Just Let Go

by Alessandra Thomas

  We were going to be okay.

  Every day, Natalia spoke a little more. The first day after she came out of sedation, she was turning her head and asking for her favorite foods and drinks. Two days after that, she was staying awake for an hour at a time, asking questions about her injuries. Her memories seemed to come back along with the details I told her. The day she realized she couldn’t move or flex her right leg was heartbreaking. I wiped every tear as it streamed down her cheek, promising her that she was still strong and capable and nothing was ever, ever going to change that.

  One night, her still-thick, scratchy voice interrupted me as I was carefully pulling socks over her feet. The pins had just come out of her right foot a few hours ago, and her orthopedist had explained that she might have some strange sensations there for a couple of days. Since she’d just had the pin removal surgery, she needed help with her socks. It wasn’t until I looked up and saw tears streaming down her cheeks that I realized she was upset.

  “What are we going to do? This is impossible,” she sobbed as I pulled her into a gentle hug from where I knelt on the floor.

  * * *

  “What? Changing socks? It’s actually one of the least challenging aspects of taking care of you the last week or so, honestly.” I shot her a smile, hoping she’d pick up on my teasing tone. Instead, her lower lip trembled.

  Within seconds, I’d perched myself on the bed next to her so that we sat hip to hip, and gently snaked my arm over her shoulders.

  “I’m pathetic. I can’t move my leg. My whole body hurts. So much. Some days I can’t even brush my hair.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” I soothed.

  “That’s not what you signed up for,” she said, letting her head fall back against the raised head of the bed. “I don’t even know how you’re here. Don’t you have a job? That’s, like, not in New York?”

  “I took time off,” I said. “I have sick leave. I can use it to take care of loved ones. If there’s a work emergency, the internet and smart phones exist.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “The gym, and my dad, and everything I have to do back home…everything I want to do with my life…” she trailed off, clenching her lips closed against the words that were causing her so much pain. “What am I going to do?” she whispered again.

  “Natalia Ortiz, listen to me. I know what we are going to do.”

  Her lower lip wobbled. Watching her struggle with this kind of put my suffering into perspective, and in that moment, I knew I would do anything to figure this out for her. For the both of us. Because my heart was broken, too.

  “Things are going to be a little different now. It’s true. But you’re still you, and I’m still me.”

  “You’re still mad at me about the stunt thing.”

  “I stopped being mad at you the moment I knew you were alive. That feeling got replaced with being thankful that you exist on this planet. As soon as I realized I could have lost you, Tali, I knew how stupid it was for me to get so angry with you. To treat you like that. So,” I said, forcing the words out so I didn’t choke on them, “I’m going to make you a promise. We’re going to figure something out – a way to go forward, together. Including stunt work, if you want. Something that won’t make either of us miserable. If… if that’s what you want.”

  Even as I said it, I imagined more and more situations like the exact same horrible one we were sitting in. Natalia coming within an inch of her life for the sake of performing some stupid stunt, and me sitting at her bedside in the hospital hoping she wouldn’t die and would remain more or less unmaimed. I tried to ask myself if it was something I could do and do again. I didn’t know, but I knew one thing for sure. I loved her. I didn’t want to live without her.

  “That’s what I want, if you do.” I’d never seen Natalia look so uncertain. “If this freaks you out,” she said softly, glancing at me through her lashes, “if you can’t handle seeing me this way – I get it. I guess. But I want to make this work.”

  My heart sank. She actually thought I still might want to break things off. I reached up to tuck some hair behind her ear, full of sadness that she thought I’d want to leave her, especially now. She sucked in a breath, and I realized that she must have misinterpreted my sad expression. “Don’t make a decision yet,” she rushed out. “I’ve actually been doing a lot of thinking. I have… ideas. Things I want to do that I think could make me happy and keep me in Philly, running The Knockout. Because, honestly, as fun as that stunt could have been, this hurts like a bitch.” She motioned to her leg, bandaged and bruised. “Plus, I don’t know how my mobility will be affected. I’m twenty-five. Getting too old for stunts.”

  I laughed, feeling half-relieved she was saying all this. “Yeah, babe, you’re decrepit.”

  She smacked me on the arm. “You know what I mean. And, um, I have a confession. I did a lot of thinking, about everything. About my plans for life, for my career. You know, as I was coming out of my coma?”

  I winced. “Yeah?” What the hell was she going to say? That she’d wanted to break up with me for good, for not being there for her when the worst happened? That she thought I wanted to be done with her for good?

  “Everything I thought of would only be possible if we do it together. And I mean that.”

  Relief rushed through me like a wave crashing onto the shore. I nodded my head once, then let it rest against hers. I kissed her softly, and the softest whimper let loose from her throat. It was a memory of every intimate moment we’d ever shared, and a promise of more, all at once. “Let’s do it,” I whispered.

  “Okay,” she said. “As long as you promise not to ever, ever touch my skin graft.”

