Finding peace, p.8
Finding Peace, page 8
Harrison’s ready when I get there around four. “The first thing we’re going to do is show you how effective holds can be. You’re unlikely to win with one given your background, but you need to learn to avoid them, and they can be used effectively to apply pressure in most any fight.”
He throws his best wrestlers my direction, one at a time. I tap out from dozens of armbars, and an embarrassing number of guillotine chokes. “The rear naked choke is the worst.” I rub my neck.
“That’s because it doesn’t rely on cutting off your air supply,” Harrison says.
I blink and blink and blink until my vision goes back to normal. “You don’t say.”
“It cuts off the carotid.”
“I hate it.”
“You ready to learn how to do them?” He lifts his stupidly bushy eyebrows. If I’m still in Atlanta, I’m buying him a personal trimming tool for Christmas.
Why would I be here at Christmas? What a stupid thought. I shake my head to clear it. “Yes, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
An hour and a half later, my arms feel like jelly and the outside of my left thigh is swelling from a particularly brutal take down, but I think I’ve improved, at least a little. “So what’s the verdict?”
“On what?” Harrison asks, like he has no idea. Sometimes I can’t stand him.
“You said you’d stop bothering me.”
“If you really suck.”
“Right.”
“You did suck,” Chad says. He’s been unbelievably annoying since the very first time he locked me into a choke.
“But no worse than any other boxer I’ve seen on day one,” Harrison says. “Too early to tell. Come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Friday,” I say.
“Oh,” Harrison says. “Never mind. I’ll see you whenever it’s convenient, then.”
“You will?”
Chad snorts.
“Tomorrow,” Harrison says. “At three this time.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
But as I turn, I notice he’s grinning.
Practicing holds isn’t quite as good as riding a perfect wave, but it’s better than a long jog. I walk really slowly to my car, peering into the well-lit dining room of the Golden Gloves. Even if Anica wasn’t there, I might want to stop—I’m starving. But my creeping pace pays off.
She looks up from a table in the corner and our eyes meet.
Hers light up and she smiles and waves.
Good enough for me. I showered, so my hair is dripping on my collar, but at least my clothes are clean and I don’t think I’ve got any bruises on my face. I hang a quick right and yank open the door with a typical diner jingle of bells.
“Anywhere is fine,” a woman behind the counter with a poofy bun says.
“Are the burgers here any good?” I ask. “Because I can’t really handle salad. I’m more of a burger and fries kind of guy.”
A guy with one chipped tooth waves at a table right by the door, encouraging me to take it.
I compress my lips. How can I say this? Eh, may as well just come out with it. “No offense dude, but I want to be in her section.” I jerk my thumb toward Anica.
He rolls his eyes. “Join the club.”
I look around and notice that nearly every youngish guy in the place is seated at a table or booth on Anica’s side. Well, that’s annoying.
But the mother of a small family is gathering things into a diaper bag. I hover while they pack up, and before the table has even been cleaned, I slide into the booth.
“Hey, stranger. What’re you doing?” Anica wipes the table off. “Are you actually hungry?”
“Always,” I say. “But I’ll admit—I also wanted to see you.”
And she blushes. Which I love even more now that I’ve heard the sharper side of her tongue. She’s such an interesting mix of conflicting behavior. “Well, I’m working, so I can’t really chat.”
“What time are you off?”
She scrunches her nose. “Ten, when it closes.”
“That’s rough,” I say.
She shrugs. “It’s not so bad. I like the work, and I can use the cash.”
“I’m a really generous tipper.”
“Generous is good, Mr. Porsche, but keep it under the ‘creepy’ line, alright?”
“What’s the creepy line?” I can’t keep the curiosity out of my tone.
“Anything over fifty percent starts to feel . . . yucky. Especially when it’s a guy tipping me.”
“So if I were, say, an elderly woman, a two-thousand percent tip—”
“Would be mostly fine, yeah.” She shrugs. “I might be worried you can’t quite figure math right and confirm, but I wouldn’t be uncomfortable otherwise.”
