The community center’s manager shared opening remarks, giving a brief history of the program while omitting the bits about it being a replacement for other forms of disciplinary action. If the people in the crowd weren’t already aware of that bit, there was no reason they be privy to that information.
The bouts followed. All of the kids did Taylor proud, adhering to all of the rules and regulations required by the sport while still putting the full force of their talent into every movement. When Erica’s fight finally came around, she approached her opponent with her head held high and a determined glimmer in her eyes. What followed was a joy to witness. Now that she’d finally stopped punishing herself for past wrongdoings by willingly taking jabs, the way she bobbed and weaved through the ring with what seemed like liquid motion proved she was a natural. Many of the others had developed all of the technical skills necessary to perform in the ring but lacked that extra special and unnameable something that set them apart. Erica was the exception.
Taylor just hoped that Erica realized that and would take that confidence out of the ring, let it flow into other areas.
When it was over, it was hard for Taylor not to clap harder and scream louder for Erica than she did everyone else. As a coach, she needed to stay impartial and shower everyone with equal praise and attention. She was grateful when she realized Eva was doing the thing she wouldn’t permit herself to do—making a ruckus from the back of the crowd, whooping Erica’s name while giving her a standing ovation. When Erica came off the stage, the look on her face was a look of triumph and adrenaline.
Taylor squeezed Jessie, Erica’s opponent, on the arm as she passed. “You put up one hell of a fight up there. That’s something to be proud of.”
“So is your coaching,” Jessie answered, beaming before catching up with Erica and slinging an arm around her in a hug with her opponent.
“About time you kicked my tale into gear. It only took you six months to do it,” Taylor overheard Jessie tease Erica before the two girls took seats beside one another to watch the rest of their peers in the matches that followed.
That’s the way it was supposed to be—kids walking away feeling like they’d accomplished something without regard to winning or losing. People might scoff at that mindset, accuse Taylor of being a millennial that believed in a culture of giving out gold stars and participation trophies, but these kids all genuinely deserved to feel good about something. She was glad to see how happy Jessie was even though she’d technically taken a beating. When Jessie had started the program, there’s no way in hell that would have been her reaction.
* * *
When the ceremony was over, the reception took full force. After giving her students hugs and high fives, Taylor made herself busy in the kitchen so that she could avoid Eva. Her class was centered on teaching teens how to approach uncomfortable or stressful situations with poise and mindfulness, but it was becoming pretty clear to her that she wasn’t always good at practicing what she preached. If it was, she would be pulling up her big girl panties to deal with seeing the woman she’d been so crazy about.
Notably, they were her most expensive panties. Just in case something dramatic happened and they found themselves in the clutches of passionately angry sex to work through their frustrations. Taylor had definitely thought about it. She just didn’t think that things like that actually happened outside of grocery store romances and soap operas.
So many of the kids had come into her life because they’d been hurt or rejected by their peers in some way and lashed out. While Taylor wasn’t exactly itching to slash the tires on Eva’s work van or throw a brick through her office window, there were words she was afraid she’d let slip out that she wouldn’t be able to take back.
Taylor collected what she needed from the fridge to make her grandmother’s famous punch. From baby showers to Easter suppers, it had been a staple for nearly every celebration their church ever held. The only tricky thing was that you couldn’t make it and set it out in advance. In a huge glass bowl, she combined ginger ale and pineapple juice. After stirring them together, she opened a carton of lime sherbert and used an ice cream scoop to transfer balls of it into the bowl with the rest of the ingredients. After plopping in a ladle, she gathered the bowl in her arms and started making her way back out to the reception.
Just as she made it to the swinging double doors that would take her into the gym, one of them went flying open from the wrong direction and slammed into her side. The punch bowl flew out of her hands, instantly transforming into a pile of sticky goop and broken glass on the floor.
Seconds later, the door opened again from the other side, this time more gently. Taylor stepped back to let Eva in.
“I’m so sorry—I was coming in to see if you needed help,” Eva said, a look of concern on her face as she registered that Taylor was rubbing the shoulder that had been hit by the door.
Taylor closed her eyes for a moment and chose her words, taking a deep breath through her nose and exhaling from her mouth. “It became quite clear the last time we worked together that doing so wasn’t a good idea. I’m glad you showed up for Erica but I think it’s a little late for you to decide to show up for me.”
Without waiting for a reaction, she turned to make her way for the bathroom. Cleaning the floor could wait. The best she could do for the time being was get as much of the punch and sherbert off of her as possible and rejoin the party to enjoy her final moments with her students. There weren’t many opportunities she had to celebrate and she felt she’d earned it.
When the event was finished and the students and families said their goodbyes, Taylor returned to a kitchen that was sparkling clean. There was no evidence of the broken punch bowl. On the table was a small, rectangular package that had a note on top, clearly addressed to her. She threw them in her messenger bag and took them home with her but didn’t open either item.
Whatever it was, it could wait until she finished her class project and visited her grandmother.