  “Oh, babe,” I said, pouting a little. “You don’t mean that. I know things are rough right now, and there’s not much privacy, but I fully plan on seeing you naked again sometime in our lives.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “You can look at it. With the lights dimmed. Just don’t touch it.”

  “Not even during…” I waggled my eyebrows.

  Natalia threw her head back and laughed. She was sunshine in this pod of fluorescent lights and alcohol-scented air. She’d just told me she wanted me in her life, and as long as she felt that way, I knew that sunshine would chase any cloud away.

  * * *

  A week after she woke up, Natalia had her first taste of solid food since the accident. Her intestines needed to rest after the trauma of lacerations and surgery, and she moaned as she shoveled mashed potatoes into her mouth, with me supporting her arm. Her unaffected limbs had basically returned to full capability, but she got tired quickly. Her eyes pressed shut and tears streamed down her cheeks. I peered at her with concern. “Babe, what’s wrong? Is it your throat? Your stomach? Does it hurt too much?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at me with the purest love I’d ever seen beaming out of them. “It just tastes so good,” she said, starting to cry all over again.

  That was the first time I’d really laughed since the accident.

  We only stayed in New York for another week or so after Natalia’s surgery. The day I took her to her first physical therapy session a few weeks later,, I held her hand while she hobbled down a ten-foot track with crutches and a walking boot protecting her leg. She gritted her teeth and grunted a little, but, beginning on that day, she didn’t shed a single tear over her injuries. From the moment we left the hospital, it was like Natalia was only capable of looking forward. As soon as I realized that, I vowed to take her lead.

  Epilogue

  Natalia

  One Year Later

  “Pick up your feet, Ethan Anderson!” I hollered with my hands cupped around my mouth. He was training for his first 5k ever – I was training for my first after the accident. I was still slower than he was, but I wasn’t nearly as out of breath. I’d managed to stay in good cardio shape after the accident, even though my leg still protested near the end of a 4-mile run. We were nearing the
end of one now, and the familiar ache was more of an annoyance than an impediment.

  “Okay, babe!” he shouted, making a big show of pulling up his knees.

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” I called back, grimacing at a pinch in my lower leg. There wasn’t a day that went by without either the surgery to put the bones back together or the skin graft didn’t cause me lingering discomfort, but things were getting a little better. Ethan must have noticed, even from the other side of the track, because he stopped messing around and put his head down, leaning his whole body in a sprint to my side.

  In the year since the accident, The Knockout had changed a lot. We’d taken out a loan to rebuild the track that went around the outside of the lofty inside, which made us an attraction for runners who still needed to train even when Philadelphia’s sidewalks froze over. I was still catching my breath when Ethan arrived at my side, scooping me into his arms. Our sweaty arms squished together, and I wrinkled my nose in a show of disgust. “Eewww,” I complained as he carried me down the stairs and to the small sitting area just inside the gym’s entrance – something Amalia had spent a lot of time developing.

  “Graft or bone?” Ethan asked.

  “Bone, I think. Just where the screws were.”

  In a second, Ethan was unlacing my shoe and cradling my foot in his hands, peering at my shin area. His thumbs ghosted over the patch of grafted skin that was slightly puckered and pocked – a reminder of my near-death experience that would never go away. “No swelling,” he muttered. “Still hurt?”

  I shook my head. “It’s fine, really. Just one of those freak things.”

  “Still,” he said, gently pulling my shoe back onto my foot. “We’re done working out for the day. We have to go check out that land anyway.”

  Ethan was referring to a pipe dream of his that I couldn’t help but get moony-eyed over right along with him. About four months after the accident, I’d decided I wanted to use my experience to help other young stunt performers. With Ethan’s actuarial knowledge, I was able to put together a small course for performers just starting out for how to protect themselves on the job. It included a review of legal matters, safety considerations, how to insist on the best safety gear available, and, at the end, a small demonstration of defensive postures and movements that performers could use to best protect themselves.

  After that class, the attendees had come up to me asking so many personal questions – did I know where they could learn stunt sparring? Jumping? Driving? – that I so badly wanted to answer for them. The truth was that there were places that could help you with a single skill here or there, but not a concentrated institution anywhere near Philly. The next week, I booked my first stunt-sparring course, focused on protecting your body and face that so that a performer could work as safely and long as possible without any stays in the hospital or medically induced comas or pins in their leg.

  Soon enough, the entire basement of the Knockout was populated with these classes every night of the week. I sought out and hired stunt drivers willing to teach my clients a thing or two, and we rented large asphalt spaces next to the airport for driving demonstrations on the weekends. I even took groups skydiving. Through it all, Ethan didn’t have a word of complaint. I never even saw him flinch.

  During the nights, when we lay tangled up together at either his place or mine – we rarely slept apart anymore – he would set himself to spinning dreams. He was good at that – watching me carefully, asking me about what I wanted from the next month, or year, or five – and then floating ideas for how to make that happen. One night, as I was about to drift off, he’d murmured, “We should just open our own school.”