“That’s hardly fair,” I say. “And it’s kind of sexist.”
She shrugs. “I don’t make the rules.”
“Oh, fine. Well, until I can pass as an elderly woman, or if I’m being waited on by an elderly man, I assume, I’ll keep my generosity under the fifty percent mark.”
“Sure,” she says. “Good enough. Now what do you want?”
“Two cheeseburgers with lettuce, grilled mushrooms, and swiss. And lots of pickles.”
She’s not writing it down.
“Should I repeat it?”
She snorts. “Only if you’re bored or if you’ve changed your mind.”
“Alright. I also want a chocolate milkshake, and a plate loaded with French fries.”
“How is that possible?” She asks.
“How is what possible?”
“How do you eat all that, and look like this?” She points to me and wiggles her finger around.
This time I’m the one whose cheeks are heating. “I’m blessed, I guess.” And I like that she thinks I look good.
“I’ll say.”
Strangely, I’ve never felt very blessed. At least, not before she walked into Harrison’s yesterday. My life has been a sequence of near misses and utter catastrophes, and I’m never quite sure which it’ll be next. Even now, I’m holding my breath, figuratively anyway, hoping the excitement I feel for her doesn’t die on the vine—or that she doesn’t suddenly change her mind and find me repulsive. “You aren’t secretly married or anything, right?”
She blanches.
“What?” I shift on the smooth vinyl upholstery of the bench seat. I splutter. “Are you married?”
Anica shakes her head. “No, nothing like that.”
“A secret fiancé or boyfriend, then?”
She laughs this time. “No, no boyfriends or fiancés, secret or otherwise. Why?”
I shrug. “I’m not usually very lucky, so meeting you. . . I can’t explain it. I guess I don’t trust it.”
She rolls her eyes, but when she walks toward the kitchen, she looks back at me over her shoulder with a strange look I can’t place. I figure that’s not a bad sign. For once, a girl I like might actually like me back.
The burgers she brings a few moments later are perfect, as are the fries and the milkshake. She’s busy tonight, which is probably good for her. Judging by the flirting looks the guys at her other tables keep shooting her, she’ll do pretty well in tips, but she doesn’t ignore me even though she probably could. It’s not like I’d stiff her, even for bad service.
“How’re the burgers?” She pauses near my table, close enough I can smell the apple-y smell that must be coming from her shampoo.
“Perfect,” I say. “I was nervous when you didn’t write my order down.”
She snorts. “I have a pretty good memory. I never write anything down.”
“You might be underemployed, working at a diner.”
Her face immediately shutters, and I make a mental note to avoid disparaging her job here. “Sorry,” I say. “My mom spent a lot of years waiting tables when I was a kid, and she hated it.”
“Your mom was a waitress?” The walls come down just a hair.
“She was,” I say. “At a diner sort of like this one, but she didn’t want to be.”
She shrugs. “I like it, quite a lot, actually. I like the people, mostly, since I don’t have to work at figuring out what to say to them, and it’s cathartic, filling a need so simply. I can do a good job, brighten people’s day and fill their bellies, and that’s the end of it. No unmet expectations, no complicated issues, no awkward silences I need to fill.”
It feels like a puzzle piece drops into place about her. She likes people, but she needs to have a purpose with them. She doesn’t want to just sit around with nothing to do or say. “Well, the food is pretty good. I wouldn’t be surprised if I find myself eating here pretty often.”
She smiles then. “Really?”
“Since I agreed to do a little bit of training next door.”
“Whoa,” she says. “You’re going to be fighting again?”
“Not sure, but I’m going to look into it anyway.”
She bites her lip, spins on her heel and heads back to the kitchen to grab a few more orders. When she comes by the next time, even eating as slowly as possible, I’m done with my food. “All finished? Want your check?”
“Yeah, I figure after the milkshake, the two burgers and the fries, I might skip the pie.” I lean back and pat my belly. Her eyes follow my hands and she blushes again. This is too much fun.
“You’d probably survive a slice of pie.”
