That Night

by Amy Giles

  Jess

  I have news. News I really can’t send in a text. It’s THAT big.

  I just really wish you were here to talk about it.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t fall.”

  As Mrs. Alvarez’s ancient dining room table wiggles under my weight, I find no comfort or reassurance in her words.

  “Mr. Alvarez and I used to have his entire family over every Thanksgiving. Remember? Our turkey alone used to weigh more than you do. Turn a little.” She manages to say all of this with pins between her lips.

  I glance down at her gray wig, grateful that she offered to alter my dress for me. The tailor I called told me it would be thirty-five dollars for alterations without even seeing the dress or knowing how much work it needed. Thirty-five dollars! I was ready to grab some electrical tape from Enzo’s for a quick, no-fuss, do-it-yourself hem job.

  Strange how I was so turned off by anything prom-related but now . . . now I really am excited to go. I want to do normal teenage things. I crave normal the way I crave salad and apples when I haven’t had a vegetable or fruit in a while. I get prom now. The old-school feeling of really liking someone enough to want to share a rite of passage with them.

  Mrs. Alvarez glances up at me. Her wig is slightly askew today. I want to bend down and straighten it and give her the biggest hug while I’m there.

  “Did you know Lucas came looking for you the day you were in the hospital with your mother? He’s very sweet on you. I can tell.”

  A smile takes a life of its own, ready to split my face in half. Mrs. Alvarez cackles around the pins in her mouth.

  “I know that look!” She proceeds to tell me the story of when she met Mr. Alvarez at a church dance when she was forty years old. It’s a story I’ve heard a million times before. But it’s okay. She’s lonely. So am I.

  “Everyone thought I’d never marry, don’t think I didn’t hear it every time I turned around. I was too picky, I was going to be a spinster, I wasn’t getting any younger . . .” She waves her hand in the air dismissing all those harsh words from decades ago. “And then I met Mr. Alvarez. He was twenty years older than me and already collecting social security. But who cares? I didn’t! It was too late for us to have children. But not too late to fall in love.”

  When she inserts the last pin in the hem, she stands back to admire her handiwork. The smile on her face tells me she’s pleased.

  “Oh, Jessica. You look lovely.” Her hands flutter to her cheeks. “I don’t know why everyone says you look like your father. I see your mother’s delicate cheekbones. Classic beauties, both of you.”

  I step off the table onto the chair. Mrs. Alvarez offers a hand to help me down; I take it to be polite, but if I fall, there’s nothing she can do to stop me. Once I’m back on the ground, her eyes drop to my chest. Her scowl tells me this does not please her.

  “You’re showing too much.”

  I look down at my chest. “It’s fine.”

  She waves her hand in front of her own chest. “Jessica. You have to leave a little something for the imagination!” Reaching over for the straps, she lifts them up. “Let me take these up a bit.”

  I turn around so she can’t see my blush thinking about last night with Lucas when we didn’t leave anything for the imagination.

  She pins the straps in the back.

  When she spins me around again, she looks at my chest with a pleased expression. “Better. You can get dressed now.”

  Mrs. Alvarez’s sewing room has a twin bed and an old Singer sewing machine. I take the dress off, then readjust the pins in the straps to drop them back down a little. I may not have much cleavage, but I also don’t need to look like a seven-year-old at my prom.

  When I’m done, Mrs. Alvarez comes in and hangs the dress back up.

  “Are you going home now?” Her voice is steeped with disapproval. She doesn’t like that I’m staying in the house alone. I love Mrs. Alvarez, but I don’t want to sleep in her sewing room.

  “Not yet. I’m going to try out that support group the doctor told me about. Then I’m going home. I’ll call you when I get back so you don’t worry. Deal?”

  She pats my arm. “All right, then.”

  I reach over and straighten her wig, just a little. Then I throw my arms around her and squeeze.

  When I let go, she cups my chin. “I love you like a granddaughter, Jessica. You’re never alone as long as I’m here. You know that, right?”

  I clear my throat so I don’t cry in front of her. “I know.”

