“They’re magical, sometimes, these kids,” Cay said as she gathered greasy paper plates.
“The littles or the bigs?”
“Rachel’s two are sweeties, but I meant ours. These big tough guys show all their heart around the little kids.”
“It is pretty great.”
“We should do this more often,” Cay mused. “Maybe make some community connections, offer it up as a resource or a support. That way we could tap into some of that funding…”
Jordan laughed. “You never quit, do you?”
Cay looked abashed, then grinned. “Nope, and neither do you.”
Jordan thought about these words, hurled at her as an accusation earlier. Cay looked at her curiously.
“Want to tell me what’s bugging you? I’m noticing your shadow isn’t here tonight.”
Jordan flattened a few more empty pizza boxes for the recycling before answering.
“Madi’s mad at me for joining the task force.”
Cay tilted her head to the side. “Worried about you?”
“No, that’s not it. Or not entirely. She…”
Jordan didn’t really want to share what Madi had said. It shamed her.
“Say it, my friend. Whatever it is, it’s poison. Might as well get it out.”
Jordan sighed. “She accused me of acting like a superhero all the time. Told me I didn’t belong and to stay out of it.”
“I have a couple thoughts, if you’d like to hear them,” Cay said.
“I would.”
“First, I think you’re wrong. I think Madi is showing her worry for you.” Jordan made a sound of protest, but Cay held up her hand. “Let me finish. Did you not hear her speak the other night? At her poetry performance.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Tell me what message you heard.”
Jordan shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly she felt like she’d missed something important. “That she’s feeling unprepared for being an adult, and she’s angry at the system for not being able to protect her. And for kicking her out. But I’m not kicking her out. I wouldn’t.”
“I know that, Jordan. And most of the time Madi does, too. But that’s not the part of her poem that I’m thinking about. Remember when she said, ‘I feel the weight of their caseload with an empathy I cannot admit I have’? Or something to that effect. She worries about you. She worries she’s a burden. She worries you take on too much. She worries not enough people are worrying about you.”
“Oh.”
Jordan wasn’t sure what else to say. She watched one of the kids wipe pizza sauce off Hannah’s face as she sang along with the dancing lobster on the screen.
Cay sighed. “Jordan McAddie, you live your life for everyone else, which is noble as shit. But don’t think for a second we aren’t aware you’re not living for yourself.”
Jordan closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotions that welled up in her chest. She felt seen and exposed, as if she’d been hiding this part of her, not knowing all along she was utterly transparent to those who loved her.
“I don’t want people to worry about me,” Jordan managed to say.
“It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?”
Jordan let out a long breath. “Yes. Jesus, yes.”
“Well, get used to it,” Cay said bluntly, smiling when Jordan gave a short laugh. “Madi had to get used to it. Hell, most of the kids who come through your program have to get used to it. I think you are up for the challenge.”
“Thanks. I needed a little perspective.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Cay said and winked. “Also cake.”
When Rachel and Adam arrived ten minutes later, pizza had been consumed and the movie abandoned in favour of rolling around on the floor in a made-up game that seemed to have no rules. Rachel gave a huge smile as the girls squealed and ran into her outstretched arms, nearly knocking her over as she laughed.
The teens hung back shyly, either unsure how to interact with Rachel when she wasn’t in uniform or workout wear, or unsure where they fit in the sweet family scene. With a quiet prompt from Jordan, they ran to the back room to get the cake and candles while Jordan tried to fill in the necessary details of the girls’ night. Moments later, the front lights went out with a clang as someone tripped the breaker and the three-layer chocolate cake was brought out with a sparkler in the middle as the teens sang a raucous happy birthday.
Rachel’s eyes teared up as the teens approached, and Jordan allowed herself to feel the happiness of this moment. For her kids, for Rachel, and even for herself.