I stand up and drop some bills on the table that I figure can’t be much over fifty percent. I lean close enough that she’ll hear me even though I’m whispering. “I always think it’s better to leave when you’re still wanting more, don’t you?”
Her breathing hitches.
“We’re still on for tomorrow?”
“If you still want to watch Incredibles Two.” She looks up into my face, her bright eyes wide.
“I’d like to spend time with you, and I like the idea of meeting your family.”
She blinks. “Alright, well, okay. I’ll text you the address.”
“You do that.”
And around ten-fifteen, she does. It puts a smile on my face.
THANKS.
SEE YOU TOMORROW, she texts.
I LOOK FORWARD TO IT.
YOU MIGHT WANT TO COME A LITTLE EARLY IF YOU CAN. GAME NIGHT STARTS AT SEVEN, AND IF THE OTHER ADULTS REALIZE YOU’RE HERE, THEY MIGHT MAKE US GO DOWNSTAIRS AND HANG OUT WITH THE BIG PEOPLE.
YOU SAY THAT LIKE IT’S A BAD THING.
LITTLE PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS BETTER THAN BIG ONES.
AS A TALL GUY, I’M TRYING NOT TO TAKE OFFENSE.
I’LL MAKE AN EXCEPTION FOR YOU, BUT I STAND BY MY STATEMENT.
She’s adorable.
SEE YOU AT 6:30 THEN.
I try not to read anything into it when she sends me a heart emoji, but I can’t help my idiotic smile.
Harrison complains when I call it quits at five-fifteen, but I ignore him. I may have agreed to a little training to blow off steam while I’m here making sure Adriana is okay, but I’m not going to be late for the best part of my day to let some guy choke off my air.
“I’ll be back Monday,” I say.
“Tomorrow,” he counters.
“I’ve been ignoring my dog,” I say. “I can’t ignore her all day tomorrow.”
“So snuggle with your mutt all morning, and get here around noon.”
I shake my head, but I don’t argue any further. If I don’t come here, I’ll probably get bored and end up at the hotel instead. “Fine.”
I change my shirt three times before settling on a simple Emory t-shirt. In case I do see Geo or Paisley, I’d like them to remember that I’m a friend so they’ll say good things to Anica.
Anica’s family has a very nice, tasteful home in a perfect little neighborhood. I admire the flowerbeds as I walk up the sidewalk—and that’s not common for me, not here. After Hawaii, very few growing things in Georgia impress me. But the gerbera daisies are stunning, as is the lantana. Add the perfectly round butterfly bushes at the corners, with butterflies darting around them, and it’s just exactly the kind of thing I’d plant myself.
If I ever did get married and have kids.
With my luck, it’s hardly likely. I lift my hand to knock on the solid wood door, but before I even touch it, it swings open.
“You must be Ethan,” a small girl says, one hand on her hip.
“Uh, I am, yes.”
“I’m Amy, Aunt Anica’s niece. She told me to sneak you up.” She winks. “She doesn’t want everyone to know you’re here.”
“Wait, she’s serious about that?”
Amy rolls her eyes. “Do you want to have to spend the entire night pretending that the boring stories the adults tell are funny?”
I can’t laugh. Or at least, I sense that I shouldn’t, so I’m entirely sober when I say, “That sounds absolutely terrible.”
“I like you already.” Amy spins around and sprints up the staircase at the back end of a beautiful entryway. I look both ways for any sign of other adults and then finding none, I follow her upstairs.
Amy ducks inside a door at the top of the stairs and closes it behind her.
I lean close and tap on it softly.
“What’s the password?” Amy whispers.
Is she kidding?
“Uh, alohomora?”
“Oh my goodness.” Her exasperation is clear, even through a closed door. “That lights things up, Ethan.”
“That’s lumos, unless my Harry Potter game has weakened considerably. I’m pretty sure alohomora unlocks things,” I say. “But you’re the expert, I suppose.”
“Whatever. It’s not the password.” She huffs.
“Open sesame?” I ask.
“Just let him in,” Anica hisses.