The only thing she was going to do first was check out the eBook version of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck . She sent an email to Dalton, the senior book club curmudgeon. If you still want to read that book, I’m game. We can just talk about it on my lunch break after the regular book club discussion. Let’s just say I’m with you on vulnerability being overrated.
23
Taylor
Visiting her grandmother at the nursing home could be difficult. Some days, Grandma Scott would light up the second Taylor materialized in her doorway, a sure sign she was herself and recognized her granddaughter. Other days, Grandma Scott would be confused and belligerent. Taylor was never sure if she should expect to be greeted warmly or turned away. Regardless, she visited her grandmother at least once a week.
Even a thousand visits on Grandma Scott’s worst days wouldn’t be enough to repay all of her grandmother’s kindness, love, and support.
When Grandmother Scott first moved into the nursing home, Taylor took her to church every Sunday morning. It had become quickly evident that doing so was going to be uncomfortable for them both. People treated her grandmother differently when word got out about her Alzheimer’s. Their pity embarrassed her. People also treated Taylor differently than they had before when word got around about her probation.
One Sunday, someone had refused to hand Taylor the collection plate at church as it made its way through the pews. It was as though they assumed she’d be brazen enough to steal money from their congregation when her intention had been quite the opposite. She’d crumpled the ten dollar bill she’d intended to tithe in her fist. By the time the choir was finished singing “It Is Well with My Soul”, her grandmother had grabbed her hand and led her out of the church.
It took every bit of focus she had not to give them the satisfaction of seeing her burst into tears, even if would be have been rage crying.
When they were in the car, Grandmother Scott had put her hand on Taylor’s to stop her as she moved to turn th
e key in the ignition.
“I want to tell you something and I want you to really hear it,” she’d said. “What happened back there? It shouldn’t have. A church is supposed to be a family. A family forgives. You’ve repented. God took away that sin. We’re going to enjoy the rest of our day together and forget all about them.”
That moment had been one of so many that proved Grandma Scott always knew what to say when Taylor needed to be comforted. The day after the reception was one of those days.
It was immediately obvious that it was going to be a good visit. When her grandmother saw her, she straightened up in her bed and reached for the remote to turn off her television. She’d recently discovered how to watch Jeopardy on Netflix, or at least knew she could ask one of the nursing aids to boot it up for her. Since then, it seemed she’d been facing off in a nonstop competition with Alex Trebek. Taylor was grateful. The kind of mental stimulation games like that offered was suppose to help slow the grip of dementia.
“It’s my favorite visitor!”
Taylor squeezed her grandmother in a gentle hug and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “You only say that because I sneak you in contraband treats,” she said, pulling a cold glass bottle of RC cola and a bag of orange circus peanuts out of her purse and putting them on her grandmother’s nightstand. They were the same snacks they snuck into the dollar theater for years, their favorite indulgence. She dug for her car keys and used them to pop off the top of her grandmother’s soda.
“Today I have something for you, too.” Grandma Scott pointed to a notebook on the top of her dresser. When Taylor retrieved it and returned to the bedside, her grandmother continued. “My good days are less and less common than they used to be. There are so many things I want to share with you before my good days run out, but sometimes I worry that I’ll forget or run out of time. There’s a high school girl that volunteers a couple of days a week and she’s been helping me get it all down. In the notebook, you’ll see she has different sections. There’s one for our memories, another for stories about your mama when she was a girl, and then a section for advice and just general thoughts about life.”
Taylor scooted closer to the bed so that she could hold her grandmother’s hand, trying to fight tears out of her eyes. She knew her grandmother wasn’t saying goodbye, exactly, but she wasn’t ready to hear the underlying message she was getting at, either.
“I think we have plenty of good days yet to come.” She didn’t think the universe would give her bad karma for a lie that she was desperate to be true for someone else’s good.
“I hope so, dear. Now, if I remember correctly, the last time we talked you were telling me about a new love.”
Taylor smiled weakly and nodded. “That’s right.”
“I’m awfully tired, but how about I close my eyes and you tell me a story about your girlfriend and the adventures you’ve been on. Let an old woman live vicariously through you for just a little bit.”
Without the heart to tell her grandmother that she and Eva were done, she told another lie. As Grandma Scott’s breathing slowed, Taylor spun an elaborate tale about riding off into the sunset with Eva on a horse from her family’s farm.
Once upon a time, Eva had promised to teach Taylor how to ride. As far as fairy tales went, riding off into the sunset seemed feasible enough. It was easy to fill in the details— how assured and confident Eva would be while showing Taylor the ropes, how her hair would blow in the wind behind her and shine like gossamer beneath the autumn sun. She didn’t think her grandmother would want the rated R version of this fantasy, however, so she left out details about how good Eva would look in jodhpurs and riding boots.
Right when she was fully distracted and thought she’d put her grandmother to sleep, Grandmother Scott’s eyes opened. “I’ve worried for you, Taylor. When my friends in here get to talking and we fret about the past, what we regret is the stuff we didn’t do. The risks we didn’t take. These last few years after everything that happened, you’ve worked so hard to play it safe. I’m glad you’ve found somebody that will make you do new things.”
