* * *
When I finally get up around dinnertime, my hangover is gone. In its place is that kind of ravenous hunger that can only follow a period of being violently ill. My stomach is growling so loudly I might scare the neighbours so I go down to the pizza place on the next block and grab myself my favourite pizza (all the vegetables please, and yes, that includes broccoli, don’t judge me). I also grab some ginger ale in case my stomach rebels again after the pizza. It’s so hard to tell sometimes whether a hangover is truly gone. Better to be safe and have some ginger ale on hand.
Becca’s neighbourhood, and I guess my neighbourhood again now, too, is not as nice as the one I lived in with Derek. Lots of graffiti, some crime, and not a lot of green space. Just your basic big city block. Our apartment is in a well maintained, small, four story building in between a locksmith shop and an old boxing gym.
That gym belongs to my Pops. Pops is the person who showed me the miracle that is ‘all the vegetables’ pizza (‘it’s health food, Lexi Girl’ he’d always say). He even had Tino, the owner of the pizza place, name it after me. After I grab the pizza, I stop in at the gym to see if he’s there and if he wants to share with me. Not that I really expect that he won’t be there. He loves that place and is there sunup to sundown every chance he gets.
When I came to live with him when my parents died, I spent a lot of time here, too. I graduated high school by studying for all my tests up in his office. I haven’t spent as much time here in recent years because the hours in my line of work are ridiculous and I just haven’t had a lot of time. It always feels like home, though. Nothing like the smell of sweaty fighters and heavy bags to bring on those feelings of nostalgia.
“Hey Pops,” I yell as soon as I open the door, “You in here?”
“Lexi Girl,” comes the gravelly reply from the ring set up in the far corner of the large gym space. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be right there to squeeze you.”
Pops branched out a few years back. Boxing was declining in popularity, and mixed martial arts were skyrocketing. Pops got in early, remodeled the gym, hired some MMA trainers to add to the fighting styles he could offer training in, and has held his own against the bigger fight gyms that have opened up in the city. He’s a savvy business owner underneath his gruff old man exterior, and he’s probably my favourite person in the world.
I go sit up in the office on the second level. It’s not really an office, more of a platform with a fence around it that allows him to keep watch over the entire gym, but it has a desk and a couple of chairs so it’s the best place to eat this pizza.
Pops takes exactly five minutes and then he’s up in the office, lifting me out of my chair and squeezing the life out of me. For a 75-year-old man, he still has a lot of squeezing power. When I was a kid, he’d hug me so tight that I’d be forced to choke out, ‘Pops, you’re squeezing too hard,’ before he’d let go. That’s why we call them squeezes instead of hugs now. Every time he hugs me, he squeezes like he hasn’t seen me in years, and it’s one reason I love him so much. He’s never let a minute go by without letting me know how much he loves me. Pops is my inspiration for how I want a man to treat me, but somehow I keep getting losers like Derek.
“Lexi Girl,” he says, putting me back on the floor and taking a seat in a chair opposite me. He opens the pizza box and grabs a slice. “What brings you down to see your old Pops?”
“Do I really need a reason to come see you, Pops?” I ask, grabbing a slice of pizza. “Just missed you. Oh, and I am living in the neighbourhood again…” I leave that hanging in the air, knowing he will pick up on it.
“Oh Fuck, what did that little fucker Derek do?” Pops has always been very perceptive. Nothing gets by him.
“Oh, you know me, Pops.” I try to make light of the situation because I know his heart is still soft and hurts for me every time a guy lets me down. “I just can’t be tied down to one guy. You know I gotta play the field. Just living that ho life.”
“So he cheated, huh?” he puts his pizza directly down on his desk and brushes crumbs off his hands. “Did you take care of it? Want me to deliver a message?”
Leave it to my Pops to threaten violence against a man half his age. The funny thing is that he would actually do it, and he would come out on top of that encounter. Not that Derek was a complete wimp (but really he was), just that Pops is still tough at his age. He’s been training fighters for over 40 years, and that has kept him in shape too.
“Nah, I’m good, Pops,” I say around a mouthful of pizza. “I sort of caught him in the, uh, act, and may have destroyed my favourite umbrella when I found him. Side note: my batting skills are improving, Becca says I have a shot at the majors.”
“Ha! Classic! That’s good kid, I’m proud of you.” He pats me on the knee. “I don’t know how a sweet girl like you keeps getting caught up with these jerks, but I’m so impressed that you don’t put up with it. You deserve so much better. Speaking of-”
“No, Pops.” I shut that down quickly. “I do not want you to set me up with one of your fighters.”
“I wouldn’t set you up with a fighter, Lexi Girl.” Pops picks up his pizza and grabs a big bite. “But I have a nice kid in mind. He works out here when he’s in town. He probably could be a fighter if he were serious, but I have a feeling he likes his job too much for that.”
“Oh shit, that reminds me.” I brace myself to tell him about my client firing me today. “That grabby asshole’s wife fired me today. I can’t say I’m sad about it, but if you have any leads on anyone looking for a chef, put in a good word for me, would you?”
“I’m not sad about it either.” Of course he’s not sad, he told me to quit ages ago. “You should’ve let me deliver a message to him when he grabbed you the first time. One of these days I am going to deliver a message to someone who wrongs you. It’s my right as your grandfather. I’m not happy that you’ve denied me all these years.” He actually pouts a little. Ever seen a 75-year-old man pout? Hilarious.
“I promise to come to you next time, Pops.” Because let’s be real, something is bound to happen, especially if I ever let myself get involved with someone again. “Clients will always be off limits, but the next boyfriend who hurts me is all yours to do with as you will. For now, though, I need to get home to look for new clients. Hopefully, I can find one that will need me all the time. I really don’t want to have to juggle schedules again.”
“Mike, you old bastard,” someone yells from the front door. “I need to work out some frustration. Got time for some training?”
“You bet, kid,” Pops yells back. “Go get warmed up and I’ll be there in a minute.”
We both stand to go and Pops picks me up in a giant squeeze again. “Come see me again soon, Lexi Girl. Let me know if you need anything while you look for clients. And I’ll let you know if I hear of anyone looking, ok?”
“Alright Pops, will do.” I turn and open the office door. “Love you,” I say to him, before I turn and run down the stairs.
“Love you, Lexi Girl,” he yells out as I push open the gym door and go outside.
I love visiting Pops, he always makes me feel so hopeful. Now, time to make my computer my bitch. Searching for clients, here I come.
Chapter 17
