quick stop here. I can't get my hopes up, so I take a deep breath and wave back to h
er.

  "Hey," I say. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "It's so hot today, huh?" she says, rubbing her brow—and ignoring my question. "Is there air conditioning in the garage?"

  "Wait, what?" I'm confused. I lift my head and take a better look of her.

  "I'm going to stay in Red Lake for a while," she says. "I want to spar or workout or whatever it is you said. So I came back."

  I smile uncontrollably and try to suppress how vulnerable I feel. "You're staying... here?" She's in workout clothes again and I feel dumb.

  Yeah, like she's going to the airport in a sports bra and shorts.

  She shrugs, and it's so cute that it hurts. "I decided to cash in my vacation days and stick around here. Just see what happens. Not sure I'm ready to go back to Boston just yet. And my boss okayed it, so I might as well take advantage. I'll still have my job waiting for me."

  "Good choice," I say, realizing that all of my misery is evaporating right here and now, like the sweat off my forehead. It's a great feeling. "How long are you gonna stay?"

  "Like two weeks," she says. "I was hoping maybe you'd want to hangout and stuff since I've really only got my parents here after Liz leaves today."

  I realize very quickly how perfect this is. I've got a limited amount of time with her, but an extension nevertheless. I'll take advantage while she's here, and then go back to normal when she's gone. I won't let myself get too carried away.

  I'll keep myself under control—well, if I can.

  "That's awesome," I say, trying to contain the giddiness in my voice. "Yeah, of course we can hang out. C'mon, let's go in the garage."

  "Is my car okay here?" she asks.

  "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

  She follows me into the garage and I close the door behind her. The air conditioning feels good, especially after conversing in the yard.

  "It's really cool in here," she says.

  "Cool?" I ask. "From the air conditioning? I was thinking about replacing it because—"

  Ally laughs. "No, like awesome. It's like a real gym. You should be proud."

  I laugh. "Well, that was definitely my intention. Not many options around here for training the way I do. Kind of like a full-time job."

  "Have you ever thought about renting this place out? Or charging people to use it?"

  "This is my temple," I say. "Only chosen people are allowed in here."

  She cocks an eyebrow. "Wow, so I'm a chosen one, huh?"

  I smile at her. "Right." I grab two sets of boxing gloves from the shelf in the corner and toss a pair to her. "We can start with these, but don't put them on yet. Have you ever boxed?"

  "No," she says. "I've done Wii Boxing, though. Does that count?"

  I shake my head firmly. "No, it doesn't. It's a bit different than that."

  "Well, take it easy on me. My dad won't be very happy if he sees me with a black eye." She lifts her arms in front of her face as if she's pretending to block an invisible punch.

  I grin and approach her. "You're ridiculous. No black eyes, I promise."

  I start with a warm up and I tell her to follow along. We warm up our joints together, moving them in tiny circles. I go through all of the major groups, starting with feet, and then hips, then the spine, the neck, shoulders, elbows, and then concluding with our wrists. She's adorable as she goes through the motions with me.

  I can already tell how agile she is just by watching her warm up.

  "Why don't we start with the punching bag, okay? Grab the gloves." I don't want her punching the bag with her bare hands. Not to start, anyway.

  She nods and bends down to pick up the gloves, working them onto her hands one at a time. I unintentionally catch a glimpse of her cleavage and again, I'm blown away. I shake myself out of it and lead her to the punching bag. I don't want to act like a sleaze.

  "So what do you think is the most important part of a jab?" I ask her. I deliver a solid one to the bag and return my arm to a defensive position.

  "Muscles. It's probably those huge muscles of yours," she says snidely.

  I shake my head. "Nope."

  She gives me an incredulous look. "Is this some kind of trick question? You're trying to tell me that your muscles don't contribute to your power? Why do you work out at all then?"

  I roll my eyes. She's playing games with me. "That's not what I meant. Good guess, but wrong. It's the transfer of weight between your feet."

  I do another punch in slow motion, demonstrating how my weight transfers from my back leg to my front as I do a jab. She watches my feet this time, seemingly mesmerized. "Do you see how it kind of bounces from one leg to the other? Try to punch the bag with just your arm."

  She walks over to the bag and gives it a pretty pathetic punch. "It's terrible," she says.

  "Right." I correct her posture with my hands. "Chin down," I say, gently coaxing it to where it needs to be. "And keep your feet a little bit wider than your shoulders." She complies. Finally, I turn her back foot outward, so her feet aren't in a straight line. "This is pretty much right. Now bounce from your back foot to your front and then flow into the jab."

