Fight For It

by Jessie Harper

  5

  Julia

  Cassie wasn't kidding about the possibility of exploding ovaries. When I finally make it to Zach's studio I can see why the kids love him. The moms seem to love him too, although for very different reasons. A large gaggle of ladies has stayed to watch their children go through the martial arts stations Zach has set up around the room. His T-shirt stretches tight when he shows the kids the proper form for following through with a punch and I swear I can almost hear the women sigh. When Zach leans over to pick up a set of pads there are a few appreciative murmurs. He slides them over his forearms and squats down to let a small girl in pigtails throw her fist at him.

  "Yeah, just like that!" Zach shouts and motions for the next pint-sized fighter to approach him. The line of kids continues to advance, each one whacking the pad with their tiny fists. Zach encourages them all with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for lottery winning. The gaggle of mothers radiates back the same level of energy. In my yoga pants and T-shirt I am severely underdressed. They are almost universally outfitted in tight jeans and low-cut tops with made-up faces and dangly earrings. Not a wedding ring in sight. I absentmindedly rub the space on my left hand where my own used to sit.

  I've brought Charlie and Noah and they stand mesmerized beside me. I'd expected some sort of organized class with rows of white kung fu uniforms. Both boys had been adamant that they weren't interested in martial arts, especially after watching a few YouTube videos of kids' classes.

  "No way," Charlie had declared, even folding his arms over his chest for emphasis.

  Noah had copied this pose before adding, "That sucks."

  Questionable language aside, I had to agree. Those classes had looked boring. But in the spirit of getting acclimated to our new town, I had insisted that we at least check it out. For the sake of having an open mind, of course, and the possibility of making sure that Zach was as attractive as I had thought back at Mamacita's.

  I kept that last part to myself.

  Now we're all surprised on both fronts. Before us wiggles and giggles a room full of kids in gym shorts and T-shirts. Kids roll and jump and squeal as they move through different exercises. It's controlled chaos and Noah and Charlie are itching to join in. They bounce along with the infectious excitement in the room, straining to see everything.

  And when Zach looks up and notices us from across the room? My original estimation is proven to be nowhere near accurate. If anything, he has somehow become more handsome surrounded by a scrum of overeager children. The slow smile spreading across his face only gets more radiant as he jogs over.

  "Hey! You made it!" He seems genuinely excited to see us. Before I can register surprise, I find myself in the middle of a firm Zach Winston hug. I can't help but notice how solid his biceps feel wrapped around me—and how much attention a hug from Zach gets from the rest of the assembled moms.

  "And these must be your boys." Zach scrunches down to Noah and Charlie's eye level before extending his hand to first one and then the other to shake. "I'm Coach Z."

  Noah and Charlie are quick to introduce themselves and even manage to each extend one still baby soft hand for a tentative handshake.

  "Do you guys want to join in?" Zach motions with his head toward the center of the room. "I'd love to have you guys practice with us."

  Charlie speaks first, "Can we, mom?"

  "If Coach Z says it's okay then it's fine with me."

  As both boys disappear to join the other kids, I turn my attention back to Zach. "Thanks for that. They were really having trouble just watching."

  "No problem. There's always room for a few more."

  "No uniforms, huh?" I can't help myself, but Zach doesn't seem to mind. He runs his hand through the short hairs on the back of his head, his muscles noticeably bunching under his shirt.

  "Yeah, I'm a little nontraditional here. Also, I hate wearing uniforms. That's a holdover from private school, I guess." He shrugs his shoulders. "After class I’d love to talk more about my philosophy with you. To help you decide if this is something you would want." He pauses. "For your kids, I mean."

  "Oh, of course, I have time to talk after."

  Zach reaches out to place his hand on my arm. The warmth of his palm spreads and I can feel the pads of his fingers as my heart begins to pound a bit in my chest.

  "Great. After then?"

