Contusion

by Ofelia Martinez

  “I’m going to see Pili,” I say to Chema.

  “Say hi for me. Tell her we miss her.”

  “I will. I have to swing by my place first, though, to pick up a present I ordered for her.”

  “A special occasion?” Chema asks.

  “I don’t need a special occasion to do something nice for her, especially after everything she has done—is doing—for me.”

  “You’re late,” are Pilar’s first words when she opens the door. Her posture is impeccable, and her sensible, expensive outfit is well put together. Pilar is a mini version of our mother. I dealt with our Mom by avoiding her and leaving home as soon as I could, but Pilar tried, keeps trying, to earn her love by trying to mimic her. I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it, the mirroring effect, but it’s such a big part of her personality, I doubt she’ll ever be able to break it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was training.” I follow her into the living room, where she has laid out artful canapés and an icy pitcher she pours from into our glasses.

  “How’s that going?”

  “What?”

  “Training, Valentina. Where’s your head at? Seriously.”

  “Sorry, um—” I look around, trying to find a spot for the enormous gift I’m holding. “I brought this for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a gift, Pili.”

  She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “I know that, Tini. But what is it?”

  “Well, open it and see.”

  Pilar can be such a smart-ass when she wants to be.

  “I’ll open it later. Set it down, and let’s chat for a bit. Or do you have to go soon?”

  The concern in her eyes melts away any of my criticisms of her. I’m the only human contact she’s allowed other than her husband, parents, and many servants. “I can stay for a bit,” I say and smile.

  “Well, tell me about training.”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m improving, but it’s slower than I’d hoped.”

  “It’s only been four months. I’m sure it’ll take time.”

  “Yeah. That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” I push a canapé around my plate with my fork.

  ¨You’re not hungry?”

  “It’s not that. I, um. I just think it might be time to give up. I’m a little disappointed I haven’t accomplished much.”

  Pilar laughs, and I glare at her icily.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “That is such bullshit.”

  I press my lips together, waiting for her to elaborate, though it’s killing me not to pick a fight with her right now.

  “Before you got sick, you won almost every fight. Your record was unreal. And we both know, if you hadn’t gotten sick, the next step was the UFC. Don’t kid yourself about that, Tini.”

  “But I did get sick.”

  “Yes. You did. And you beat it.”

  “It sounds a lot like you are saying I almost accomplished something, which isn’t quite the same as accomplishing it, is it?”

  Pilar raises an eyebrow in warning. “And you don’t think beating the shit out of cancer constitutes accomplishing something?”

  She looks a bit angry, but I can’t bring myself to goad her further. I owe her too much. She was my first sponsor, when I first started fighting. She funded my training, bought my apartment, and paid a stipend so I could reach my dreams. Then I failed her when I couldn’t make them happen, despite my best efforts. The cherry on the cake was asking her for a ridiculous amount of money for my treatment. Even then, she didn’t bat an eye.

  Didn’t she care that I had nothing to show for it? I would if I were in her shoes. Wouldn’t I? I had failed more than myself. I failed her and everything she has invested in me. Now I have no idea how I’m going to pay her back. I don’t think I could even if I were to live several lifetimes.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “You went into your nothing box.”

  My ‘nothing box’ is what my sister calls it when I space off on her, which happens a lot since I got back.

  “I’m sorry, Pilar. Your investment tanked.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Pilar asks.

  “Yes, what investment?” We both turn to see Felipe now in the room.

  Felipe Conde could be considered handsome by anyone who doesn’t know him better. He is tall and muscular, and his face’s chiseled quality wouldn’t make the average woman gag—until they got to know him, that is.

  My brother-in-law walks over to my sister, bends to kiss her on the cheek, and takes a seat next to her. He smiles knowingly at me, and I bite the inside of my lip so I don’t sneer. Felipe crosses his legs and takes Pilar’s hand in his possessively, as if it were another man and not her sister sitting in front of her. To put it plainly, Felipe Conde is a ridiculous man.

  “What investment were you talking about?” he asks and looks between Pilar and me.

  Pilar clears her throat nervously, and I shift in my seat. There has been exactly one thing Pilar ever allowed herself to defy her husband on. That was her sponsorship of my career. She tried to hide this simple fact from me, but Felipe hints and alludes to his dissatisfaction at her use of her own money to help me.

  “Valentina is feeling guilty about me paying for her treatment. I was just about to tell her how ridiculous that is.” Pilar pats Felipe’s hand in a way that makes me think she is trying to placate him.

  “Nonsense. You’re family; of course we’re happy to pay for your treatment.”

  He uses the word ‘we’ as if Pilar had used his money, or communal money, but all three of us know that money is, and always will be, Pilar’s and Pilar’s only. No one has ever openly admitted that simple fact, but I love that this is just one more thorn on Felipe’s side. I love those thorns. Whenever I get a chance, I enjoy twisting them.

  “Yes,” I say. “Thank goodness Grandma Almonte had the foresight to secure Pilar’s economic independence so she could do that. I’ll always be grateful to her and Pilar.” My words are pointed, and I try not to smile when Felipe’s jaw tightens. His face twitches, barely, but I don’t miss it. His presence dampening my time with my sister is almost worth it for this one moment.

