That Night

by Amy Giles

  The bell rings and we’re off.

  I go after him with punches that have been ingrained in me from the gym. No thought, just the automatic combos I practiced with Leo, Kenny, and Honor. Fists are flying. If he’s connecting, I barely feel it. I step aside and swing a big left hook.

  Tony goes down. The ref crouches over him. Tony shakes his head, nah. No more. He’s done.

  The bell rings. It’s over.

  Jess

  “Come back! You’re not going to hurt me,” Lucas says, but I don’t believe him.

  Lying on the blanket at our spot overlooking the Long Island Sound, I put several inches between us for safety.

  “I’m not touching you again until you stop saying ‘ow.’”

  He reaches for me and I scoot away.

  “I only said ‘ow’ once. Just watch my ribs, that’s all.”

  I exhale, flapping my lips noisily, and turn to face him. My hand slips under his shirt, skimming against his soft skin. I graze his left ribs. “Here?”

  He nods.

  I trace across his stomach to his right ribs. “Here?”

  He shakes his head.

  I trace lower, above his belly button, watching his face. “Here?”

  He shakes his head. A smile forms on his face.

  I dip lower, just above the line of his jeans.

  His grin splits his face in half as he shakes his head. I bury my head in his chest and snort.

  “You have the goofiest grin on your face!”

  He laughs. “I wanted to see how far you’d take it.”

  I curl up into him. I know he’s in more pain than he’s letting on. I overheard Leo telling him he got whacked in the head more than he realized. Lucas also has a fat lip, a swollen nose, and bruises starting to form on his chin and all along his arms from blocking punches.

  “How are you feeling, otherwise?” I ask, gently skimming his ribs over his shirt with my fingers.

  “Oddly euphoric,” he answers, staring up at the trees overhead “It’s over. I did it.”

  “And you knocked that guy out.”

  “Not out. He had his headgear on. He just didn’t want to get punched anymore. Turns out it was his first fight too.”

  “Think he’ll box again?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “What about you?” I glance up at him. He watches my face, measuring my reaction.

  “Would you mind if I did?”

  The dappled light through the tree awning plays like music along his eyelashes, picking up the muted blue in his eyes. How is this gentle giant of a boy the same person who pummeled a stranger in the ring for fun? It’s still hard to wrap my brain around this. I’m trying, for him.

  “I don’t love it. I don’t want you to get hurt. But it seems like it really helps you, so . . . it’s up to you. How serious are you about it?”

  He juts his bottom lip out, then winces and lifts his fingers to his bruised mouth. “I don’t think I want to go pro. But I’m not ready to quit just yet either.”

  A seagull squawks, reacting to the scent of food. We picked up lunch at a diner near the boxing gym and brought it here. Lucas also had an egg sandwich his mom made him, which we split. There’s nothing left of our picnic but balled-up aluminum foil and empty to-go containers.

  Pete went back to Enzo’s and Reggie offered to work my shift today. They even called Joe in to work off the books so we could take the day off together.

  Lucas twirls my hair around his finger. “The first day I walked into the gym, Leo asked me why I was here. It freaked me out because it’s something I’ve asked myself every day since Jason died. Why him and not me? But what he really wanted to know was what was going to make me get up every day and give it everything I got. What was my motivation, you know? I thought boxing was just going to be about getting stuff out. But it’s more. Stepping into the ring today, I felt it.”

  He pauses to look at me. “First of all, I knew I was not going to let myself get clobbered in front of you. You being there was some serious motivation.”

  I huff. “Glad I could be of assistance.”

  He smiles and plays with my hair, fanning my nose with a strand. “I also proved something to myself. Jason and my dad, they were both football legends. I finally have something that’s mine, that I’m good at. I felt in control in there. The opposite of helpless.”

  I pluck a blade of grass and twirl it in the air in front of my face. “It’s not easy to watch you get beat up. Or watch you punch someone else. But you were really holding your own. I didn’t realize how good you were.”