  I do know. But it helps to hear it. More than she can imagine.

  Lucas

  Leo’s walking around the heavy bag as I get my last workout in.

  “Weigh-in’s at eight. Be there on time.”

  I nod, working the bag.

  “Don’t forget the body.” Leo dances around the bag with me. He’s been giving me last-minute pointers since I got here. “Check your bag tonight. Remember your mouthpiece.”

  Panting, I say, “I’ve been having anxiety dreams about that. Showing up and getting my teeth knocked out because I forgot it.”

  “Triple-check your bag, ’kay? Next . . . get some sleep! I have guys who spend the night on the computer looking for tips. Or shadowboxing all night ’cause they’re too jacked up. I’m telling you . . . go to bed! And no messing around with your girl. It drains the fight out of you.”

  “Seriously?” I pant. “I thought that was a myth.”

  “Not a myth. Gimme a round of snapping punches.”

  I nod, lowering my head to the bag for a round of quick jabs. My arms are burning, but I know there’s still more gas in me to keep going.

  “Who’s coming?” he asks.

  “You?”

  “What about your girlfriend?”

  I shake my head. “I’m trying to talk her out of it.”

  He’s quiet for a little bit. “She should come. Some moral support, you know?”

  I keep punching.

  “What about your folks?”

  “I didn’t tell them.”

  He shoves the bag at me. “The fuck not?”

  I dodge the bag. “They don’t need to know,” I argue.

  “Why not? ’Cause they might not let you fight?” he challenges me.

  “I’m eighteen. I don’t need their permission.”

  He simmers silently, breathing through his engorged nostrils like a fire-breathing dragon. “Water. I want you drinking all day today. Then two hours before the match tomorrow you just sip. Same with food. One punch to the gut and you’ll hurl all over the ring.”

  I might hurl even on an empty stomach. Just the thought of entering that ring for the first time makes my stomach clench.

  After the heavy bag, Leo calls Kenny over to meet us in the ring for mitt drills.

  Finally, Honor comes in to spar with me. We strap on our headgear and Leo helps me with my mouthpiece.

  Dancing around the ring with that smug-ass grin of his, Honor taunts me, “Did your girl get a chance to kiss that cute face of yours good-bye?” Honor makes kissy noises. Kenny shuts him up by shoving a mouthpiece in.

  Leo snaps his fingers in front of my face so I have his undivided attention. “Guy you’re fighting is a southpaw. So’s Honor. This is good practice. Let’s go.”

  Honor’s not one to take it easy on me, but I know his moves by now. I have no idea what I’m in for tomorrow.

  I hear Jess’s worried complaint bouncing around in my brain.

  “I don’t get it.”

  As my stomach clenches and swirls with prefight nervous muck, I’m not so sure I get it either.

  Jess

  On my way to pick up my mother.

  Enough said.

  Our reunion at the hospital is far from a fairy-tale mother-and-child reunion.

  As Mom wraps her arms around my neck in a hug, her hospital wristband scratches the skin by my ear. An involuntary shudder runs through my body. I think Mom notices, because she pulls away and looks down a
t the tiled floor, ashamed.

  We don’t speak much on the cab ride home, maybe because I jumped up front with the cabdriver and let Mrs. Alvarez sit in the back with Mom.

  I can’t even look at her, let alone talk to her. What’s there to say? She tried to leave me. Didn’t she think for a second that I lost Dad and Ethan too, that she’s not the only one who’s been hurting all this time? Didn’t it even occur to her how killing herself would mess me up—even more!—for the rest of my life?

  When we pile out of the cab outside our house, Mrs. Alvarez shoos us up our front stoop.

  “I have a roast chicken ready for you. Let me go get it. You go on in.”

  I lead the way, focusing on the steps, my key, the doorknob. Anything to avoid looking at my mother.

  Inside, Mom rubs her arms as if she’s cold, even though the house is warm and stuffy.

  My gaze pans around our house, double-checking to make sure I haven’t left any triggers out in the open. I hid the bills so they wouldn’t be the first thing she saw when she walked in. I scrubbed the toilet and bathroom tiles twice to get rid of any sign of vomit.

