Fight For It

by Jessie Harper

  I clear my throat. "I usually try to find why clients want to take the lessons in the first place. I have an idea—from our conversation before, with the kids—but is there anything else I should know?"

  Julia blinks.

  "So that I don't do anything that triggers a bad memory, for example. To avoid things like that and to make sure you get what you need from this..." Julia doesn't seem to be registering what I'm saying. At the very least I would expect her to say something but she just keeps looking at me with wide eyes. Blinking.

  When Julia bursts into laughter, I'm not sure what to do. What's the best way to handle someone doubling over in response to a question that wasn't all that funny? I let her go for a bit, not only out of confusion but also out of a need to hear her laugh for as long as possible. There's sadness in what should be a happy sound.

  "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I think inappropriate laughter is my new thing." She tries to catch her breath, hands still on her knees. "I never used to do that before, but now I'm doing it all the time."

  When she stands, I notice the necklace she's wearing. The force of gravity has pulled the entire thing past the collar of her shirt and now I'm startled to see what looks like an engagement ring and wedding band twinkling against her chest. She rubs them absentmindedly before tucking them back down the front of her T-shirt.

  "What was the question again?" Julia asks.

  "What else I should know?" I brace myself for more laughter but instead she purses her lips.

  "Well, you know about the break in so that's the biggest thing. Okay, not the biggest thing because having my husband die unexpectedly is really the biggest thing. I'm here because I've never lived alone in my life and now I'm the only adult in a house with my kids and I'm scared out of my mind." It comes out in a rush and her bottom lip trembles a bit. She looks directly in my eyes and I can plainly see the fear in hers.

  "Let's do something about that."

  I can't say Julia’s a natural because that is far from the truth. But she's trying and she's not uncoordinated. She's relaxed a bit and so have I so that by the end of the session she's sweaty, but we're both having fun. We're still awkward when I need to show her a hold or touch her to demonstrate a move, but it's working.

  "What was this stuff again?" she asks. "Krava Wava, blah, blah, blah?" She’s practicing an open hand move to my nose. We don't have time to get the move down today, but next time I'll put on the helmet and let her try it out for real.

  "Krav Maga," I correct. "I don't think the Israeli military allows blah, blah, blahing."

  "Probably not." She does the move again in slow motion. "Like this, right?"

  "Yep, but with more force if you're really trying to hurt someone, obviously."

  Julia steps forward, shifting her weight and putting the heel of her hand out, aiming toward my face. I lean my head back a bit to avoid contact.

  "That's how I give you a broken nose, right?" Julia's enthusiasm is infectious and after a few more passes we're both grinning like crazy.

  "Again next week?" I'm far more hopeful than I should be.

  "Sure, but I don't want to take up your Fridays." Julia collects her bag and repositions her ponytail.

  "It's no trouble, really. I wouldn't offer it if I wasn't okay with it." I'm way more than okay with her taking up part of my Friday afternoon, but I keep this to myself. I'm baby stepping the self-defense and the friendship now. I am most definitely baby stepping the inkling of maybe more than friends.

  "I'm in then. Oh, and I'll see you Tuesday with my boys." She slings the strap of her bag over her shoulder and then turns back to face me. "And thanks, Zach. I think this might actually help."

  "My pleasure," I tell her. And I mean it.

  8

  Julia

  "That's it. You're going back in the closet."

  I'm not sure what's worse, that I'm talking to myself or that I'm threatening a cardboard box. I'm still unpacking and probably will be for years, but there are certain boxes that just seem to taunt me. I've hidden all of Paul's boxes in the attic and out in the garage, but this box keeps finding its way back into the house. I've tucked it into the hall closet more times than I can count but I always find myself pulling it back out again and again.

  “CAMERA CRAP” is scrawled across the top in thick black letters. It isn't actual crap. In fact, it's enough camera equipment to make most people jealous. Lenses and my light meter are probably all still waiting, wrapped in the paper I gingerly put them in months ago. I tell myself I should at least open them to check for damage. Soon it'll be too late to ask the moving company for reimbursement if something's broken. My fingers itch to tear at the tape but I ball them into fists. There've been plenty of times I wanted to get my camera out but I keep telling myself it's a bad idea. I haven't wanted to document this time in my life even though it means I've been missing sunsets, first days of school, birthdays, and lost teeth. The boys have been growing right before my eyes but that's the only way I'll be able to look back on it. I'll have memories but no proof. Like it almost didn't happen.

  My phone on the kitchen counter buzzes. I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone, but the fact that it could be the elementary school has me crossing the room to look at the screen. The possibility of an emergency has me moving fast, a tiny flutter of anxiety flapping in my chest. The buzzing stops as the call goes to voicemail. I put it on speaker and wait to see if it's Charlie or Noah with a fever. Hopefully no vomit; I'm not sure I'm ready for stomach flu. Maybe one of them has had an unfortunate run in with a ball or fallen on the playground—then it will be stitches or a broken bone. Having tragedy hit your family and hit it hard makes moving from the least terrifying scenario to the most almost a given. Before I can even pick up the phone I'm mentally at the hospital holding a bedside vigil.

