Full Contact
Page 21
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Mom and Dad are delighted to see Jess. Since she practically lived at our house after we met, they have adopted her as a surrogate daughter. After a warm greeting for Jess, Mom turns to me.
“Oh, Sia.” Mom sighs and gives me a perfunctory hug as she switches to her admonishing tone. “Did you have to wear leather? And those piercings?”
“This is how I’ve dressed for years, Mom. I’m not going to change.”
She fiddles with her pearls and gives me a resigned look. “You used to dress so pretty, all those floaty dresses and skirts.” She runs her hand along the pink streak in my hair. “Why do you do this? You have such beautiful hair.”
“Mom, please. Can we not talk about my appearance and just have a nice dinner?”
Mom and Dad don’t know about what happened at the party. Tag and I kept it a secret from everyone except Jess, who was at the hospital that night with problems of her own. So they don’t know why I stopped painting or why I threw away everything that reminded me of the girl I used to be. They don’t know why I needed a fresh start, a new me, Sia the tat artist who has no past and has suffered no pain. All they know is one night after a football game, Tag went to a party, fell out a window and dislocated his shoulder, and after that he couldn’t fight anymore at Redemption.
“Sorry, darling. Sometimes I just miss the way you used to be.” Her brow wrinkles and I know she’s trying to think of a way to make up for her outburst. “You’ve added butterflies.” She gestures to my shoulder. “Well…they’re nicer than the thorns.” Then her gaze travels upward, and her mouth tightens when she looks at my ears. “You have some new…piercings too. I like the little cross.”
My ears and other places too indelicate to mention.
I smile because I know she’s trying, and except for the changes in my appearance and my new career, we usually get along fine.
“Mom, leave her alone.” Tag joins us from the kitchen, a scowl on his face. “Doesn’t matter what she wears or how she looks; she’s still our Sia.”
I shoot him a grateful look, and Jess sighs and stares longingly at Tag. She always envied me having an older brother, although I told her many times, it wasn’t all it’s cut out to be.
Dad and Tag discuss the mortgage situation; in other words, Tag tries to give Dad money and Dad refuses to take it, while Jess and I help Mom set the table. Mom is very particular about the dinner table—linen tablecloth, expensive silverware, china plates. Everything properly arranged and in its place. Although we never had a lot of money growing up, she always bought the best we could afford. The pearls were my parents’ only extravagance, a gift for Mom the day I was born.
Mom relaxes over dinner and gets us up to speed on the neighborhood gossip. She doesn’t talk about her search for a new job as a florist, and I don’t ask. I’ve already put an envelope with as much cash as I can afford in her purse, knowing she’ll call me at home later and refuse to take it. But in the end she’ll have no choice because they don’t want to lose their house.
Dad regales us with stories about the people he’s driven around in his cab. Always, I am amazed at what people will do in the back of a cab, and despite Mom’s protests, he provides graphic details, sending Jess and me into fits of hysteria. Jess shares stories from the vet clinic that turn my stomach. I don’t tell them my tattoo parlor was shot up by a street gang or that I kissed a hard-bodied underground fighter in a dirty back alley and would have fucked him if my PTSD hadn’t chased him away. Tag doesn’t talk at all.
Jess shoots Tag surreptitious glances from beneath her lashes, but Tag seems at best indifferent to her presence. After our meal, Mom and I head to the kitchen to prepare dessert and Mom tries to smooth things over between us with a girly conversation, asking why Jess and Tag never got together.
“He doesn’t like her.” I dump a carton of whipping cream in a bowl and fish around in the drawer for the beaters. “She’s done everything she can to let him know she’s interested. I’ve asked him a gazillion times. I guess she’s just not his type.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “He does like her. And they’re perfect for each other. She needs him in a way he needs to be needed. And he can give her the security she never had at home. He just can’t see it.”
After dessert, Tag offers to help Mom clean up in the kitchen, and Jess and I kick back and relax on the worn, beige sofa that has sat in the same place for the last twenty years. Dad turns on the TV, and we watch a few minutes of a survival show before my phone buzzes.
Priority: Confidential
Bay Area Underground Fight Club (BUFC) Fight Night
Jack London Square. 8 p.m.
Headlining: Misery vs. The Predator
Code Phrase: “Soon you’ll be wanting to leave.”
Underground fight promoters go to great lengths to keep their fights off the CSAC radar. They screen and limit attendee lists, text event announcements only two hours before the fights start, and require everyone to say the code word or phrase to get in. With so many Redemption fighters as clients, it wasn’t hard for me to get on the list of the top BUFC promoter. And after seeing Ray fight at that first event, I pulled in favors to get on the list of every underground fight promoter in the Bay Area.
Jess takes one look at my face and then leans over to check the message. “Are you going?”
