Page 25 of Fight for Forever
“I’m really sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” I tell him for the fifth time after an overzealous Aunt Angelina has set our appetizers down on the table. She’s finally left us alone.
“She shouldn’t have hugged you. Not without consent.”
“You say it like she tried to strangle me, not greet me,” I shake out my napkin.
I’m surprised as anyone that I didn’t flip out when his aunt pulled me into a hug. I don’t do physical contact. Not without plenty of warning and trust. But she was so fast, neither me nor Joey could prevent the crushing hug.
She held me at arms-length, studied me and nodded before winking at Joey and stepping out of my personal space.
When I look up at Joey, his mouth is partly open, and I replay what I just said. My cheeks burn. I’m not usually that careless with what I say, especially when I know it will make people uncomfortable. I made a comment like that so flippantly, I didn’t think about the connotations behind it. My therapist would say that is progress.
“Well,” Joey clears his throat. “She should have got it out of her system now. If she comes over again, I’ll ask her to give us some space.”
“Honestly, it’s fine,” I assure him. The food looks and smells delicious. If it tastes as good as it looks, then Aunt Angelina will be forgiven.
I ask him about his aunt and the restaurant, and he fills me in on how they’re relatives of the family friend who took him in when he lost his family. He talks about them like they’re his real family though, which is nice.
If Angelina’s reaction to him is anything to go by, they consider him family too. I enjoy listening to him talk about them all, how his life changed when he was seventeen and moved in with Dixon.
He is being careful about asking me about my family life and I find myself wanting to tell him.
“My story is kind of similar, a little,” I tell him.
Joey has finished his meal already. The guy certainly knows how to put his food away, even while talking my ear off. He wipes his mouth and leans forward, his full attention on me.
“My grandparents raised me. Dad was a soldier. He went away to Afghanistan when he was eighteen, not knowing mom was pregnant with me. When he found out, he was already tied in to serving his tour and couldn’t leave without getting in trouble.”
“What happened?” Joey asks when I don’t go on.
“He was part of a convoy that was bombed. His injuries were catastrophic. Wheelchair bound and with a severe brain disorder. I’m not sure of all the technical terms. He didn’t remember anything from before. Not mom. He vaguely recognized his parents.
"The only person he remembered was his younger brother, but he still thinks of him as being a little kid and finds it hard to correlate the older man with his little brother. He lives in an assisted home in Washington. He’s been there since the accident.”
“Wow, Meg, I’m sorry, that’s tough.”
“I met him a few times, but he was childlike, and unable to remember things that happened just a few hours earlier. My uncle introduced me to him three times the first time I visited. And every time I went again, he forgot who I was. It was hard, as a kid, but my grandparents were amazing with me.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s still around. I see her from time to time, but she… lost her way when dad got hurt.”
I won’t elaborate on that. Mom went through a seriously tough time for a lot of years, and I was placed with my grandparents for safety. Eventually she got better, but I’d been living with her mom and dad for so long, everyone decided it was better for me to stay there. I give Joey a very watered-down version of those events and he doesn’t push me for more information.
We never stray anywhere near how things got started with Michael. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to talk about that with anyone other than my therapist.
We change topics to how Joey fell into fighting and went from underground, illegal fights to being trained professionally. He’shesitant at first, but I ask lots of questions and coax more out of him.
I want to know how someone can make a career out of fighting. His motivation isn’t what I thought it would be. He enjoys it, but not because he wants to hurt people. He sees it as a sport. A discipline he takes seriously.
In fact, he’s animated when he talks about it. Telling me how much he loves it, how it challenges him and makes him a better person, both mentally and physically. And it’s what he was born to do.
Hearing him explain it sets me at ease the more I listen to him. He could be an ass who enjoys beating the crap out of his opponent, but he only fights people evenly matched with him, people who respect one another in and out of the ring. It’s a side to boxing I never knew existed.
Some of his stories about how bad he was at the start have me laughing and when he tells me about his first professional win, there is pride in his voice. I wish there was something in my life I was that passionate about. But I never had much opportunity to follow my dreams.
When Angelina brings us out a complimentary tiramisu, I’m so stuffed I couldn’t eat anything else. Joey uses his spoon to have me taste it, just one bite, he says.