  Ally makes an impressive first effort. It's not perfect, but she takes it slow. "Is that better?" she asks.

  "Much better. But keep your elbows close to your body." I demonstrate once more, this time showing her how my hand turns as I end the punch. "Did you watch my hand?"

  "Yeah," she says and begins trying again. She improves so quickly that I'm kind of shocked. "This is a jab then?" she asks, grunting between each strike. It's so hot watching her beat the shit out of the bag, and I'm delighted—and very distracted. "Jackson?"

  "Yeah," I blurt out. "Really good. No joke."

  I show her how to circle the bag, punching every few steps.

  "When do I get to use my other hand?" she asks.

  "Again, watch my leg. That's where the real power comes from." I do a slow-motion cross punch, demonstrating how my leg bends as my torso turns.

  "All in the leg again, huh?" Ally mimics me, but forgets to turn her arm at the conclusion of the punch. After I mention it, she corrects the motion. I'm so impressed.

  "This is really good exercise, so if you want to make a routine out of it in the future, it's well worth it."

  "I like it. I don't have to worry about breaking the punching bag's nose or anything. Easy way to blow off steam." She concludes her sentence with a series of frenetic punches and I laugh.

  "Do you want to learn more, or do you want to try sparring?"

  She grins at me. "I don't think we're in the same weight class. Teach me more," she demands.

  I shrug and take a step toward the bag. "Okay I want you to combine the two moves you know. Do a jab first, and then follow up with a cross punch. Circle."

  Ally is so fierce as she goes at it. She pounds the hell out the bag and I'm consistently impressed. Either she's a lot stronger than I expected, or she's seriously upset about something and letting it out this way. Her ponytail shakes with the impact of every hit, and her muscles are rock-solid and taut from top to bottom.

  "I think I'm ready to give sparring a shot," she says excitedly. "You'd better watch out, Juggernaut!"

  I smile wryly. "Yeah, right." I pick up the gloves and slide them onto my hands. They're bulkier than my preferred gloves, but I don't want to hurt her when we're playing around. "I think maybe you need a nickname too."

  "Call me the Alligator," she says.

  "Crocodiles are more aggressive, you know," I say. "And you don't want to show any signs of weakness."

  "But that doesn't sound good. 'Ally the Crocodile Moore.' That's awful." She frowns at me and I start laughing.

  "Okay, you're right. You can be the Alligator. Get into your stance, Alligator," I say.

  We go to my designated sparring area. It's equivalent to a regulation size MMA fighting ring, but there are no cages, just lines on the mat. Ally gets into position, raising her arms up defensively. I'm glad to see she paid att
ention to my instruction.

  I go to tap my gloves against hers and she takes it as an open invitation to charge at me and start pounding away. It's clear she doesn't know anything about proper fighting etiquette. She hits me with a flurry of rapid punches, and I'm shocked by her strength. I'm even more surprised that she has any energy left after all the drills she did on the bag.

  Most beginners would have collapsed by now.

  I let her hit me a few times, allowing her to feel like she's winning. I can tell she's riled up, and it excites me in a wholly primal way. She grunts and groans, and the sheer amount of energy she expends is pretty incredible.

  It's probably enough to power all of Red Lake.

  However, if she were fighting with someone less experienced than me, she'd probably actually hurt them. It's a bit disconcerting; I'll have to discuss it with her later. For now, I allow her this uninhibited outlet.

  It's clear that she doesn't think she can actually hurt me and is acting accordingly.

  I block most of the punches, but eventually, I allow her to hit me in the gut. My abs are so strong that I barely notice it, but I pretend that she's really hit me hard. I stumble backward, faking pain. My arms lower and she continues hitting me repeatedly. It's clear that she's just depleting every reserve of strength she has left.

  Ally charges and slams her full weight into my chest. Unsurprisingly, the first thing I notice is her breasts flattening against me. They're so soft and ample, even through the sports bra. She continues punching me, and I pretend to stumble.

  An endless stream of guttural sounds spill from her mouth as she tries to pound me into oblivion. The only thing that sounds like English is the word Max, and it's uttered between every few bits of gibberish.

  I wonder what that's all about.

  Her cheeks are flushed crimson red and it's clear that she's going to blow up or malfunction soon. I swing a gentle jab her way in hopes of diffusing the situation, but she leans in too far and I connect solidly with her belly, an intense, uncomfortable thud.