Page 27 of Cruz

My lips twitch. “I was making vague sounds by the time I was two. That’s when I went to the first specialist. It wasn’t until I was five that I started seeing therapists. As in, shrinks, not speech therapists, though I did see them too. No one found a label that stuck. I was ten before one doctor finally told my parents that maybe there was nothing wrong with me. Maybe I was just fucking quiet.”

“Did she say it like that? I hope she did.”

“She probably used far more technical medical terms. After that, there was no more therapists. I struggled at school, which was no surprise to my parents, but I think they’d mostly lost interest by then. Everyone wanted me to play sports because of my size, but I hated most of it. The school had a wrestling team, and that’s what got me hooked. I had no problem with physical activities and coordination, it was just academic. Eventually, my grade eight English teacher got me tested, and it showed that I was dyslexic. Having a diagnosis was a relief to my parents. They lumped it all together and basically thought… oh well. At least I was good at some sports.”

Sloane’s eyes flash and darken with anger. Seeing her angry on my behalf, it’s impossible not to feel all sorts of ways about that.

“Did you enlist right after high school?”

“No. I put some of my parent’s money to use and made them buy me a place at college. Not a prestigious one, but one all the same. Some people who are dyslexic struggle with numbers, but I did alright. I got a degree in quantum physics.”

“Are you serious?”

“Is that unthinkable?”

Her cheeks redden and she looks flustered. “No! It’s just… holy shit. Was it a big fuck you to everyone?”

She reads me so well. Not many people can. The silence is unnerving, and most give up, or don’t try in the first place. They see a big, hard looking guy and assume that I’m both of those things alone. “That’s mostly why I did it. I got on a wrestling team there. I was training hard. I had my mind set to something else. Another fuck you.”

“The SEALs.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t they only take one percent of applicants?”

“It’s more the rate of people who don’t make it in the training. I think twenty percent or so make it out. It’s not as bad as you’d think.”

“Umm, I’ve heard about their Hell Week training. It’s bad.”

“After, I had the knee surgeries and did the rehab and ended up here. The club was looking for someone to teach self-defense and revamp the gym in general, so it worked out.”

“That’s the craziest story I’ve heard in a while.”

“I don’t think SEALs was as hard as raising a child. That’s pretty crazy too.”

“Well… maybe I wouldn’t think SEALs was so hard if I was built like you, but then again, it’s probably mostly mental.” Her eyes do a slow sweep over me. I try not to let that suck the air right out of my lungs. “I guess people find their fit and their place and make that a home if they don’t have one or didn’t come from much of one. Not that I didn’t. My parents were fine. Judgmental and strict and even closed minded, but they weren’t awful. They didn’t really know what to do with me after I turned twelve. Most people don’t like teenagers. I wasn’t even a bad one. The only thing I ever did was sneak around with my sort of boyfriend a little, but I think that’s pretty average. I never partied or drank, did any weird drugs, and I got straight A’s. Probably the prime cliched candidate for a teenage pregnancy, now that I think about it. But… that’s okay. I’ve made my peace with all of it. I’m here, dusting ceiling tiles. I have a wonderful son, a solid business, and a great community to call home. It could be worse.” She pauses, eying me up like she’s trying to figure out how to say what she wants to say, but now she’s worried about how it’s going to come out. “You’ve said a lot of words. I’m honored.”

“Stop,” I groan.

“I am! I’m not joking. I’d never make fun of you like that.”

She’s been up on that ladder for a good while, but she’s not making any move to finish the fixture or come down. “Do you… ever wonder what’s next? Or if you’re doing everything you’re supposed to?”

I don’t know how to respond. No one has ever asked me anything like this. “Do you mean what’s the meaning of it all?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“I’m not sure. What do you think?”

‘I don’t know.” She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and bites down on it before releasing it. Her eyes flit to the window and they don’t return to me. “I said I don’t really feel lonely, but there are those moments where I see happy families, or couples in love, or old people still together who still treasure each other, and I kind of wonder what it would be like. Other times, I hear about nasty divorces or bad breakups, and it all seems like it’s so precarious, and life is already fragile. We’re all one disaster away from not being here, and you can’t think about that all the time, or you’d go insane. I guess that sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I’d found my person, but mostly, I don’t. Mostly I just worry about being a good mom.”

“I think you’re a great mom.”

“You’ve only seen me be a mom for a few days.”

“Hard, stressful ones. It’s true that you learn so much more about a person when they’re under stress and from their trauma response than from seeing them in a good time.”

“Did I pass the Litmus test?”