  His scoops me into his arms. “Does it make you horny, baby?” he imitates Austin Powers, one of the movies I added to the pile in his basement. But when he rolls over onto his side with the bruised ribs, he winces and groans out loud.

  “Not even a little!” I shove him away. “So maybe think about that before you get into the ring again.”

  I sit up to look at the beach down below. A fishing boat buzzes along the horizon like a lazy bumblebee. Lucas sits up next to me, carefully, holding his ribs as he does, then wraps an arm behind my back.

  I brush my finger along his bruised lip.

  “Wanna hear something funny?” he asks, his eyes warm, glowing.

  “Last time we were here and you said that, you asked me to prom. I’m not sure I’m up to any more of your ‘funny’ stories.”

  He laughs. “This one’s good. You’ll like it. Remember that time you covered for Pete and you didn’t bring food with you?”

  I chuckle, remembering. “Yeah. And you kept trying to shove a slice of pizza down my throat.”

  He nods. “Yeah, well. You asked me about my fat lip. You reached your hand out and I thought for a second you were going to touch my lip. Well, more like hoped. And right then, I knew, dang, I like this girl.”

  I smile and touch his lip again, gently. “Yeah? Like this?”

  He holds my hand on his lips and gently kisses my fingertips.

  “What’re you going to tell your parents? When they see your face?”

  “The truth,” he says, planting another kiss, this one on my wrist. Still holding my hand, he says, “I’m really glad you came today.”

  His eyes are so earnest and wide. I could swim in them all day, all night. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

  Threading his fingers through mine, he takes a deep breath, filling his lungs, then exhales just as deeply. “I just wanted to tell you . . . to let you know . . . that I love you. Okay?”

  A surge of happiness blasts through me. It tingles, effervescent bubbles coursing through my blood, all the way to my fingertips, my scalp, my toes.

  “Okay.” I grin. Shock drains the light out of his face. “Wait!” I shout when I realize the wrong word popped out of my mouth. “I mean . . . I love you too.” It comes out in a rush of giggles. Lucas pulls me closer so our lips are almost touching.

  “Your lip!”

  “Totally worth it,” he says, and kisses me.

  Lucas

  “I’m home.” I hang my keys on the peg and kick off my shoes. The house smells warm and savory, like my parents just finished dinner.

  “We’re in here,” Dad hollers from the den.

  I follow the sound of the explosions coming from the speakers. Mom and Dad are watching Guardians of the Galaxy . . . again. Dad loves anything Marvel, and I’m pretty sure Mom has a thing for Chris Pratt.

  The den is dark except for the TV. Good. Neither of them will be able to see my fat lip or bruises. For a second I think I could let this go, at least until tomorrow. But no: it’s time.

  “Hey, guys . . . can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Dad aims the remote at the TV and pauses the movie. “What’s up?”

  Cracking my knuckles, I say, “So, I didn’t actually go to work today.” My stomach clenches and cramps with nerves. This conversation scares me more than getting into the ring with Tony.

  I pause long enough that Dad feels he
needs to prod me along. “So . . . where were you?”

  “Boxing,” I say.

  “At the gym?” Mom asks, confused.

  “No, at a match,” I admit.

  Mom flops back against the couch cushions. “Are you serious?” she asks, her voice rising a few octaves.

  Dad turns on the table lamp by his side. They both stare at my face, Dad silently, his eyes unreadable—angry, upset, I can’t tell. Mom’s gasp is enough reaction for both of them.

  “LUCAS!” Mom is off the couch and inspecting my face with two hands, turning me this way, that way.

  “I’m okay. You should see the other guy!” I try to break the ice with a joke. There’s no cracking through Dad’s frigid stare without a chisel.

  “So you lied to us?” Dad says in a hurt voice. I did hurt him. We had a moment on Tuesday. I could have told him that morning when he was in my room.

  “I didn’t want to tell anyone. I just wanted to do it.”

  “Because you knew we’d say no!” Mom adds.