“Oh, fine,” Amy says. “But you need to do a better job preparing him next time.”
Next time? For some reason my heart lifts at that thought. Most guys might be annoyed by a kid sneaking them upstairs and asking for passwords, but I didn’t get anything like this as a kid. Secret operations and passwords? Instead I got an uncle who became my dad when my bio father killed my mom.
I’ve recovered from losing my mom more or less, and I know I’m lucky to have a dad who cares about me, even if he began life as my uncle. But maybe I never really mourned the loss of a childhood like other kids got. Cousins, and games, and hide and seek.
“So are we really watching the second Incredibles movie?” I ask. “Because I loved the first one.”
“Did you really watch it?” Anica asks.
“Jack Jack is my favorite,” I say.
“Mine too!” A little boy pops up in the corner, his hair sticking out in at least four different directions. “AND I have a little brother named Jack!”
“And your name is?”
“Chase.” He holds out a hand to shake. I take it carefully in mine and move it up and down in standard fashion.
And . . . now my hand’s sticky. Great. So much for holding Anica’s hand later. The room has risers on the back row, making the second line of sofas about a foot higher than the front ones. If I’m lucky, the kids will take the front row. “Are we starting the movie?” I eye the open seat right next to Anica in the back.
“We can’t start it until Troy gets here.” Amy’s remarkably condescending for such a young kid.
“Ethan doesn’t know who Troy is,” Anica chides. “And maybe you can use a little kinder tone, missy.”
“Sorry,” Amy says. “Sometimes I forget that some people don’t know everything.” Her tone heavily implies that she does, and I should too.
What a hoot. “Well, what shall we do until he arrives?”
“We’re building a city out of Legos,” Amy says. “But Aunt Anica hates them.”
“Maybe I better keep her company back there, if that’s a Lego-free zone.”
“Do you hate Legos too?” Chase asks.
I shrug. “I don’t have a strong opinion one way or another.”
“Wait until you step on one,” Anica mutters. “You’ll develop a strong opinion immediately.”
“I imagine that’s true.” I manage to avoid stepping on one as I wind my way around and up the risers and drop into the spot right next to her. “How did lunch go today?”
“Decent tips,” she says. “And I’ve got my first repeat customer. He insisted on sitting in my area.”
Why am I not surprised it’s a guy? “Did he happen to ask for your phone number?”
She frowns. “He did.”
“Did he tip over fifty percent?”
She shakes her head. “Close, but no.”
“Did you give him your phone number?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course not. I mean, why would I do that?”
“Was he not very cute?”
“Not compared to my brand new boyfriend.”
“What?” My shock notwithstanding, the idea doesn’t terrify me nearly as much as I thought it would.
She laughs. “Gotcha.”
The door bangs open and Anica, in spite of her bold boyfriend jokes, slides almost a foot away from me on the sofa until she bumps into the armrest on the far side. “Oh, it’s only Troy.” She looks down at her hands and blushes again.
I wish she hadn’t been kidding about the boyfriend thing.
Which is totally insane. I haven’t had a girlfriend in . . . I can’t recall how long. I’ve dated, of course, but no one special. For the first time in a very long time, I’m not sure I can say that anymore.
Because Anica is special.
I should not be thinking like this at all. I’m not sticking around here once I get things squared away with Phillip and Adriana and Dad, but maybe she would want to come to Hawaii . . . for a visit. She could write there, obviously. And if she wanted to stay a little longer, they have diners on Kauai.
Troy bounds up the risers and toward us. “I’m Troy.” He smiles at me, and I forget all about Chase’s sticky hands. This kid’s entire face is covered in something vaguely orange.
“Uh, you’ve got—”
Anica cuts me off. “Did you have spaghetti for dinner, sweetie?”
“Yes!” Troy beams.
“Well, you saved some of it for me,” Anica says. “Only, I already ate.”
Troy’s brow furrows.
“Go wash your face,” Anica says.
“What did you have for dinner?” Troy asks. “And how did you know I had spaghetti?”