  "Sure." I am far too accommodating. An unfamiliar eagerness washes over me. We smile at each other for a beat, his hand still resting on my forearm. I shift and the metal of my wedding ring makes contact with my chest. Immediately I'm hit with the reminder of NOT PAUL. I blink it away, sliding my arm from Zach's fingers. If he notices, he doesn't show it, already turning to move toward the kids.

  I busy myself looking around the studio to keep the NOT PAUL at bay. We're in what looks to be the main room, another smaller room around the corner is tucked slightly out of sight. From here I can see a punching bag hanging from the wall. The main room is lined with mirrors on one side and pasted all over the walls are crayon drawings kids have made for Zach. Stick figure representations of punching and kicking fill the pages, Zach featured prominently in most. There's a counter with class information posted on a bulletin board with more shots of Zach and the kids. This time they are photographs, the majority featuring comical shots of kids punching Zach in the face. In each one the child is looking as tough as possible while their fist makes contact with Zach's cheek, his mouth hanging open. I can immediately see why the kids seem to love him. He's like a big kid himself.

  For forty-five minutes I watch the spectacle of Zach and his little band of ninjas. Each attempt results in praise, high fives handed out left and right. They’re all hoping to please Zach and he notices each one, rewarding them for their effort. By the end of the session Charlie and Noah are grinning from ear to ear, their little faces sweaty but beaming with satisfaction. We wait while Zach says goodbye to his other students. Several moms linger to ask questions, reaching manicured hands out to playfully touch his shoulder or accidentally brush his arm. He doesn't bristle but doesn't seem to be reciprocating either. Not that I should be interested in any of this.

  Charlie and Noah interrupt any further analysis of Zach and his admirers. Noah wiggles against my legs while Charlie jumps up and down to get my attention.

  "Did you see us, Mom? Did you see us?" Charlie asks.

  "Can we come next week too?" Noah demands.

  "It looked like you guys were having a good time. Would you like to come again if Zach, I mean Coach Z, has space?"

  "I've always got space for these two," Zach answers, somehow back at my elbow. Maybe the kids aren't the only ones with ninja skills around here.

  "Well, then where do we sign up?"

  Charlie and Noah excitedly jump up and down at my feet. Zach ushers us all over to the counter for me to fill out the paperwork. He's explaining the class schedule and the pricing, but all I can manage to focus on are his straight, white teeth. As his lips continue to move his tongue hits the ridges of those teeth, occasionally arching up to lick his upper lip in a way that begins to signal the NOT PAUL. But before it can get a good running start in my brain, Zach pauses. Noah and Charlie look at me expectantly. I stare back at them, my expression blank.

  "Well? Would that work for you?" Zach asks.

  I have no idea what he's been talking about.

  "You should do that, Mommy," Charlie volunteers.

  "Oh, I should?" I stall for time, hoping that I can figure out what we've been talking about without making it obvious that I've been doing very little listening during the past eight or so minutes.

  "I mean," Zach hesitates. "I hope it isn't overstepping. Cassie mentioned it before and I wasn't sure if you were serious about doing some self-defense. If you weren't it's totally cool, but if you were, I would be happy to set up a weekly time to work with you. Just to give you some basics."

  Before I have a chance to answer, Charlie pipes up. "Someone broke into our house
in Virginia after Daddy died." He says it so matter-of-factly that I am taken aback. Zach blinks but recovers quickly.

  "Really?" He squats down next to Charlie and Noah. "I don't like that at all. That sounds pretty scary." Zach tilts his head toward me. "And upsetting."

  Again, Charlie interrupts my attempt to minimize the situation. "And then we moved here near Grandma and Grandpa." I realize that not only has he put two and two together, equating the shock of the break-in with the last straw and our subsequent move, but I know Zach has undoubtedly done so as well. Zach reaches out and ruffles Charlie's hair, but his brows furrow.

  "Okay, then." Zach's up on his feet. "Self-defense for everyone. Soon these boys will be lean, mean, fighting machines and so will Mommy. Fridays work for you? I've got all afternoon free."

  6

  Zach

  "So, what do you think?"

  "I think you're fucked."

  Amy gives Kat's arm a swat. "Can you try to be positive?"