  “It’s something I needed to do. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  Dad shakes his head and gets up off the couch. He walks into the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge. Mom sits back down rubbing her temples as if she’s suddenly overcome by a migraine.

  Taking a deep swig as he comes back in again, Dad lowers the beer bottle and shakes his head again. “I don’t know, Lucas. I think I gave you too much credit the other day.”

  “What happened the other day?” Mom asks, craning her neck to look up at him from the couch.

  Dad points his beer at me. “He snuck out Monday night to meet Jess.”

  “Dad,” I protest. “You know that’s not all of it.”

  “Snuck out?” Mom looks at me as if she no longer recognizes me. “In the middle of the night?”

  “It’s not like that,” I assure her. “It was the night Jess’s mom was in the hospital. And I went to see her.”

  She throws a hand over her eyes. “Lovely.” Then she turns to Dad. Or rather, on Dad. “You should’ve told me.”

  Dad snaps back. “What would it have changed? You would’ve gotten upset and—”

  “Hey, guys,” I interrupt them, and wave my hands in the air. “I’m right here. Anything you want to say, you can say to me. We need to be able to talk to each other, right? So, let’s talk.”

  I give Dad a meaningful look, reminding him about our conversation the other morning.

  He takes a swig of his beer.

  Hunched over, I stare at the carpeting under my socks and tug my fingers until my knuckles pop. “Ever since Jason died, I’ve been trying to make sense of why I’m here. Why I’m here and he’s not. Why the universe would take the brother so obviously better at everything.”

  “Lucas! That’s not true!” Mom cries.

  I nod and shrug. I feel the pressure of tears building up inside of me. I swallow them back down and clear my throat. “Part of me gets that. And part of me doesn’t. And that’s the part I’m struggling with. And then there’s the other part of me that thinks it’s my fault that he’s gone.”

  When I look up, both of them look so stricken by my admission that my eyes start to prick and I know I’m going to end up crying if I keep going. I’m pretty sure one or both of them will too.

  But I want them to understand. So I tell them about my Random Acts of Kindness list and how I’ve spent every day since Jason died trying to prove my worth, the reason for my existence.

  “It’s not that I feel you guys think that,” I make sure to clarify. “I realize the only person I’ve been trying to prove this to is myself.”

  Mom cries; Dad’s eyes are staring into mine with fierce protectiveness.

  When I’m done, Mom jumps up and hugs me like she’s never going to let me go. Dad comes in and wraps us both in his arms. It reminds me of how Jason shielded me with his body when those gunshots rang out, only this time I feel the love, not the guilt.

  Back in my room, I open my laptop. The Random Acts of Kindness file is still open. I close it and drag it to the trash. Then I empty the trash. A running tally can’t define me. It doesn’t prove that I deserve a seat at the table with the rest of the world. But it helped me get through this year.

  I open a blank document and start writing my term paper. I think I know now how to approach this. I had it all wrong. It was never about forgiving the monster. The power of forgiveness begins with forgiving yourself.

  Jess

  Shoes! How did I forget shoes for prom?!

  I press my hands together and close my eyes, wishing for a miracle. Maybe my fairy godmother will show up with a pair of glass slippers. When I open my eyes again, I’m still barefoot in my prom dress. I’m going to end up going in my Converse. If Lucas wasn’t so set on looking snazzy, it would be a perfectly reasonable option in my opinion.

  I look at the time on my phone. Four thirty. Lucas is coming in an hour.

  Careful not to wake my mother, I tiptoe into her room. Her closet opens with a loud squeak.

  “What are you doing?” she asks in a sleepy voice.

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “I was hoping maybe you had a pair of shoes I could borrow.”

  She’s sleeping, but the doctor told us the new medicine may make her drowsy for a little while, until she gets used to it. This nap is doctor-approved.

  Turning on her bedroom lamp, she gazes at me in my prom dress. She doesn’t say anything for a few moments. But her smile says enough.

  “You look so pretty, Jess.” She stands up and pushes my hair away from my face. “I have a pair of shoes that will work.” She reaches in and pulls out a pair of strappy silver sandals. “Don’t even ask how old these are. They’re from some wedding I went to years ago.”