  But I've worried unnecessarily. It isn't the school calling but Graham. Determined, determined Graham most likely calling from my parents' living room. He's left a rambling message.

  Hi Jules. It's Graham, but I'm sure your phone told you that. Unless I'm not in your contacts. But I think I am because... well, I would be, right? Anyway, I wanted to see if I could maybe take you out to dinner sometime this week. To talk. I have some things that I think we should talk about. So, let me know if you're available. Call me later, okay? Bye.

  He's nervous, his laugh a little forced and his voice wavering. It reminds me of when he asked me out the first time in high school. Graham definitely thought he was a big deal, even then, but when he'd finally gotten up the nerve to call my parents' house to ask me if I'd like to see a movie, his voice had been so shaky that I'd had to ask him to repeat himself. So much for tough macho football players. And now here he was asking me—what was he asking me?

  I rub my temples. My phone lights up again before I have a chance to think of how to handle Graham's invitation. This time he's texting, as relentless as ever to get an answer. He's never been good at waiting; patience was never his strong suit. He's been like that with football, with school, and our relationship. He doesn't always realize that in his pushing he's also pushing me away.

  G: Left you a message.

  I hesitate. Now I'm sure this is more than a friendly chance to catch up and I need to keep this situation manageable. The two of us going to dinner, Graham opening doors for me and putting his hand on the small of my back, the feeling of his lips pressed against mine after he walks me to the front porch are all firmly in the never-again category. Not that there’s anything wrong with Graham. But running into the arms of my high school ex? This isn’t a Hallmark movie. I could easily fall right back into the old patterns that had me attached to Graham's hip. If that's what he wants I can't encourage it no matter how easy it would be. No matter how familiar.

  J: Would prefer coffee.

  G: Tomorrow? Morning or afternoon?

  J: Morning?

  I have my session with Zach in the afternoon, though I'm not about to tell Graham that. Knowing I've got someone else o
n my schedule will make him just jealous enough to be interested. If I wanted to stoke those feelings I could. I've known him long enough and well enough to effortlessly push his buttons. But this isn't me jumping back into our old relationship; this is me trying to figure our how to be friends now that we're going to be seeing each other all the time.

  G: The old place? 9am?

  That I still know exactly what he's talking about is a testament to how tangled our lives actually are.

  When Graham and I were dating we spent more time than should have been legal on the porch of Lava Java. Back before there was Starbucks it was the only place in town to get anything other than a cup of drip coffee. Now it doesn't seem like such a big deal, with coffee bars on every corner, but then it was like discovering the Holy Grail. When I walk up to the front of the old house where Lava Java has been serving coffee since I was a teenager, I see Graham at our old table, two cups already steaming in front of him. If it weren't for the tie he's got knotted around his thick neck we could be back to any morning sixteen years ago.

  Graham swivels in his seat and catches a glimpse of me. He smiles an awkward smile, not the usual carefree smile he's been giving me for years. I give him a little self-conscious wave. I'm dreading hearing whatever it is that has him so nervous. If I'm to believe my parents, he's here to confess that he's still in love with me. That he can't live one more minute without me. To listen to my mother this should be my dream come true. I should be running up the stairs and straight into Graham's arms instead of walking like I'm a death row inmate headed to the chair. Of course, my parents could be wrong. Graham could be preparing to tell me all kinds of things. He could be about to tell me that he's finally getting married and he just thought I should hear it from him. He could be about to tell me he's accepted another job and will be moving away so he can keep working in football. That's his first real love, after all. Or Graham could be about to tell me he's gay. I smile a bit to myself; I'm pretty sure it isn't that last one. But still it seems presumptuous to assume he's here because he still has any feeling for me stronger than friendship.

  When I reach the table Graham stands. His Southern manners always get the best of him. Again I find a smile trying to fix itself on my face. His bad decisions have always been smoothed over by his impeccable manners. That, and the fact that he has always been breathtakingly handsome. Women have always gone crazy for Graham. He's starting to get a few lines on his face, slight crow’s feet around his eyes from squinting so much on the football field, but if anything, the maturity has made him more masculine. He seems every inch a man now instead of the boy that he was when we first got together.

  "The usual," he says as he slides a mug toward me. I can plainly see that he hasn't forgotten that I'm all about the perfect latte. His mug has his usual black, but I can also guess that unless things have changed for him there are two sugars in there.

  "Thanks." I settle into my seat. I could swear it's the exact same chair from high school. I run my fingers along the arm, almost expecting to feel the tiny nicks I had put there so many years ago with my fingernails. I take a sip of my coffee and thank the gods of Lava Java for never changing. It tastes exactly as I remember it.

  Graham clears his throat and wraps his giant hands around his mug. He's unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and rolled them up so that I can see the muscles of his forearms flex. Adult Graham wears a suit to work doing whatever it is he's doing now that he's off the team's official roster. Teenage Graham wouldn't have been caught dead in a suit. Immediately I remember those arms on either side of me as Graham's face lowered to kiss mine. Since then other people have spent nights pinned underneath Graham and I've been married and widowed. Still, his place in my life is cemented.