“No.”
She glances over at Dad and then lowers her voice. “You’ve never missed one of his fights.”
“Oh, Sia.” Mom sighs and gives me a perfunctory hug as she switches to her admonishing tone. “Did you have to wear leather? And those piercings?”
“This is how I’ve dressed for years, Mom. I’m not going to change.”
She fiddles with her pearls and gives me a resigned look. “You used to dress so pretty, all those floaty dresses and skirts.” She runs her hand along the pink streak in my hair. “Why do you do this? You have such beautiful hair.”
“Mom, please. Can we not talk about my appearance and just have a nice dinner?”
Mom and Dad don’t know about what happened at the party. Tag and I kept it a secret from everyone except Jess, who was at the hospital that night with problems of her own. So they don’t know why I stopped painting or why I threw away everything that reminded me of the girl I used to be. They don’t know why I needed a fresh start, a new me, Sia the tat artist who has no past and has suffered no pain. All they know is one night after a football game, Tag went to a party, fell out a window and dislocated his shoulder, and after that he couldn’t fight anymore at Redemption.
“Sorry, darling. Sometimes I just miss the way you used to be.” Her brow wrinkles and I know she’s trying to think of a way to make up for her outburst. “You’ve added butterflies.” She gestures to my shoulder. “Well…they’re nicer than the thorns.” Then her gaze travels upward, and her mouth tightens when she looks at my ears. “You have some new…piercings too. I like the little cross.”
My ears and other places too indelicate to mention.
I smile because I know she’s trying, and except for the changes in my appearance and my new career, we usually get along fine.
“Mom, leave her alone.” Tag joins us from the kitchen, a scowl on his face. “Doesn’t matter what she wears or how she looks; she’s still our Sia.”
I shoot him a grateful look, and Jess sighs and stares longingly at Tag. She always envied me having an older brother, although I told her many times, it wasn’t all it’s cut out to be.
Dad and Tag discuss the mortgage situation; in other words, Tag tries to give Dad money and Dad refuses to take it, while Jess and I help Mom set the table. Mom is very particular about the dinner table—linen tablecloth, expensive silverware, china plates. Everything properly arranged and in its place. Although we never had a lot of money growing up, she always bought the best we could afford. The pearls were my parents’ only extravagance, a gift for Mom the day I was born.
Mom relaxes over dinner and gets us up to speed on the neighborhood gossip. She doesn’t talk about her search for a new job as a florist, and I don’t ask. I’ve already put an envelope with as much cash as I can afford in her purse, knowing she’ll call me at home later and refuse to take it. But in the end she’ll have no choice because they don’t want to lose their house.
Dad regales us with stories about the people he’s driven around in his cab. Always, I am amazed at what people will do in the back of a cab, and despite Mom’s protests, he provides graphic details, sending Jess and me into fits of hysteria. Jess shares stories from the vet clinic that turn my stomach. I don’t tell them my tattoo parlor was shot up by a street gang or that I kissed a hard-bodied underground fighter in a dirty back alley and would have fucked him if my PTSD hadn’t chased him away. Tag doesn’t talk at all.
Jess shoots Tag surreptitious glances from beneath her lashes, but Tag seems at best indifferent to her presence. After our meal, Mom and I head to the kitchen to prepare dessert and Mom tries to smooth things over between us with a girly conversation, asking why Jess and Tag never got together.
“He doesn’t like her.” I dump a carton of whipping cream in a bowl and fish around in the drawer for the beaters. “She’s done everything she can to let him know she’s interested. I’ve asked him a gazillion times. I guess she’s just not his type.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “He does like her. And they’re perfect for each other. She needs him in a way he needs to be needed. And he can give her the security she never had at home. He just can’t see it.”
After dessert, Tag offers to help Mom clean up in the kitchen, and Jess and I kick back and relax on the worn, beige sofa that has sat in the same place for the last twenty years. Dad turns on the TV, and we watch a few minutes of a survival show before my phone buzzes.
Priority: Confidential
Bay Area Underground Fight Club (BUFC) Fight Night
Jack London Square. 8 p.m.
Headlining: Misery vs. The Predator
Code Phrase: “Soon you’ll be wanting to leave.”
Underground fight promoters go to great lengths to keep their fights off the CSAC radar. They screen and limit attendee lists, text event announcements only two hours before the fights start, and require everyone to say the code word or phrase to get in. With so many Redemption fighters as clients, it wasn’t hard for me to get on the list of the top BUFC promoter. And after seeing Ray fight at that first event, I pulled in favors to get on the list of every underground fight promoter in the Bay Area.
Jess takes one look at my face and then leans over to check the message. “Are you going?”
“No.”
She glances over at Dad and then lowers her voice. “You’ve never missed one of his fights.”