  She walks through the living room and turns right toward the bedrooms.

  Here we go. Back to her bed.

  But she stops outside the bathroom and looks inside.

  “I’m sorry, Jess,” she says.

  I’m not sure what exactly she’s apologizing for, but I say, “It’s okay,” anyway.

  Hugging herself, she probes me with her eyes as if she’s trying to see where it hurts. Everywhere, I want to tell her. It hurts everywhere.

  “I didn’t get sick,” she says, so suddenly it feels disjointed from this moment.

  “Huh?”

  “The pills didn’t make me sick. Mrs. Alvarez told me that’s what you thought.”

  She watches me for a second, letting that sink in, I guess.

  “I was lying down in bed after I took them. Across the room, on my vanity, I saw the flower you made me out of yellow duct tape, from when you and Marissa went through that craze where you made everything out of that tape. I had a duct tape wallet. A duct tape bracelet. Remember? You made the flower for me for Mother’s Day.” She pauses, waiting for me to understand. Understand what? “I saw it and . . . I went to the bathroom and made myself throw up.”

  When I still haven’t said anything, her hand flutters to her mouth. Then she gestures to me. “Jess. I made a mistake. I didn’t really want to die. I could never do that to you.”

  It’s enough to make me walk over and hug her. It’s a start.

  Lucas

  I shut the alarm clock five minutes before it goes off.

  Even with Leo’s warning to get some sleep, I had anxiety dreams all night. I showed up to the fight barefoot, hoping no one would notice. Next dream, I couldn’t figure out how to get through the ropes into the ring. The crowd laughed at me as I got all tangled up and landed on my face on the mat.

  Tugging a T-shirt on, I walk over to my desk and flip open my laptop. The file is up from last night.

  March 27 Broke up a fight at school; guy was getting physical with his girlfriend.

  January 18 Gave a homeless guy my sandwich.

  November 7 Helped a woman load a case of water in her car at Key Food.

  August 4 Gave a guy a jump start.

  The list goes on and on. So many random acts of kindness, so many good deeds. But did any one of them really make a difference? Is the world a better place now because of them? Am I a better person for breaking up a fight at school or feeding a stray cat? Better than the person I was before that night?

  I keep searching for meaning, a reason why my brother’s bed is empty every night and mine isn’t. I wish I could go into this fight feeling like I know why I’m doing it. But I’m not sure of anything anymore.

  The smell of eggs and sizzling bacon greets me as I walk downstairs. English muffins are heating up in the toaster oven.

  “I made you breakfast,” Mom calls over her shoulder from the stove with a cheer in her voice only she can muster at this hour.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her, watching her work two frying pans.

  She shrugs and smiles up at me. “You’re getting up so early to work on a weekend. How could I not?”

  There’s that pang of guilt again ringing through my body like the electronic bell at the gym. I could tell her now that I’m not going in early to do inventory but going to my first boxing match in Brooklyn.

  But I don’t.

  “Can I get it to go?” I ask her.

  “Sure! I’ll make you an egg sandwich. How’s that?” She takes the muffins out of the toaster and opens the drawer with the aluminum foil. Watching her hustle around the kitchen, knowing what she gave up for me—and for herself, and for the family, I’m sure—fills me with the breathless unconditional love I had for her when I was really young.

  “Ma?” She turns around and I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her so hard I lift her off the ground. “I really love you. Okay?”

  “Lucas!” she squeaks. When her feet are back on the ground, she says, “I don’t know what that was for, but thank you!” She pulls my head down to kiss my cheek, then goes back to making me a ginormous egg sandwich.

  I touch my headgear with my glove to reassure myself that it’s there. Then I lift my lip up around my mouthpiece. Without totally grabbing my crotch, I twist a little to feel the jockstrap in place. I’d like to keep my brains, my teeth, and my balls intact. Nothing too awful can happen with those three bases covered.