  Graham clears his throat again and I look up. He's so expectant, but his eyes cut left and then right before he finally settles on my face. He lets out a breath, his lips puffing out from the effort. "Thanks for coming," he starts and then seems to lose steam, looking into the swirling liquid in his coffee cup. "Okay, I'm just going to start." But then he doesn't.

  I'm beginning to get more and more nervous about what he might have to say. "Graham, is there something wrong?"

  "No, sorry, nothing's wrong. If anything, things are finally right. More right than before. But it's hard to get started." He exhales again. "Here goes. I want to try again." He blurts the last part out in a rush, his fingers tight around his coffee mug. He's so earnest in his delivery and so open in his request that my heart breaks a little.

  "Try again?" Oh God. Why, oh why, does my mother have to be right about this?

  He shifts in his seat. "I want to start over, well, not start over because that would be... I don't want to start over. I want another chance. Another chance to prove to you that before was a mistake. That we should have been together all along."

  "Graham…" I find myself at a loss for words. How can he think we could just start again after everything that's happened, after all the time that's passed?

  "I know, I know," he interrupts before I can gather my thoughts. "I messed everything up last time but I can promise I'll do right by you and the boys. I'll take care of you and them. I love you. I never stopped loving you."

  To anyone else I can imagine this being a gift from heaven. I'm sure plenty of women would risk everything to have Graham profess his undying love to them. He's undeniably what my mother would call "a catch." A handsome former football god with the bank account to back it up. But this isn't the way things are meant to work out. No matter his good intentions I'm sure that even giving this a try would be a mistake.

  "I don't know what to say," I manage to get out. I can tell from Graham's reaction that my face is registering a good deal of shock and I can't seem to make my features relax into anything resembling normalcy.

  "Then don't say anything. Or say you'll try. Or even that you'll think about it." Graham leans in closer. "We were so good together, Jules. I know you remember that. We could be good again. We could be great. If you could get past the mistakes I've made I know we could make this work."

  "Graham, we didn't break up in college because you made mistakes," I remind him. "We made a decision. A mutual decision to see other people."

  Graham shakes his head, his blond hair falling a bit over his strong forehead. "No, it was my mistake that got us there. If I had been mature enough to keep it together we wouldn't be having this conversation now. We'd be married. Those boys would be mine. We’d be a family. "

  "We were just babies. You can't go back and rewrite history.”

  "But think of it this way, our parents get along great. I love your kids. I've always wanted a family and you and I are great friends—"

  "We can't do this." Once it's out I can see the distress and confusion on Graham's face. This isn't what he wants to hear.

  "You don't even want to try? You don't have to decide now, Jules. I've just sprung this on you now. You can take some time to think about it."

  "No, I don't need time to think. Graham, I need to listen to my heart and it's telling me that this wouldn't be the best choice for us. You aren't in love with me. It'd be settling."

  Graham interrupts again, the hopefulness in his voice slicing through the armor I'm desperately trying to keep around my heart. "If you still love me then this can work. We were in love with each other before and we could be again. Think this through, Julia. How are you going to do this on your own? Look at my mother, raising me by herself. That's lonely. She's been lonely for years. That's not what I want for you. I can take care of you."

  "You don't think I can do this by myself?" The thought hits me like a sledgehammer. He's doubting that I can be on my own. He's here to ride in on his white horse and save the day. He doesn’t want to be with me, he thinks he's protecting me.

  "Don't take it like that," Graham backtracks, watching me as if I might bolt from my seat. "But you've never really even had a full-time job and you've got a lot to deal with. I worry is all. Your father worries."
>
  "I can take care of myself."

  "This isn't turning out the way I had planned. I'm not here to say you need a partner to make this work. I mean, I want to be that for you, but not because I think you're weak or something." Graham scrubs his hand over his face. "Shit, Julia. I want to be there for you because I love you."

  There's that word again.

  But nothing Graham says now can stop the wheels turning in my head. He's right about one thing: I have no real plan. Sure, I managed to come to the realization that I needed to move home so I could have help, but I haven't gotten much further than that. And obviously my parents and Graham have been discussing it. I can't stay home forever. I need to work along with everything else. I need to start thinking ahead, making real plans. I need to build a life here, to figure out how to move forward. Agreeing to a second try with Graham is not how to do that. I've got to figure that out on my own.

  So I go ahead and break his heart one more time.

  9

  Zach

  "You can go harder than that. With your knee. Really get in there."

  The look on Julia's face lets me know there's no way in hell she's doing that.

  "That's what the gear is for, so you can practice hitting hard."

  Julia looks at me with skepticism. "I feel like kneeing you in the gut is bound to end badly." She frowns but keeps her gloved hands up to protect her face like I taught her.

  "Seriously, you can hit as hard as you want and I won't feel a thing." I slap the pad I have around my midsection. "Right here. You have to practice with strong hits so it feels natural outside the gym. If you needed to use it you couldn't half ass it. Come on, the kids do it all the time."