  “Yes, well. That’s what we were talking about. Valentina thinks it’s a wasted investment, and when you walked in, I was just about to tell her that her staying alive has been the best investment of my life.”

  My sister’s sweet words change the mood in the room. I have to hand it to her. After years of marriage, she has mastered the art of diffusing tension. She talks about me beating cancer as if it was just another fight in the cage—as if it was something I accomplished, and I’d never thought about it like that before.

  “I agree,” Felipe says. “Best use of our money I can think of.”

  “Thank you,” I say, if only to drop the standoff between us. I’ll pick my battles with this idiot.

  “What’s that?” Felipe reaches for the present and flips it from side to side, likely looking for a card.

  “A present for Pilar.”

  “A present?” he asks.

  “Yes. You know, as a thank you for everything.”

  Felipe hands Pilar the gift and shifts further from her on the sofa so he can see the contents once revealed. Pilar shoots me a questioning look laced with panic, and I smile reassuringly that it’s not something that could anger Felipe.

  My smile is all it takes for Pilar to rip apart the wrapping paper like a savage. She has always loved presents and surprises, and this is both.

  When she turns the canvas around, Pilar gasps. “Oh, Valentina. It’s lovely.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Pilar sets the painting down so she can stand. She comes over to my side of the room so she can sit next to me and take me into a hug. “I love it,” she whispers in my ear.

  “Yes, very lovely,” Felipe says and stands. “Valentina, you look good. I’m glad you’re feeling better
. I do have to go to work, though.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Working on a Saturday?” Pilar asks.

  “Yes. I have a meeting,” he hisses through his teeth, and my sister recoils a bit in her seat.

  “Okay. Well, message me if you are coming for dinner so I can make sure it’s ready for you.”

  Felipe delivers another kiss on Pilar’s cheek, and I almost shiver.

  We wait until we hear the door closing behind him before we continue our conversation. Pilar shakes her head at me but smiles.

  “You could stand to be nicer to him,” she says.

  “He could stand to be nicer to me,” I counter.

  “I just wish you could get along better.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Valentina!”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Let me just say this one last time. I know you don’t believe it, but just because he doesn’t physically abuse you doesn’t mean he doesn’t abuse you—”

  “Not this again—”

  “Please hear me out. Pilar, I love you, and if cancer has taught me anything, it’s that you shouldn’t waste your time on things and people you don’t love.”

  “What makes you think I don’t love him?”

  “Please,” I scoff. “I know you don’t. He is abusive, Pilar. He has isolated you, made you lose all your friends, and even limits how much your own family can see you. He belittles you. It’s subtle, but it’s there. This is psychological warfare, and you need to start fighting back.”

  “Did you start watching telenovelas with Chema? Is that where this hysteria is coming from?”

  Pilar knows all about Chema and Nicolas and the gym. Not because she is friends with them or interacts with them, or because she’s ever come to the gym. She knows about them because her only connection to the outside world is me, and she doesn’t realize she lives vicariously through me, but she does.

  “Pilar—”

  “I heard you. Okay? Thank you for your concern, but I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself. Okay?”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  This is a discussion we’ve had many times before. We fought the first time. Then I kept bringing it up, hoping slowly I could open her eyes. For now, I decide to change the subject.

  “Where are you going to hang the painting?”

  We both look around the walls of the grand room. For a cage, this mansion is rather lovely.

  “I don’t know,” Pilar says and stands while holding the painting and admiring it. “Who did you say the artist is?”

  “I didn’t say. It’s Mandy. You know, my friend I told you about. She helped me quite a bit when I was in Kansas City.”

  Pilar’s gaze snaps from the painting to me. “Oh,” she says thoughtfully.

  “Is that a problem?” I ask.

  “No. It’s great. I like landscapes. You know that.”

  “Pilar, come on.”

  “What?”

  “Wait, are you jealous of Mandy?”

  “What? No!” Pilar scoffs and sets the painting down again. “Why would I be jealous?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. She was there when you couldn’t be. I confided in her instead of you. She visited when I was in the hospital—”

  “Okay, okay. Maybe a little. I do wish I had been there, Tini. I swear.”

  “Then why weren’t you? Mom and Dad visited. You could have gone with them.”

  Pilar’s face hardens.

  “Oh, that’s right,” I say. “Felipe wouldn’t let you go see your sister while she was sick. Is this the man you want to defend?”

  “Valentina!”

  “What if I had died?”

  “You didn’t.”

  “What if I had, though? You wouldn’t have seen me for the last time. All because you’re a prisoner here. When are you going to see that?”

  “I’m not a prisoner.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Shopping with a security detail does not exactly scream freedom, but whatever. I’m tired of having this conversation. Just think about that for one second. If I had died, how would you feel toward Felipe right now? Don’t tell me. Just think on it.”

  A long moment of silence stretches between us, and Pilar takes a few bites from the tray in the center of the room.

  “How are Chema and Nicolas?” She finally asks, changing the subject.

