Chapter 9: Meetup

IX.

Did you miss Brittany yet? Yeah, me too. So it was a pleasant surprise when I got a text back later that afternoon: Meet?

Back at her: At tkd with kids, across from mckinley. Never did get how you make capitals in the middle of a sentence. It's a DumbPhone. Want to meet here?

K thx 10?

Sure. Huh.

Kids' taekwondo classes at our school are really loud, but I like watching them because I can usually learn something. The kids are rarely daunted by self-doubt. The coach tells them what to do, and they do it. Or they do the best they can. Even my older son, who is just not all that athletic so far. It's tough being Awesome's brother. I was planning to sit through the little kids' class and the bigger kids' class, then attend the weekly forms class afterward, hopefully with both kids, if Mr. Awesome wasn't throwing an awe-inspiring tantrum. I know. It's exhausting.

When Brittany arrived, the younger kids' class was about to wrap up. The coach was giving a talk about respecting family, especially parents. My son was looking at the ceiling. When Coach called him on it, he got a nasty look in his eye. Oh yay. Might not get a chance to talk.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, how have you been?" said I.

"Good, thanks. I mean. Not."

My son was approaching with tears in his eyes. "Hang on," I said to Brittany. "Buddy, you look like you're having some really strong feelings. What's up?"

"Coach was mean to me."

"You're sad and angry because Coach told you that you couldn't do something."

He nodded. "What happened, Sweetheart?"

"He wasn't paying attention," said his brother.

"We're talking right now, please go line up for your class."

"But he wasn't listening to Coach saying to respect your parents."

"Line up!" said Coach.

"Go line up," I said. He didn't go. "Respect your parent. Go line up."

"Line up!" said the senior student. He went. Counting to ten, now.

"Maybe we should talk another-?"

"Hang on, just a minute. I'd love to talk with you."

"Bud, Sweetheart, listen. You're feeling ashamed. It's really reasonable that you would feel ashamed when Coach tells you you're doing something wrong, right? But at the same time, Coach is your coach and an adult and he really cares about you. He just wants you to do the right thing." I rubbed his chest. "It's really okay to feel how you're feeling right now, but if you want to avoid it in the future, you need to be able to pay attention to your coach."

"I wanna quit."

Oh boy, not again. He has . . . issues. We're working on it. Shame triggers bad things. Tantrums. Violence. I kinda have PTSD about it. Got hit in the face with too many baby bottles and trucks, thrown at Major League speeds. Counting to ten, again.

"We'll talk about it at home, with Mama. Take a deep breath and reset yourself," I said. I took a deep breath and tried to reset myself. Adrenaline.

He tried to decide whether to throw a tantrum or reset. I closed my mouth and waited.

"Honey," Brittany said to him, "you look like you need a break." She held one hand out to him. I held my breath. Likelihood of his spitting on her and calling her a nasty name was high. Then I would get a ride on the Shame Train.

Then, a miracle: one tear overflowed from his eye, and he wiped it away. He reached out his hand to Brittany and took hers. Then he climbed into her lap. What? She just folded him up, and he let out a big sigh.

Huh. I breathed. I swear the girl is magic. I felt myself tearing up. Breathe. Reset.

She sat with him quietly for another minute or two. Then he slid off her lap and went to find one of his friends. Full recovery. I was completely stunned.

"Wow. I want some of that."

She looked at me confused. Awkward silence.

"I mean. Not that. I want to be able to do that with him. What I mean is, I admire your skill with my- I appreciate your ability to . . . to understand . . . my son. That's what I was trying to say." Yeesh. The blush again.

She laughed. "I didn't know your school was right here."

"We moved here last summer."

"I like it. It's home-y."

"Yeah, it's a great community. The women's classes are fantastic."

"When are they?" I told her.

"Maybe I'll try it sometime." Oop. Did it again. I'm guessing there's a reason Santana hadn't told her about training here.

"That would be cool." Was I nonchalant enough? Like, Santana scares me a little, but Brittany just . . . flusters? confuses? me. "You were saying? Things are fine, not?"

She explained how she broke up with Artie and expected to be able to get together with Santana, but Santana wouldn't come out and started dating Dave to win Prom Queen.

I had forgotten how exciting high school was. Right. I was a nerd in high school and enough of a girl jock to need to date. Nerdy, but not too nerdy boys. Captain of the debate team and wrestler, nice looking. Things got a little crazy when he started dating the debate coach's wife. Before breaking up with me . . . Ugh. I think I'm gonna barf. Where was I?

Right. Brittany.

"She just really needs to find her own time. Everybody is different. She may not have the same timetable you do. She's scared. I know she seems like she's not scared of anything, but-"

"She talked to you?" Gears turning behind Brittany's eyes.

Ugh. I think I'm gonna barf. I did it again!

"How did you get my number, for the party, anyway?" Click, click, click.

I'm gonna close my mouth now. Really.

Or not.

"Yeah. I'm not good at keeping secrets. And she didn't actually ask me to keep it a secret, but she's been training with the women's class here for months." Oh, boy.

"Really?" she said. She shifted her eyes a little, trying to figure this out. "Why?"

"At first I thought she wanted to fight me, but now I don't think so. Not sure. She really seems frightened of what might happen if she comes out. Is her home situation okay?"

"I guess."

She looked faraway for a moment or two.

"She said you two weren't speaking."

"It's been a mess since Dave. It's like I can't look at them without feeling like a sad panda. Or wanting to throw something. And that's so not me."

"You know he's gay, right?"

"How do you know? Did he tell you?"

"No, it's a hypothesis based on the five minutes I spent with him at the party."

"You gave him an injection?"

"I made an educated guess."

Awkward pause time.

"I sent you that text because I got the impression you'd decided you couldn't be with her unless she was completely open, and then I thought maybe that was too strict. Maybe the two of you need to feel your way through, yourselves."

She averted her eyes, blushing. It's like I'm talking over a ten-foot fence, across this generation gap. Gah.

"I mean, without someone like me butting in, any more than I already have. I apologize."

"No, it's okay."

"Anyway, she seemed like she needed a friend. I mean, she asked me to have coffee with her."

My son sidled up to me, looking at Brittany. "Sorry, Mom," he whispered.

"Me too, Babe." I snaked one hand around his waist, and with the other, shook his hand. He continued to stare at Brittany.

"Can Tall Girl come live with us?"

"Her name is Brittany, Bud. And she has her own place to live." He pushed away from me, then stepped over and pressed into Brittany's leg. He's always communicated better non-verbally. So far.

She put her arm around him. "Hey," she said.

He turned, looked her in the eye, and in his best 7-year-old gangsta, lifted his chin at her and said, "'Sup."

I made eye-contact with Brittany over his head and rolled my eyes. She pulled her lips into her mouth.

I noticed Coach starting to wrap up class. "I gotta change. I'm doing Forms class next."

"Okay. I should go, I guess." She sweetly detached herself from my kid, and gathered her stuff. I got my uniform and headed toward the change room. As I crossed the threshold of the gym going out, Santana crossed coming in. In uniform.

"Hey!" I said. Oop.

"Hey," said she. Brittany was right behind me.

Their eyes met.

a/n: Tip of the nib to a book called Two Strand River, by Canadian author Keith Maillard.