Laughter filled the gym as Hannah blew and blew on the sparkler with no effect. Then they all cheered when it finally sputtered out on its own, and the three-year-old raised her arms in victory. The cake was sliced and passed around on small paper plates. Rachel pretended to hesitate before she took her first bite.
“Who made the cake?” she said suspiciously.
“We did,” the teens said around mouthfuls of chocolate icing.
“But Jordan supervised,” Rupert added.
“Well, okay, then,” Rachel said, her eyes dancing as she took a giant bite of cake. “I trust you with the lives of my kids but maybe not so much in the kitchen.”
Rachel’s comment was met with stunned silence.
“Really?” one of the girls said.
Rachel offered her next bite of cake to baby Gracie, who opened her mouth to receive it like a chubby baby bird.
“Other than Adam’s parents, you guys are the only ones who have ever babysat these two. So, yes.”
“That’s crazy cool,” someone said.
Jordan couldn’t have summarized the sentiment any better.
The party wrapped up quickly after Hannah’s good mood turned to tears when Rachel refused her third slice of birthday cake. Adam whisked her away as Rachel, with baby Gracie falling asleep in her arms, hugged each of the kids.
“Happy birthday, Rach,” Jordan said when it was her turn for a hug.
“You’re the best,” Rachel said into Jordan’s ear. “Now go get some sleep.”
When the kids scattered and the gym was cleaned up, Jordan sent one final text to Madi before following Rachel’s advice.
Chapter Ten
Jordan spent Saturday morning cleaning her apartment. She brought up the speaker from the gym and blasted music through the small space as she scrubbed the floors, dusted shelves, and vacuumed the furniture. One of the advantages of living in an area mostly zoned as business industrial was no neighbours to complain about the AC / DC ripping through the walls before eight o’clock on a Saturday morning.
Two things made the day even better. Madi sent a picture of her X-large Timmy’s and the caption “power of wakey juice.” Jordan took it as an olive branch, if not an apology. And her brother Jake called to ask if he could stop by the gym mid-afternoon.
Jordan was showered and halfway through a paper on consultation and counseling theories when she got a text that Jake was waiting downstairs. She pulled on a hoodie and banged her way down the metal staircase, rounding the building to see Jake pulling the tarp off a wooden structure in the bed of his beloved F-150 truck.
“What’s this?” Jordan said, checking out the unfinished pine frame, maybe four feet by four feet. Narrow slots ran along each shelf and a piece of white wainscoting backed the whole thing.
Jake leaned the frame against his boot and tilted it back to look at it as he spoke. “It’s for cell phones. For your guys to put their phones while they’re working out.” He looked embarrassed. “You mentioned it a few months ago, and I looked up some designs. Had a few scrap pieces around the shop, so…”
“Jake, that’s amazing. Thank you.”
They’d never been very good at talking. With twelve years between them, they didn’t have much in common. Jordan had always felt a little like she was a burden to Jake, incapable of looking after herself. Even after he’d moved out, he’d still bring food to the house, take out the garbage, or fix
the constant neglect. But he was always angry about it. It had taken Jordan a long time to understand the anger wasn’t directed at her, and his constant presence and his ability to do for Steven and Jordan was the only way he could show love.
“Kim says I should have finished it,” Jake said, referring to his wife. “But I figured it was fine as is.” Jake shrugged again.
“It’s perfect. Bring it in, we’ll set it up.”
Jake pulled a toolbox from the bed of the truck. “There’s a bag in the cab with a power bar and some cords. Grab it.”
Jordan held the door as Jake maneuvered the frame into the gym. As they chose a spot and Jordan steadied the frame while Jake set up his drill, Jordan felt like she was going to cry. She’d mentioned this four or five months ago in passing, not even directly to Jake. The sound of the drill was loud in the gym, making it impossible to talk while they worked. Jake was clearly more comfortable this way. Jordan would have to be careful in her thanks.
Once the frame was installed, Jake began threading various charging cords through the small gaps, attaching them underneath to the two power bars he’d secured to the wall of the gym.
