Page 16 of The Vow

Earlier, I finished a defensive sparring session with Tiko that focused on practicing dodges and blocks. I asked for Tiko personally since his name is synonymous with strength, power, and resilience, three traits I hoped would rub off on me.

“I didn’t have time.”

Cable was red-faced. Part of a boxer’s training includes psychological preparation, and stressing about my own manager wasn’t helping me do my mental gymnastics.

“What do you mean? You didn’t eat? You’re supposed to eat every two hours! Food is fuel. No junk! Now, pick up that kettlebell and don’t let it hit your balls. It’s supposed to go between your legs.”

“Lay off, would you!?”

“What’d you just say to me?”

“You’ve been pushing me hard all afternoon. Plus, you’re being an asshole about it.”

A wrinkled smile formed on his lips. I thought he was going to have a coronary. “Finally.”

“Finally, what?”

“Anger, kid. Anger hits hard. Let it out! What’s on your mind?”

Not what. Who.

Cable once told me that he’d rather swim in shark-infested waters than be married. He said that he was born free and the idea of being shackled to someone else is an archaic concept. We’re animals, and animals procreate, but as he so eloquently put it, “You can’t dress up a monkey in a tuxedo and have it vow to love, honor, and obey, for the rest of its life”.

He was staring at my lips, willing the words to spill from my mouth. Instead, I evaded the question the same way ma used to do with pop. My father always knew when my mother was upset about something because she’d keep herself busy by cleaning an already spotless house. When I was a kid and was too hyper to sleep, I used to sit at the top of the stairs and listen to my parents. One night, pop asked ma what was bothering her, and instead of admitting the truth, she gossiped. “You know what that puttana Carlotta did today?”

Channeling ma, I said, “You know what some jerk at Farm Fresh did today?”

“Tell me.”

Cable is more than my trainer and manager. He’s a father figure to me. Right now, he’s sporting a stern fatherly look on his face.

“He rushed in line at the checkout to cut in front of a little old lady who only had two items. The jerk’s cart was full.”

“That is a jerk move,” Cable said, his expression softening. Every line on his face told a story. The deeper lines spoke of tragedies. The shallow ones were placed there by life’s comedies.

“Yeah. I said to him, ‘Excuse me, sir, but I think this nice lady was here first.’”

“Hmm. What did he say to that?”

“The guy said, ‘I know, and I’m sorry, but my wife is coming home from the hospital today. The doctors didn’t think she was going to make it. I’m on my way to pick her up, but I wanted to stock up first so I could stay home and take care of her.’”

Cable was sitting on his overturned bucket rubbing his pocket watch between his fingers, presumably to convey to me that time is precious and to shut the hell up.

“And then the little old lady handed him her strawberries and whip cream and told him that strawberries and whip cream are nature’s medicine.”

“What’s your point, kid?”

Thinking of Alex, her soulful eyes, and her use of alcohol as a crutch, I said, “Not everyone has cruel intentions. I have a dinner meeting I need to attend. I promise I’ll be here tomorrow at the crack of dawn.” I gathered my gear and before leaving, I added, “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Cable nodded. “Don’t forget to bring her flowers.”

Seven

“More wine, signore?”

Piacere Mio boasts an eclectic mix of old-world offerings and Michelin star hospitality. Vintage Florentine leather-wrapped decanters decorate the bar area. Magnificent scrollwork accents the rich, dark wood. The private table for two that I reserved was draped in crisp, white linen, and comparable to the sunrises of my youth, a red, Murano glass wall sconce cast a romantic glow.

“Not yet, grazie. I’ll wait for my guest.”