Page 52 of Three Not-So-Little Words
When the waitress comes over, Ronnie orders a meal with assorted tacos and something called a margarita flight.
The waitress looks at me, and I say, “I’ll have the same thing.”
When we are alone, I ask, “So, how was your week?”
She smiles. “Remarkably uneventful. And I loved it.”
“Uneventful is always nice.”
“How was yours?”
“Not bad. Getting settled in at the shop. It’s an adjustment, but I think I’m going to like it.”
“Do you miss fighting?”
It’s the same question that Colton asked, but now, I think my answer will be a little different.
“Yeah,” I say. “But only because it was something I was really good at. There wasn’t much of a learning curve for me. Walking away from it was a little unsettling.”
I know she and I are keeping this whole thing casual, but the way Ronnie is looking at me makes me feel comfortable enough to open up a little. I also fear that she’s going to ask me why I left. That’s not a conversation that I want to have because it’ll bring up Colton. And she’s made it very clear she doesn't want to know.
She goes a different direction, though.
“How did you get into fighting to begin with?”
The waitress interrupts us by dropping off of margarita flights.
“Holy shit,” I say, realizing it’s five different flavors of margaritas.
“They’re so good,” Ronnie assures me as she takes a sip of one.
I try one of my own and agree that they are pretty fucking good. Then, I get ready to answer her question.
I think for a second because we are trying to keep this whole thingcasual,so I’m not sure exactly how much I should share. It’s not that I’m keeping some huge secret, but it gets into territory that I don’t tell strangers.
Fuck it.
“When I was a teenager, I was going through a pretty rough time. My home life was shit, and I didn’t have anyone around to give a damn about whether or not I stayed out of trouble. By the time I graduated high school, it was pretty obvious that I was going to end up either in jail or dead. I went to Florida with a couple of friends, and I ended up getting into some fights while I was down there. A man named Gordon who owned a local gymsaw me, broke up the fight, and asked me if I was ready to start making money rather than getting into trouble.”
Ronnie swallows the sip of the margarita she just took. “So, you dropped everything and moved down there?”
“Pretty much. I didn’t even go home to get the rest of my stuff for a good six months.”
Her eyes flick up to mine. “And did you leave thatbad home lifebehind?”
“Eventually. Turns out that some things are harder to shake than you anticipate.”
She holds up her drink to cheer. “Amen to that.”
I clink one of my glasses against hers. Since we are sharing, I decide to press my luck a little.
“So, what do you do fora living?”
“I’m a travel photographer.”
“Wow. How did you get into that?”
Much to my surprise, she doesn’t hesitate to answer the question. “I always knew I wanted to do something where I traveled. I…uh…had a friend growing up, and we made a pact that we were going to see the world together. It just worked out that I took some photography classes in high school and had a knack for it. I took all of my graduation money and traveled to a few pretty places, took some pictures, and submitted them to every travel magazine I could find. One liked what they saw, and I’ve been with them ever since.”