  "Fine, you're not fucked but you're probably screwed. Better?"

  "Thanks." I give my neck a squeeze. I don't know why I thought a brainstorming session with my sisters would help me. They're only reminding me of what I already know: being business partners with your ex is never a good thing. It's even worse when your ex is Abbey.

  "I still don't see why she wouldn't want you to be successful. You doing well means more money for her."

  Kat rolls her eyes. "We all know Abbey'll take Zach's suffering over money every day of the week."

  Truer words have never been spoken.

  "But it's been years. How long can she hold a grudge? She's got the life she always wanted, right?" There's no way Amy can understand how my ex-wife operates. Sure, Abbey's life now has perks she always dreamed of, but she's had to wait and she blames me for that. I'm the speed bump she hit on her way to fantasyland. The one she keeps reversing over so she can put it under her tires again.

  "There's more to it than that."

  "Why couldn't you have waited until after the divorce to open this place?" Kat lets out a frustrated breath. "If you owned it outright then there wouldn't be all this back and forth." She looks around the room at what amounts to all I've got.

  "I didn't know we were getting a divorce!" I'm not an idiot, but Abbey hit me out of left field when she filed. Things had been bad, but I figured we'd work it out. I hadn't thought she'd go scorched earth. "And I wouldn't have had the money if I'd waited, you know that."

  "Still, maybe if you'd told her," Amy says. She wants to see the goodness in people but she doesn't know the whole story.

  "She would have said no." That's how I justify it even if I know it was wrong. Abbey'd been dreaming about a bigger house, dangling the possibility of kids in the yard so I'd agree. But when my bonus came, I sunk the money into the gym. And then I quit my job. All without even giving Abbey a heads up.

  "She got you back," Kat says and I shoot her a warning look. She knows about Abbey's biggest fuck you, about what she told me after. But that's between me and Abbey and I don't need anyone else knowing how much I've actually lost.

  "I just can't see how refusing to let you expand or buy new equipment helps her. She's shooting herself in the foot. Have you talked to your attorney? Isn't he supposed to help you work this stuff out?" Amy shakes her head.

  "I've talked to him, but he isn't much help. And he charges me by the hour." In fifteen minute increments. Money I don't have and can't justify spending. "That's why I asked my two smartest siblings for advice."

  Amy sighs. "I have to get back to school, but I'll think on it. I don't suppose sending her a gift basket would work?" She gives me a frown.

  "We are way past gift basket," Kat tells her. "We're into first born child territory here."

  I wince but Amy doesn't seem to notice. Once the gym's front door is closed behind her Kat turns her mortified face toward mine. "I'm so sorry. That just came out."

  "It's fine."

  "No, I shouldn't have said that." The pitying look on Kat's face is enough to do me in. "She could've been lying, you know? I wouldn't put it past her."

  "Could've been."

  "She could have made the whole baby thing up just to hurt you. And she was already screwing around so..."

  "Too late now." Just like it was already too late when Abbey told me about the pregnancy because she'd already "taken care of it." I don't think even she'd lie about that. After she told me I spent the next week barely sleeping or eating, staying at the gym so I could beat the crap out of a punching bag instead of someone else. So I could punish myself without losing my mind in public. Kat showing up in the middle of that is the only reason she knows. Lie or not, Abbey knew how to hit me where it would hurt. Now when she takes out her frustration on me there's a part of me that knows I deserve it. I put things in motion to get us where we are today. It's how I know I'm capable of ruining things as easily as the next guy. How I know I can take a bad situation and make it even worse.

  "Quit it." Kat's voice cuts through my wallowing. "You can't keep blaming yourself. She was just as guilty as you in all of it and now she's dragging it out. We've got to figure out a way to get you free of her once and for all."

  If only it was that easy.

  7

  Zach

  "Tell me what you know about self-defense."