“Where did those come from?” Jordan asked about the phone cords.
Jake didn’t look up from his task as he answered. “We had a bunch at home. I asked the guys at work to bring some in if they had extra. It’s a random assortment, but there should be something for everyone.”
Jake stepped back as he finished securing the last cord. He and Jordan looked at the newly installed phone charging station.
“This will mean a lot to the kids. Thanks,” Jordan said.
Jake grunted and started packing up his tools. “Not a problem.”
Sensing he wanted to escape the praise or any personal talk, Jordan said nothing else as they cleaned up and walked back into the sun.
Jake stopped and looked at Jordan after he’d loaded his toolbox in the truck. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. In the sunlight, Jordan could see he had more grey hair around his temples than last time she’d seen him. He was in his mid-forties now. Steven would have been thirty-eight, and Jordan wondered if he’d also be growing grey like his older brother.
“Mom told Kim you guys had a nice weekend a while back,” Jake said.
“We did. Mom was happy to get out of the house. And to have people to cook for.”
Jake grunted and dug his keys out of his pocket.
“Kim wants…” Jake cleared his throat. “Jesus,” he muttered and started again. “Kim wants me to find out if you’ve got someone special in your life. I told her it was none of our business. But she wants to invite you…and whoever…over for dinner.”
Jake’s discomfort was almost comical.
“Tell Kim thanks. And I’ll call her.”
Jake’s shoulders relaxed a little when it was clear Jordan wasn’t going to get into the details.
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Jake opened the driver side door.
“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for everything.”
A tiny, crooked smile from her big brother. The most she’d get out of him. Then the truck door slammed, and Jake backed onto the street.
Jordan walked into the gym to sweep up the sawdust left over from their small construction project. She thought about family, about providing, about forgiveness. Then, without giving herself a moment to back down, Jordan pulled out her phone and texted Ali. She invited her over for a home-cooked meal and a movie tonight, if she was up for it. Or another time, if she wasn’t.
Ali’s response was immediate.
Christ on a cod boat, yes. YES.
Jordan laughed in the empty gym and tucked away her phone. She had a date to get ready for.
* * *
Jordan checked the clock on her phone one more time. Ali had texted twenty minutes ago to say she’d landed but not to worry about picking her up because her car service was arranged. Jordan had said to come right over if she was still up for it. Ali had given a short, neutral response. Now Jordan was worried. Her apartment was clean and the meatloaf smelled good warming in the oven. Jordan had bought wine and beer and had even rinsed off the wine glasses she rarely used. Everything seemed perfect. Except now she was worried Ali wasn’t expecting a date.
Jordan heard a car door slam, and then the clang of the metal steps outside her apartment. She quickly blew out the candle on a bookshelf, as if its soft glow could reveal the intent of her heart. She waved her hand above the wispy trail of black smoke before crossing to the front door.
Ali was dressed in a simple suit, her bag slung over one shoulder. She looked tired, but she smiled when Jordan met her at the top of the stairs and held the door open.
“Hey. Come on in,” Jordan said. It felt like a moment for a hug. But also maybe it didn’t.
“Thanks,” Ali said, brushing by Jordan on the way into her apartment. Ali stood just inside the door as Jordan closed it behind them. She surveyed the apartment, trying to see it from Ali’s perspective. Sparse and small, with a few pictures and one painting, a gift from an artistically inclined teen a long time ago. The smell of the candle lingered.
“Sweet apartment,” Ali said as she dropped her bag and took off her shoes.
Jordan wanted to shrink under Ali’s assessment. She tried to fall back on humour.
“It’s got a killer view of the back parking lot and the woodworking shop next door.”
Ali laughed and looked at Jordan, who still hung back by the door. “Are you going to invite me in or stand there and worry that I’m judging you all night?”
Jordan blew out a breath and ran a hand through her short hair. “Ah, be nice. I’m stressing out, here.”
