Page 43 of The Fighter

“Yes. That was my wife you were talking to just now. Her name is Serena.”

I swallow and dig my pencil into the pad. “And children? Do you have any?” I’ve always wanted siblings. As a kid, one of my coping strategies before my mom took me to the gym was to pretend I had an older brother who would punch anyone making fun of me. I even gave him a name—Christian.

“I had a daughter,” he says. “She died.”

“Oh God. I’m so sorry.” What was her name? What was she like? I want to know everything about her, but I hesitate. I don’t want to put my foot in it.

“Her name was Sabrina,” he volunteers. “You would have liked her.” He gives a little laugh. “This is a little awkward, isn’t it?”

Thank heavens, it’s not just me. “A little,” I agree. “I guess I don’t know what to say.”

“Me neither. And it feels weird to do this on the phone. Why don’t you visit? I’d love to have you.”

I realize I know nothing about my father. “Where do you live?”

“Palermo.”

That’s all the way at the other end of the country. The island of Sicily, where Palermo is located, is in the south of Italy. I’ve never visited, though. Growing up, my mother always headed north on vacations. Never south. I’m starting to understand why. She was avoiding Vidone.

What happened? Why did it turn so sour that she never wanted to see him again? Why did she hide me from him?

“I can send you a plane ticket for this weekend,” he continues. “Or even earlier. Why don’t you stay with us for a week? I would love to get to know you better.”

“This weekend?” I have to laugh. My father clearly has no idea what running a gym entails. Even if I hire someone to staff the front desk like Tomas suggested—ordered—it’s going to take a few months for me to feel comfortable enough to leave for an entire week. Even the thought of being gone that long is giving me anxiety. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” I take a deep breath and explain, not wanting him to feel rejected. “The gym is in a period of transition. We’ve lost a lot of members over the last year.” Tomas thinks I’m being dramatic, but he’s wrong. “I have a new partner, and we’re turning things around, but now is not a good time for me to take time off.”

He exhales in a long breath. “If it’s money you want, I’m sure I can help out.”

“What?” I sit up in shock. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t want your money.” I just want what I’ve always wanted. A family. “It’s my gym. I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into it for the last two years. I just hired a new instructor, and I’m going to add on a few more in the next month or two.” My voice softens. “I want to visit; I really do. Once things are steady here, I’ll be able to take time off.”

“When will that be?”

It’s almost the end of September now. “November, maybe?” That seems really aggressive—November is only six weeks away. “Or December? December is always slow.”

“November,” he repeats, his voice flat and displeased.

“Or you could come visit me,” I say in a rush.

“In Venice? That’s complicated. Maybe…” His voice trails off. “Yes, maybe I’ll do that. I’ll call you back.”

Then he hangs up.

I stare at my phone blankly. I don’t know how I thought my first conversation with my father would go, but that wasn’t it. It feels almost disloyal to admit it, but I’m a little disappointed.

28

TOMAS

I’ve taken to texting Alina every evening to make sure she stops working. If I don’t nag her, I’m pretty sure she won’t leave until closing, and despite what Alina thinks, other people can do it for her. Like for example, the new instructor she hired.

I’m just concerned about the business, I tell myself, though that’s complete bullshit. This has nothing to do with Groff’s and everything to do with the beautiful, stubborn woman running it.

And increasingly, I’m okay with it.

On Thursday, I message Alina right before I head to teach my accounting class at the Ca’ Foscari.

Go home.

You’re starting to sound like a stuck record, Tomas. How do you even know I’m at the gym?

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