  This is always the first thing I ask when I start with a new client. It gives me a good idea of expectations. Sometimes I get a big, macho dude who thinks this is a way to learn to start shit or someone who thinks it's all about routines and poses. Neither one of those things is what you get when you train with me, so I'm relieved when Julia doesn't spout off any of that bullshit. Instead she scrunches up her brow and takes a minute to think. She gets the cutest little crease in her forehead and I get distracted by how pretty she looks, even without any make-up. Even in her workout gear she's still flustering me a bit. She has on those spandex pants that end mid-calf and a T-shirt that says, "Everything hurts and I'm dying." I managed a chuckle at the shirt, but I'm trying to keep my eyes off the pants. They leave nothing to the imagination and I'm already developing a pretty active fantasy life when it comes to Julia. She's a client, not the gorgeous girl you used to sit behind in high school geometry.

  "Well," she finally answers. "I'm sure this is probably wrong, but I think it's a little about confidence and preparation. Other than that, I've always been told to go for the soft spots—eyes, um." She pauses. "The groin."

  "That's not a bad start." I focus my attention away from thoughts of Julia touching some guy's groin. She probably meant kneeing it. I keep going with my explanation. "It is about confidence and preparation—just like I tell the kids. You hope you never need it, but with training you'll know what to do. If something happens, you won't freeze; you'll have some tools."

  Julia nods, her face serious. She's rocking back and forth on her toes and I can tell she's a little nervous. I am too, to tell the truth. It takes a while to get comfortable with any client, especially when there's already a relationship. Not that I'm calling what I have with Julia a relationship. We barely know each other, but we're about to get pretty familiar.

  "There's some physicality to it, if you want to call it that, but that isn't the most important part. The things I'm going to teach you don't rely on you being the biggest or the strongest but these sessions will still be a work out. It's still exercise."

  Julia bites her lip. "Okay," she says, not sounding entirely convinced.

  "Do you exercise?" The question seems somewhat redundant considering what I'm seeing of her body, but sometimes people can fool me when I'm just looking. I wasn't kidding about the exertion part, and I need to know if Julia's going to end up in over her head when I ask her to do some of the more strenuous stuff.

  "I work out. I lift weights and take a couple of classes, you know, cardio stuff."

  "Do you run?" An image of us running together on my park route lodges itself in my brain. I shove it away. There is no sce
nario where she and I become running buddies.

  "Not really. It kind of bores me. If I can listen to music it helps, but running on the treadmill gets old." My face must register some sort of shock because Julia smiles a bit. "What's so crazy about that?"

  "Why are you running on a treadmill?" I can't imagine running inside. Even on the coldest, nastiest day I still suit up for an outdoor run.

  "I tried running outside, but I get too distracted by the things going on around me." Julia shrugs.

  "That's what I like about running," I confess. She's missing the best part, but I don't try to explain this to her now. Maybe later, once she trusts me a little more. I give my arms a shake. "Enough of that."

  Julia surprises me with a laugh. "Did you just shake yourself out to change the subject? I thought only Noah did that."

  I hadn't realized that I actually moved. "Sorry, that was meant to be a mental thing, but my brain must have forgotten to tell the rest of me."

  "Noah says it helps his brain reset. He needs a physical sensation or something." Julia isn't judging or teasing which makes me less self-conscious even if I've just accidentally revealed something that I would've preferred to keep hidden.

  "I guess Noah and I are alike in that way." I manage to resist the urge to shake myself out again. I need to feel my arms and legs relax, but a second shake will seem ridiculous. I start to make a production of gathering up gear to get my legs moving, hopeful my brain will catch up. I'm starting to feel a tightness in my chest. Maybe working one-on-one with Julia wasn't the best idea. I haven't spent much time alone with her and my adolescent fantasies don't count. I'm realizing that she's actually nice, something that high school me would have found hard to believe. The pretty girlfriends of football players tend not to be the kindest people. And even though I'm sure she doesn't remember me striking out with her before, we're not in high school anymore and I need to get myself together before I morph into a sixteen-year-old boy. It doesn't help that when she talks about her sons her whole face lights up. When that happens, I get this pang that tells me there's more to this feeling than just admiring the scenery.