  “You’re ready for this,” Leo says to me in my corner of the ring. “You’re here to show everyone what you learned. And to prove to yourself that you got this.”

  He’s in my corner with me, in every way imaginable. No matter what happens to me today, I am grateful to him. He’s been such an important part of my healing process, some days I think he gets what’s going on inside my head even more than Dr. Engel.

  The gym has some folding chairs lined up around the ring. This isn’t a pro match. There’s no fancy seating, no boxers’ wives in furs and jewels. Just friends and family milling around, hoping for the best.

  I find Jess right away off to the side, her red hair making her stand out in the crowd. When she sees that I see her, she gives me two “you got this” thumbs-up. I know she’s not loving the idea of me in the ring right now, but I appreciate the show of faith. Pete’s next to her. He throws both arms up in victory, prematurely. I hope he didn’t just jinx me, but I take it for the vote of confidence that I know I always have from him. I’m glad Jess brought him. I just hope I don’t embarrass myself too much in front of them.

  “How’re you feeling?” Leo asks.

  Panic swells in my bowels. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Too late.” Leo slaps me on the back. “Let that urge fuel you to get this over with fast!” He laughs at that. I try to find an extra ounce of breath to laugh with him, but I don’t have even a gasp to spare.

  The ref calls us into the center of the ring to introduce me to my opponent, Tony. Physically, we’re equally matched. But he looks to be a few years older. I hope that doesn’t mean he’s had a few years of training on me.

  Tony smacks my gloves with his, a boxer handshake. Then we go back to our corners and wait for the bell.

  There it is.

  Tony comes at me, fists ups. I meet him in the center of the ring with some feeler jabs, while keeping an eye out for his right hand. Circling him, I hold center ring. Everything Leo taught me comes into play. Touch him before committing to power punches. Let him know I can reach him, hurt him. Make him cautious instead of trying to knock me out.

  I throw fast jabs. His hands drop and I hook him. I dance around, finding new angles, new openings. He is nowhere near as prepared as I am.

  The bell rings and we go back to our corners. Leo’s waiting for me with a huge grin.

  “Nice,” he says, gushing praise coming from Leo. “You�
��re doing good out there. Stick with the plan.”

  I turn to find Pete and Jess in the thin crowd. Jess jumps up and down and claps for me. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she hollers, “Yay, Lucas!”

  Leo smacks my back. “Aren’t you glad she came?”

  I roll my shoulders. The verdict’s still out on that one—we’ll see how I finish. The bell rings and I’m back in the ring.

  I connect with an uppercut to Tony’s body, but I drop my defense. Tony counterpunches hard to my jaw. The impact sends me flying against the ropes. He comes after me. I’m not controlling the space anymore; Tony is.

  A rapid-fire assault of fists comes at me and all I can do is block. He gets a solid punch into my ribs and I fold over like a rag doll. My guard drops and he punches me in the head. The ring spins.

  I don’t see Jess but I know she’s there, watching all this. I hear Leo’s words to me that first day in the gym.

  “What’s going to keep you going when you think you got nothing left?”

  Now I know. Jess.

  I’m not going down in front of her. I won’t. I find the resolve to stand up and keep fighting.

  Shaking it off, I spring off the ropes and come at him. Chin down, tight guard, I whip out a bunch of shots. I get a solid uppercut into his ribs—ha! Stings, don’t it? His guard drops and I’m on him before he has a chance to figure out what just happened. I get him with a three-hit combo and I keep on pummeling him as he backs away. He throws a punch and I slip it, then follow it with more counters. He backs away and opens himself up. I throw a straight right that hits him square in the forehead. He falls backward onto the mat.

  The bell rings.

  I go back to my corner while Tony pulls himself up.

  One more round.

  Leo eyes me. “Feeling okay?”

  I nod and dance around. “Yeah!”

  He smiles. “Okay. Guy’s getting gassed. This is the last round. He’s gonna give it his all. The only time you stop punching is to let him miss. Go after him with everything you got. Don’t leave nothing behind. Let those punches fly. Strong finish. Show the judges you’re the winner.”