Edgar’s boxing studio is empty. The last student headed out a while ago to get ahead of the snowstorm that’s due to hit later tonight. I’ve been punching a heavy bag in the corner for over an hour, the energy fizzing within me intense enough to keep me from stopping. I’m scared of what will happen if I let myself stop. Because I don’t know where to go from here or where to turn after the moment under the mistletoe.
I almost kissed her.
But it’s Ivy, the woman with a hold on me that has fully gripped my soul. And while I could never regret my little girl and everything that brought her to me, I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I had never stopped coming back to Birch Borough after losing Mina. What would my life look like today if I hadn’t talked myself out of finding the only woman who’s come close to pulling me toward a greater sense of life?
I should have kissed her at the tree last weekend. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
That almost-kiss.
For a few minutes, being that close to Ivy made me feel like myself again for the first time in a long time. And a part of me doesn’t want to let that go. The fact that she tried to protectme from embarrassment over the picture lowered my defenses. But hearing Gladys tell her what to do made me primal. I don’t know what the way forward with Ivy looks like, but there’s still an undeniable chemistry between us. Even after all these years, that much is instantly clear. I’m drawn to her like the tides responding to a lunar pull.
Birch Borough could be a great place for Emmy to grow up, but I’m not happy at the moment. There are too many nostalgic nuances around every corner, reminding me of what could’ve been. While I’ve never even lived here, the feeling of this town stuck to me like spiderwebs. There’s a stillness here, a sense of community. I could’ve been happy here, before everything in my life shattered.
Classical music blares through the boxing studio, a cello rendition that I turn to when I’m feeling extra stressed. Today, I’m a clock with broken hands, pieces rattling around within the confines of its system, the alternate version of my hand tattoo. I should be working on new furniture designs, but I’m not because all I can think about is that the very idea of kissing Ivy feels like a fever dream. Something that could’ve been if only I hadn’t let the grief of losing my sister carry me away. Years later, I still feel the hum of her warm lips over my own, the taste of peppermint hot chocolate, and the brush of her exhale across my skin. Today, my heart reminds me of what I desperately tried to forget but . . . can’t.
In my peripheral vision, I register Edgar stepping onto the main floor from the back, ending a call on his cell phone. I don’t have to look at my brother to feel his shock before he jumps into action.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he yells, running to my side. He takes hold of the top of the heavy bag and crouches behind it, attempting to make eye contact with me. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
He’s right. Already, the burn in my arms and the sharp pain in my shoulders indicate that I’ve done more damage than I intended.
“Jay!” He uses his serious trainer voice.
I stop moving. Sweat drops from the ends of my hair onto my forearms. I want to keep punching, feeling crazed, my sharp inhales proof that I’m pushing myself too hard. Chaotically, my imagination swirls with all the things that could have been, but each one slipped through my fingers.
Frustrated, I stare at my hands. They are capable and strong. But overall, I’m not a whole man. Perhaps I don’t know how to be one anymore. I had Ivy in my arms; I could have held onto her, but I let her go, and that feels like torment. Truth be told, I’ve had the chance at so much, but besides my daughter, I’ve never seemed to be able to hold on to what was best for me. And lately, all I seem to be able to do is punch goodness away from me.
“Okay, okay.” I nod, my breath ragged and the taste of sweat on my tongue. I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry from the exertion that it sticks in my throat.
Edgar hurries to grab a bottle of water from the nearby bench and opens it to pour a stream into my mouth since my hands are still encased in my gloves. “Dude,” he chides with more concern than I’ve heard from him in a long time. The single word is both an admonition and an open door for conversation.
Suddenly, the wrist straps feel too tight, the lights shine too brightly, and I’m tired. I extend my arms, too spent to even work to get the gloves off. Edgar helps me remove them, and I wince at the sting of fresh air meeting my throbbing hands. When I see how red my knuckles are, it’s a confirmation that I took it too far.
His arms cross over his chest. I know he’s waiting for me to convince him that I don’t need to be removed from the premises before I hurt myself further.
“I’m fine.” It’s all I can manage to say before I grab the water bottle and down nearly all its contents before collapsing at the edge of the room, my head leaning against the wall and my legs stretched out in front of me. I let my exhausted arms hang limply at my sides on the floor, palms facing up.
Edgar stands before me, his stern demeanor refusing to waver. “First of all, you are not fine,” he begins.
I scrunch my eyes shut, expecting him to berate me for being weak, even though he’s never given me a reason to believe that he would think so poorly of me.
“And it’s understandable,” he concludes.
My eyes flash open. I see my brother looking at me like he both gets what I’ve gone through and doesn’t know how to help.
“It’s her,” I grit out. Discovering Ivy living here is throwing off my plans, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
He nods and collapses beside me with a fluidity I won’t possess again until my arm muscles aren’t destroyed anymore. “Well, if that near-kiss under the mistletoe the other night was any indication, that makes sense. I would imagine a kiss from years ago would be hard to forget. Couple that with an almost-kiss now. That has to mess with you.”
I sigh and give a slight nod. This morning, I took my brother to breakfast and told him about the night I met Ivy all those years ago. He’s now caught up on the entire combustion that has been my love life.
“Why is it messing with you, though? Do you not want to be with her?”
My disbelieving scoff is my answer. “The other night, I wanted to kiss her so much it nearly brought me to tears. If I were a poet, I’d write a sonnet, and the world would take notice.” The words are staggered since I’m still breathing too heavily to get it all out at once. I take a few heaving breaths before continuing with, “Seeing Gladys push her to do something Iwasn’t sure she wanted to do messed with my head. Rekindling what we had a glimpse of years ago in such a public place just felt . . . sacrilegious.” I flush at my own word choice, but it’s true. “If I kiss her again, I’m going to do it right and without an entire town watching. The first time we kissed marked me for life. And this time, I know that kiss is going to bring me back to life. Ivy brings something out in me, I guess. I haven’t felt this much in a long time.”
He hums, his foot tapping lightly on the floor mat.“Good.”
I glare at him.