  “What?” I asked, completely floored. “The Knockout is still doing its gym thing pretty well. I wouldn’t want to scrap that for a totally new business model.”

  “No,” he’d said, chuckling softly. “A school for stunt performing. New building. New location. There’s a need for it. Cheaper to live here than in New York, or LA. Why shouldn’t stunt performers come to us from all over the country? Why shouldn’t Natalia Ortiz’s name be synonymous with stunt performing excellence and the gold standard of safety? You could be like a gateway for hiring all across the country.”

  “I can’t leave Philadelphia,” I’d stammered, unable to deny that he painted a beautiful picture.

  “Wouldn’t have to,” he said. “There’s land closer than you think. All over Montgomery county, and Bucks. Closer than you think.”

  “You’re nuts,” I said weakly. “That would never… we’d never be able to afford to…”

  “Can I look, though?” He asked. “Just dig around? Get some estimates?”

  I grumbled, snuggling down into his side.

  “Please? I’ll give you a fancy report and everything.”

  I’d agreed, but he’d only shown me real estate listings since. Once, we’d driven out to Bucks county and driven around the country for hours. We’d never seen anything concrete.

  In the last few days, though, Ethan had been more energized than ever about showing me this land he’d found. My leg hurt like hell, and I had no Knockout classes scheduled for the rest of the day. I figured I’d go on a car ride with him, make him buy me dinner, and call it a night. So, when he squeezed me against his stinky, sweaty chest and asked again if I’d go see the land with him, I squealed and agreed, as long as we both took a shower first.

  The late Spring sun was dipping down toward the horizon as we wound our way down the Expressway and then took an exit half an hour later. After a couple more turns, we were surrounded by woods. The road narrowed to a double-lane with so many dips and turns that each minute of driving revealed a new, beautiful view. Ethan consulted his phone, made one more turn, and then took us down a narrow gravel path through a field teeming with wildflowers. “Okay,” he said. “This is it.”

  “This is what?” I laughed.

  “This is where your stunt work school is going to be.”

  “Okay, daydreamer,” I scoffed.

  He gave me a faraway smile. “It’s zoned for the kind of construction we’ll need to do. Of course, half of it will just be concrete for the drivers, and another big chunk will be a field for the stunt jumpers to land after they jump out of planes and whatnot. You can adjust that as you see fit, you know way more than I do about what you’ll need. Oh, and there will be a workshop and lab for JJ and his people, of course.”

  JJ had already used me as a test dummy, for lack of a better word, on some safety products for stunt work he was developing. I hadn’t imagined that an actual rocket scientist like him would be interested that particular line of work, but he assured me that it was shaping up to be very lucrative. Nobody wanted a lawsuit like the one my brother had filed against the movie studio – the settlement for which could fund my stunt performance school

  I stared at him. “Ethan, we don’t even know how much –”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “It’s paid for. It’s all paid for.”

  “What in the –?”

  “I had a lot of money saved,” he blurted. “My mom had a big life insurance policy. I was saving it for my retirement. But after the accident… since then… Natalia, it’s like I can see my future, and your future, so clearly. We can make it happen, and we can make it good.”

  “You had a trust fund,” I said numbly, trying to take it all in. Was he saying he had bought this land?

  “There’s more,” he said. His words were tense now, afraid. “I don’t know, Natalia. It’s just that Amalia is doing such a great job managing the front desk at The Knockout, and the house is feeling a little cramped, and… well, I’ll show you.” Suddenly, his voice was filled with doubt. It was making me nervous.

  The gravel crunched under our tires as we drove toward a tree line beyond the huge swath of land through which we’d entered. The trees, I realized, surrounded another area of land maybe half an acre wide. Perched on a small hill just beyond the trees’ shadows was a small white h
ouse with a wraparound porch and black trim.

  Ethan pulled up to the driveway wordlessly while my mind raced. Suddenly, his excitement from earlier in the day made sense. And because I was quickly realizing what a risk, what an adventure he was envisioning, I started to get excited too.

  I popped open my door and stood, savoring the stark freshness of the air. It was green and fresh, probably hadn’t had contact with a billow of smoke or puff of exhaust for days, or even weeks, before we arrived.

  “The, uh…” Ethan stood outside his door. He scratched at his neck, and all of a sudden seemed to shrink into himself. He was nervous. “The house came with the land. I wasn’t looking for land with a house. Like, I wasn’t trying to tell you what you’re supposed to want. I just thought… I don’t know. Maybe we could use it. If you want. It’s all up to you, Tali.” His voice softened when he said my name, and I melted inside.

  “Well then,” I said, stretching my hand out to his, “show me.”

  We didn’t speak as we went inside. He unlocked the front door with his keys as though he’d been doing it his whole life. Suddenly, a future flashed before my eyes. Ethan coming home from a long day at the office – to me. Me dragging myself through the front door, dirty and exhausted, after teaching young stunt actors how to jump off a motorcycle without killing themselves. Papá and my brothers walking through this door, for dinner. Maybe every other Sunday. With every step forward, my heart felt more full.