  “Good. I think Chema has finally given in and let Nico start coordinating their outfits in the morning. It’s like they are blending into the same person.”

  “Gross,” Pilar says.

  I roll my eyes, but am smiling. “Tell me about it. I’m the one who has to see it.”

  We both laugh, and our pattern repeats itself. We have the same fight, we don’t resolve anything, and instead of acknowledging that, we change the topic to something we can both laugh about. It’s not healthy, but nothing in our family ever is.

  “Tell them hi for me,” she says.

  “I will.”

  I stay at Pilar’s for three hours, and Felipe never comes back from his ‘meeting,’ though I’m doubtful that’s where he went.

  The similarities between Felipe Conde and my father are astounding. I have no doubt that’s why Dad selected him as the winner from everyone who was courting Pilar at the time. I don’t use the term ‘courting’ lightly. It’s what my parents called it.

  “I have to get going,” I finally tell Pilar.

  She finds a spot in one of the many guest rooms for Mandy’s painting. I never imagined she would take the gift as she did. At least in the guest room, she won’t have to look at it every day, reminding her she was not in Kansas City with me through one of the roughest times in my life.

  Pilar knows everything—I’ve always told her everything.

  Except about Rory.

  I’m not sure why. I carefully left him out of any conversations we had about my time away and about my treatment. Dr. Ramirez, Dr. Medina, Mandy, and even Tlali and Izel featured prominently in all the stories I told her when I got back, but I was always careful to leave Rory out of those conversations.

  I keep him all to myself.

  Most nights, I close my eyes and envision him lying on the bed next to me. He’s facing the other direction as I trace patterns over the freckle constellations scattered across the creamy skin of his back. The memory of him is so fresh in my mind, I can almost feel him under my fingertips when I think of him.

  I spend my days back home suppressing my thoughts about Rory, hoping I can meet someone who’ll help me forget.

  Un clavo saca otro clavo.

  Chapter 21

  My hair is almost at my jawline and matted to the sides of my face with sweat, distracting me. I miss being able to pull it into braids. I breathe out with each blow I deliver. Chema positions the boxing pads in a jab-cross-jab combination that I follow easily. We repeat this several times, and I know he is starting off light.

  He already made me run a mile before pad training, which is significantly less than he used to. By my pre-cancer standard, it’s embarrassing, but this is the most my body has accomplished since concluding treatment.

  After the fifth round with the same combination, he reaches for me, and I block with my shoulder, but I’m too slow, and he ends up hitting my shoulder with the pad.

  “Agh!” I growl and step away from Chema. I shake my head to clear it.

  “It’s okay. We just got started. Come on.”

  I turn back to Chema and keep aiming for the pads. I successfully block with my right shoulder on his second try. We both smile.

  “Chin down,” he scolds.

  “Sorry.”

  “Come on. Keep moving.”

  His commands are obeyed in this gym, so I start fluttering in a circle around him as he positions the pads in the air. He switches the combination; it’s still a jab-cross-jab, but this time he wants a ratio of 3-2-3, and I can’t pick up on it quick enough.

  The never-ending haze, like wal
king through the cloud of my brain where my reaction time resides, envelops me. I know the combination Chema seeks, and once I had this muscle memory, but it’s all gone now. I try again, messing up after the last cross before switching back to a jab. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  It’s so incredibly frustrating. I step back and use my teeth to rip the Velcro on my gloves to yank them off.

  Chema removes the pads from his hands and drops them on the mat. “Come on. Sit with me.”

  We sit cross-legged, facing each other on the mat.

  “I’m sorry,” I say out of breath.

  “What for?”

  “What do you mean what for? For fucking up!”

  “You’re not fucking up. Stop being so frustrated. Don’t you see? This is the best you’ve done since we started training again.”

  “I know, but it’s not fast enough.”

  “Think to the first day back at the gym. Did you think you’d ever be able to run a mile again? And here you are, in your gloves after running a mile. This is huge. You need to acknowledge that.”

  “I do. But I also acknowledge that I can’t do a simple switch of combinations. My reaction time isn’t there. Chema, we might be able to improve it a bit, but I don’t think it will ever come back.”

  “We don’t know that.” He shakes his head, not wanting to believe it yet.

  “I think I do. The glitches in my memory are minor, but they’re there. It’s like I can see the word I’m looking for, hovering just in front of me, but I can’t grasp it. My synapses are short-circuiting. Eventually, my brain does what it needs to, but I can’t fight like that. I can’t ask my opponent, ‘can you hold on just a sec, my brain is catching up?’”

  “Don’t give up. Not yet.”

  “I think it’s time for my dreams to change. I can’t keep mooching off Pilar forever.”

  “She’d be fine with that, you know?”

  I smile. “Yeah. I know. I was only okay with it before because we had an end-goal in sight. I’d be sponsored soon and maybe even be able to pay her back. But I don’t think that’s the goal anymore, Chema. I don’t think we can get me there.”

  “In time—”

  I shake my head, and he doesn’t finish his sentence. His bottom lip quivers, and I watch as his Adam’s Apple bobs up and down.