Ali squeezed Jordan’s hand, the pressure brief and warm. “I know. Thanks for having me over. I’ve had nothing but sandwiches, protein shakes, and coffee for two days. Whatever you are cooking smells delicious.”
“It’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes.” As the words left her mouth, she heard their lack of polish. But Ali’s eyes grew wide.
“Seriously? You cooked my favourite home meal?” Ali seemed stunned.
“Yeah.”
Ali groaned and Jordan instantly felt better. She’d done something right. “Why are we still standing here? Let’s eat.”
“Do you have something to change into?” Jordan asked. “I’m not sure you’re allowed to eat mashed potatoes in a suit. It’s a Maritime law you’ve clearly forgotten.”
Ali punched her lightly on the shoulder. “I have a suit, wrinkled jeans, or pyjamas.”
“Dude, pyjamas,” Jordan said, finally feeling like she was finding her groove. “You can change in my room just down the hall.”
Ali grabbed her bag and disappeared down the short hallway. Jordan went into the kitchen and started serving dinner. She heard a noise behind her and turned to see Ali leaning against the counter of her small kitchen. She wore red plaid pants and a faded Chicago Cubs hoodie. Her feet were bare, and she’d tucked her hair behind her ears. She looked for a moment like the teenager Jordan remembered. But then she smiled at Jordan, and she was all present Ali. Jordan silently handed her a glass of wine, then turned back to her task.
“I made broccoli. I don’t remember how you feel about broccoli. But the plate seemed incomplete without a vegetable.”
“Potato is a vegetable,” Ali countered, taking the plate Jordan handed her. “And I love broccoli. Thanks, JP.”
Jordan grabbed her own plate off the counter. “We can sit in the kitchen,” she said, indicating the bar stools on the far side of the counter. “Or we can eat in the living room. Pretty much the only space I’ve got.” She tried not to sound like she was apologizing. Which she was.
“Living room, definitely.”
They settled on the couch beside each other, plates balanced on their laps.
“We did this a few times in high school,” Ali said. “Saturday nights if you didn’t have a bout, and I didn’t have
a match.”
“So, only a few Saturday nights, then,” Jordan said. “We never did have very much time.”
Ali made that groaning sound again as she took her first bite of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Jordan wished she wouldn’t make that sound. She wished she would make it again.
“This is so good. Perfect.” Ali took another bite, and Jordan tried not to feel too pleased.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and she started to relax. Having Ali here felt entirely right. Eating together, the nearness of her, the easiness of occupying space and time.
“You’re right,” Ali said, after she’d cleared nearly half her plate. She stopped to take a sip of wine. “We never did have very much time.”
Jordan also sipped at her wine. Her words were truer than she’d intended. “Then I’m grateful we get some now.”
“Me too.”
“How was Toronto?”
Ali’s expression fell, a disappointment and worry that seemed out of place. Though Jordan was coming to recognize how often she saw it on Ali’s face.
“Fine,” Ali responded. “I mean, we got the issue sorted and Centera Corp has broadened its reach for contracts on the eastern seaboard. But I realized how much of my time is spent managing grown-ass adults who bluster and push their weight around without a fucking clue what they’re doing. I feel like a damn kindergarten teacher except my ‘kids’ are grown men with MBAs, and they wear expensive suits instead of jumpers.”
Jordan laughed, and Ali smiled before the light left her eyes again. “You’re thinking of moving on, aren’t you?” Jordan said. She regretted it instantly. Ali looked at her plate before taking another sip of wine. Just because she could read Ali so clearly, she didn’t have to announce it.
The silence stretched as Ali finished eating her dinner and put her plate on the coffee table. For one moment, Jordan thought she was going to get up and leave. Instead, Ali tucked her feet up and curled herself on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. Jordan angled herself toward Ali, still keeping some distance because she felt like Ali needed it.
Shadowboxer Page 15
