“Stop being difficult. Let me show you something.”
He taps the glass against my lips until they open and I finally accept the drink. The warm liquor flows down my throat, settling at the very bottom of my mostly empty stomach. It tastes as bitter as it smells, and my upper lip curls.
“Don’t make that face. It’s good,” he mutters, reaching down and flaking off a forkful of fish before pushing it toward my mouth. “Now open back up.”
This time, my mouth falls open without hesitation, and he shoves the food inside it.
He didn’t even give the bitter liquor time to settle and mingle with the few pieces of Texas toast I forced myself to eat while I cooked. The zesty taste of the salmon vibrates against my tastebuds and cleanses my palate, making a quiet hum dance out of my mouth. The sharp pain in my side still lingers, but for the first time, I’m okay with it being there while I eat.
“See, that’s all the chaser you need,” he says, stabbing the fork through an asparagus spear. “The Jack will get rid of that nasty pain, and before you know it, you’ll have a full stomach.”
He tweaks my nose until I smile.
I can see in his eyes that he’s had to feed himself this same way more times than I can count.
He takes an easy toke from his blunt while he waits for me to finish chewing. Smoke billows out of his nose and floats above his head.
I smirk, swallowing. “Funny how you’re eating like a boxer, but you don’t actually want to be one.”
“I’m eating the same dinner I eat every other night. I can’t win shit at Lucky’s with a stomach full of fried chicken and Honey Buns.”
“So why don’t you want to be a boxer? You’re already doing boxer things.”
“What I want is to eat dinner with you.” He pushes the piece of asparagus toward my mouth. “Hm…open.”
“Just answer my question,” I reply teasingly, pulling away.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I want to know.” I toss my arms up, looking around his small house as Uncle Kenny’s words replay in my head about him not wanting anything outside the Bottoms. “Have you ever wanted anything outside of here? You’ve never wanted to live somewhere else…or to be something else?”
He smiles, eyeing my arms and face. “The only thing I ever wanted was to live to see thirty…and I did that.”
“But…but what about traveling at least? You ever fantasized about going away?”
He belts out a low chuckle. “That part of my brain don’t even work, mama. I ain’t no spring chicken. So I ain’t fantasizing about much but some peace and quiet after a long day. Now open up for me.”
I open my mouth and he pushes the asparagus inside while my stomach plummets in a way that hurts. Aunt Faye really sat in our living room and lied again, but deep down I already knew she was lying.
“That’s it?” I ask between chews. “That’s all you wanted out of life was to make it to thirty?”
“Most of us down at Lucky’s don’t even make it to twenty…” He brushes a scabbed knuckle against my cheek. “Senior says if you make it to thirty, then you might make it to fifty and have a bed waiting for you at B’s. Thirty is usually the pinnacle of a fighter’s life.”
All the blood drains from my face.
No matter how many times I try to understand a fighter’s life like Senior says I should, I just can’t grasp it. I can’t picture the inside of the garage bays at Lucky’s, the smells, or Rich’s life ending before it even starts.
I clear my throat and try to blink away the wetness in my eyes while I swallow the tangy pieces of asparagus. “Your dad has a way with words, huh?”
He swipes his knuckle back across my cheek. “Well, ain’t no use in pouring sugar?—”
“Over shit.” I snort, looking away. “I know.”
He feeds me another piece of asparagus and I try to swallow any thoughts I have of him no longer existing along with the spear.
Another quiet lull envelopes us before I blurt, “They were arguing about you before I left—Uncle Kenny and Aunt Faye.”
“They were arguing in front of you?”
