I tighten my fingers around Kade’s and smile. “Yes, it’s enough.”
19
BECCA
When I first started at the new Dojo, I was worried it wouldn’t live up to my expectations. Dad had set a pretty high bar, but Devin and Jeff are dedicated to their students and, by the end of the first week, gave into my urging to create a women’s self-defense class.
I didn’t have to try that hard to convince them, and I was grateful for the chance to bring something from home here. My self-defense classes back home were always full. Without fail, at the end of every twelve-week session, a woman would come up and tell me I’d changed her life. Because of the things she’d learned in my class, she felt safer. Stronger. More capable.
The women who turn up to my classes usually fall into one of two groups. First, women who want to be prepared. They’re usually excited, laughing, and hooting their way through the class. They walk through the space with confidence, unaware of their vulnerability, mostly untouched by violence.
Second, women who have been or are being hurt. They carry themselves with a fragility that the first group can’t understand. I can almost always spot them in the first class. These women stick to the back of the room. They avoid eye contact and cling to their long sleeve shirts. Their eyes darting left and right as they move through the space. They approach the drills in class the way a marine approaches basic training. Like it’s their job. I always find myself paying a little more attention to those women.
I knew the moment Holly walked into my first class that she fell into group two. Despite her generous curves, she was small. And so soft-spoken, I would have to strain to hear her. I formed a habit of walking her out after class, chatting with her next to her car. She looked like she needed a friend. And honestly, so did I.
I’d tried to reconnect with some of my old friends, but the conversations were stilted. We were different people now. Dad’s death damaged those relationships in a way that can never be fully fixed. I was drawn to Holly because, despite the clear hurt she’d experienced, her kindness and warmth shone through. I felt warm just being near her. It took me a few classes, but I cracked Holly’s shell a bit and convinced her to hang out with me. I wanted to know more about her.
I really, really wanted to know if she was safe.
And when I told Kade that, he didn’t try to convince me to change my mind and spend the night with him. Instead, he left me with a kiss and a “stay safe.” That man, I swear it was getting harder and harder to remember my plan to wait. Kade seems to soak up every minute with me, wanting all the time I can give him. I want all his time too. All his hot, hungry looks. All his sneaky touches in the office and the long, slow, drugging kisses. But he’s still holding back, and I know the wall between us isn’t mine to scale.
I letHolly into my apartment, sliding the pizza and beer onto the counter.
“Grab a couple of glasses…cupboard to the left of the stove,” I invite her as I kick my shoes into the corner.
Holly stretches up on her toes to reach the glasses on the second shelf, and I’m reminded again of how tiny she really is.
“How tall are you, Hol?” I ask. She grimaces.
“Five-foot, three-quarter inches.” She sighs as she continues, “Since the seventh grade.”
I can’t help but giggle at the disgust on her face. She scrunches up her nose, putting her hands on her hips.
“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. You just sound so pissed,” I say as I cover my mouth. She frowns at me, but I see her lip curling up.
“Try riding a packed bus in the middle of summer.” She raises her arm to demonstrate, “Everyone standing and holding the straps…yep, I’m armpit level.” She shudders, and I let my body fold forward, the laughter rolling out uncontrollably.
“Jesus, Holly, that’s awful.” I shudder, too, imagining the stench of a city bus at rush hour in 100-degree heat. I wipe my eyes as I pull plates down for us, serving us each two pieces. Holly pours the beers, and we slump onto the sofa, giggling and chatting our way through the meal.
“God!” I exclaim. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed just hanging out with friends.”
Holly smiles. “You miss your friends back home?”
I almost say yes, but stop. “Not really,” I admit. Holly tilts her head in confusion. “I had some great friends,” I explain, “but, well, we’ve drifted apart over the last year.”
“Why?” she asks softly.
I set my last slice back on my plate. “My dad got really sick and died,” She doesn’t say anything. Just puts her small hand on my knee. Her eyes are filled with sympathy.
I feel my tears rise as I soak in her compassion. I need this. I need to talk about Dad. Kade and I have talked about everything this week, but I’ve avoided this conversation with him, not wanting to be that vulnerable when things feel so unsteady. I don’t want him to go back to thinking he needs to fix me, and I’m pretty sure crying in front of him would bad at this stage of our relationship.
“Tell me,” she orders softly.
So I do.
I tell her about how tired he was. How the doctor ordered a million tests immediately. I told her about the awful wait, trying to stay hopeful, but knowing the urgency of the tests meant things weren’t good. I tell her about the Stage Four diagnosis.
“It was so awful, Holly,” I say, scrubbing my wet cheeks. “It was too far gone. The cancer was everywhere. They tried some chemo and radiation. They said it might buy him time, but it made him so sick.”