  She puts them on the floor. I slip one foot in and she holds my elbow so I don’t tip over. Then I slip the other foot in.

  “How are the heels? Too high?” she asks, looking down at the shoes and up at my face.

  “They’re fine.” I wobble. “Well, maybe I should do a few practice laps before Lucas comes.”

  She nods, then looks at my hair. “I used to be pretty good at doing hair. You want me to pin it up for you?”

  I bite my bottom lip so I don’t cry. “Yeah? Maybe?”

  She sits me down in her vanity chair and brushes my hair. The yellow duct tape rose taped to a straw stands between the mirror and me. It’s always been here, but I never really paid attention to it. I want to believe a piece of me was always here with her, reminding her of my existence, even when it felt like she was shutting me out.

  In our reflection, I see a mother helping her daughter get ready for prom. Like a portrait with no backstory, we look perfectly normal, like we haven’t been to hell and back this year.

  She shows me a few options. “I can do a French braid for you, or a chignon.”

  “That. I like that.” I point to the little knot she’s holding at the back of my neck.

  Mom smiles and nods in agreement. “I agree. Perfect with that dress.”

  While Mom bends over, focusing on my hair, I watch her movements in the mirror, recording her as if through a lens; with a little editing and cropping, I can treasure this moment forever. Her hands are busy at work, her focus intense. At one point, she pulls a little too hard and I wince.

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” She massages the pained section with her fingertips. Memories of my mother getting me ready for school come flooding back. Every morning, I was scrubbed, brushed, and fed. Cared for. Old memories piece together with this one as she grabs bobby pins from the tray on her vanity, pinning my hair in the right places to keep it from falling out.

  It feels as if the storm is passing. The sea and sand around us calm and recede.

  Maybe I understand now why we stay here on our fragile sandbar, why we make ourselves vulnerable.

  Because we’re resilient. We rebuild. It’s what we do.

  Lucas

  I park the car across the stre
et from the catering hall.

  “Don’t get out yet.” I scroll through Spotify until I find the playlist I made for tonight. “Cue the music.”

  Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York,” comes on and Jess’s shoulders shudder with laughter. Her hair is piled into this low knot at the back of her head, exposing the long sexy length of her neck, and all I can think of right now is that I want to kiss it.

  So I do.

  As the big-band orchestra belts out Sinatra’s anthem to New York, the limos start pulling up in front of Johnny’s Catering Hall on the Water. A parade of spray-tanned promgoers piles out, one limo at a time.

  “Okay, ready to play a new game? Who’s Snazzy and Who’s Ludicrous. I’ll start.” I point out the window at Aisha and Ron Daudin walking up the steps together.

  “Snazzy,” I decide.

  “Snazzy,” Jess agrees. “Holy crap. Aisha looks awesome.”

  Andrew and Sarah are next. “Ludicrous,” we both say at the same time, then fist-bump.

  Peachy and his date, Miranda, are next. “Snazzy.”

  Jess shakes her head. “She’s Snazzy. He’s Ludicrous. I’m glad you didn’t go all-white tux after all.”

  We’re split right down the middle, when there’s a knock on the window.

  Pete bends down to look in the car, then feigns a look of outrage, pointing to my tux, then his. We’re matching.

  I roll down the window. He leans in. “Dude, I know imitation is the greatest form of flattery, but come on. Have some pride. Hi, Jess. You look ah-mazing.”

  “Thank you. So do you!”

  Pete tugs at his lapels and grins.

  Jess does look amazing. With that dress . . . that dress . . . and her hair up, she looks like a movie star from one of those old movies.

  Gwen leans over Pete’s shoulder and waves. “Hi!” Pete’s arm wraps around her waist. Ha! I knew they weren’t going as just friends.

  “Meet you in there?” Pete points across the street. I nod.

  I turn to Jess and lean in for a quick kiss. “All right. We didn’t come here to sit in the car all night. Let’s do this.”