Grandma Scott reached out for her soda and took a long sip. “Any chance you have a flask in that messenger bag of yours you can spike this cola with?”
Taylor shook her head and made a tsk tsk sound. “What happened to the straight-laced woman that raised me to believe that stuff was the devil’s work?”
Her grandmother gave her a mischievous grin. “I figure I have to get in my kicks while I can. Our facility’s new event planner had an event where a sommelier came to teach us a little bit about wine and conducted a tasting. I liked the sweet wines so much I thought I might try working my way up to the hard stuff. I might like some of those fruity beach drinks with the umbrellas”
“All this talk of my love life, and here you are, holding out on me with your own dirt,” Taylor teased.
24
Eva
Every year, Eva made a point to go to at least one major conference for event and wedding planners. It was a good way to sneak in some good professional development and see what trends were phasing out and what new things were sure to be hot the next season. Despite growing up on a farm with horses and clocking endless hours in the barn, she was tired of shabby chic farm weddings with mason jars and burlap cloth. Eva was equally bored with succulent centerpieces, bohemian brides with flower crowns, and food trucks being used in place of caterers. She was hoping to come home with a head full of ideas and arms full of vendor samples she could use to drum up inspiration with her clients.
Secretly, she also used those opportunities to think about her own one-day wedding and how she’d style things. There were times she considered asking other single planners if they ever did the same but was always too embarrassed to go through with it.
In years past, her conferences usually took her to destinations like Martha’s Vineyard or California wine country. This year, it was conveniently close to home in Asheville. A four hour drive was going to be much easier on her budget than a flight across the country would have been, which meant she would have mad money left over to enjoy her trip with instead of eating peanut butter sandwiches in her room for the meals that weren’t included as she had when she was just starting out.
An added bonus was the drive itself. In October, it was peak season to watch the colors of the leaves changing as she took the curving mountain roads through Western North Carolina on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was breathtaking. Also, a little dangerous when you were so distracted by the beauty around you that you ran the risk of running off the road. She was grateful to be driving her father’s compact sports car instead of her boxy work van when she came to tight turns.
Eva was also excited about Asheville for other reasons. Nicknamed Little San Francisco for its large queer population, there was plenty of nightlife she could explore when her conference sessions each day were done. She was grateful that her coming out process—though she still wasn’t sure what she identified as except hopelessly stuck on Taylor—had happened with unexpected ease. That said, she realized she’d skipped straight over a lot of the experiences that felt like they should have gone with the territory. Eva had never been to a Pride festival or a gay bar, just to name a few. Asheville seemed like a good place where she might be able to remedy some of that.
It was just after lunch on Sunday when she finished checking in, which meant she had plenty of afternoon ahead to get settled and do some exploring. After unpacking and steaming the wrinkles out of her professional garb for the days ahead, she turned off her cellphone and left it plugged into the charger. Today, she was going to put her Raleigh life on hold. Answering client emails or checking her phone obsessively to see whether or not Taylor had finally acknowledged her gift wasn’t going to do anything to help her unwind and explore the city.
In her mind, there were a couple of ways to evaluate the success of a hotel that claimed to be luxurious. Her favorites included testing out room service and the quality of the tub. Sh
e ordered an appetizer sampler plate with seasonal treats like fried goat cheese bites and a glass of dry Rosé that was made right down the road at the Biltmore winery. She put the plate and glass on the side of the deep Jacuzzi and lowered herself into the water. In arm’s reach were a highlighter, the conference agenda, and a travel guide.
Her plan was to select the conference sessions she’d attend the next morning and choose a few local spots to try later that night while she enjoyed her snacks from the hotel’s kitchen. Afterward, she’d turn on the jets and let them do their magic on her body.
The only shame about the tub was she was clearly staying in what was meant to be a romantic getaway room for a couple. The tub, like the mammoth bed, was never intended for only one person. It wasn’t the hotel’s fault that their jar of bubbles didn’t come with a side of Taylor.
Eva had to turn the tap back on and splash herself with cold water when she thought about what Taylor’s long legs would look like kicked up on the side of the tub, her toenails the same turquoise as her favorite jewelry.
Eva kept a list of ideal getaways for her clients that didn’t have the time or money for an international honeymoon but still wanted something special and memorable. She made a mental note to add her conference hotel to the list of suggestions now that she’d had a chance to properly vet it.
* * *
If it weren’t for the rainbow flag decor inside, the gay bar would have looked almost like any of the generic sports bars she frequented with her dad back in Raleigh when one of them had a craving for hot wings. Large screens played Sunday night football games and people gathered around pool and foosball tables in a far corner with a door that led to a large open-air area with a sand volleyball court and picnic table style seating. It was also sparsely populated. Eva wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it felt a little anticlimactic. She was also fighting an impending food coma from the sumptuous confit chicken cacciatore she’d gobbled up at the much-buzzed-about Mediterranean restaurant she’d gone to for dinner. All things considered, she was tempted to call it an early night so that she could languish in the California king waiting for her at the hotel and wrap herself in Egyptian cotton sheets twice as soft as those she had at home.
Forgetting Chuck Taylor Page 10
