Page 10 of A Kickin' Karate Christmas
He sent me a second picture the next day, holding a trophy with Sophia. The two of them were both glowing as they looked at the person who took the picture. I made a mental note to show that picture to Emerson. She would love seeing it, and she was young enough that she might not question why her sensei was sending me pictures of his accomplishments. I had a few questions about it, but I didn’t let myself ponder them too long.
Instead, I distracted myself with the event.
I created a few different variations of fliers now that we had the dates. I drafted up social media posts and created graphics for them as well. I created the form and the spreadsheet for parents to make their donations. By the time Emerson got home on Sunday, I had marked off most of the things we’d discussed from the list.
I’d also more than tripled the length of my text thread with Mat and spent too long studying the pictures he’d sent me. It was a slippery slope, and I was afraid that I was already going full speed down it.
Emerson and I arrived at the dojo early again. Emerson ran into the small practice room and began stretching while I showed Mat everything I’d come up with. The problem with doing it before class instead of after was that other parents began to come in. The first parent that came in saw the form but didn’t say anything. Another parent saw one of the fliers I’d created and had questions.
Mat floundered before looking at me with wild eyes, silently begging me for help. “We’re working on an event for the dojo,” I explained smoothly, my training in front of board rooms kicking in. “Mat will be making an announcement about it once everything is organized.”
“Is there a reason?”
“Unity,” I answered without missing a beat. “Getting more people involved in the dojo. Making it into something more than just somewhere we all bring our kids a few times a week. Thereare a few other things that we’re working on as well to really drive that home.”
When the parent walked away, I felt Mat’s hand grab mine and squeeze. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach.
I was definitely sliding down that slippery slope—right on my ass toward disaster.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his hand still caught on mine.
“Yeah,” I exhaled. I couldn’t think. It was ridiculous. I wasn’t a kid with a schoolboy crush. I’d done a lot more than hold hands, so why was I having such a visceral reaction to this?
And why did my hand feel so much colder when he finally let go?
I could barely pay attention when he taught class, but everything sharpened later when he texted me with questions about announcing the event. He wanted to let everyone know the dojo’s situation without the sheen of marketing. He wanted the truth to be out there, even if it meant taking a hit to his pride. I admired that about him.
And I continued slipping and sliding down that slope.
By Wednesday, the fliers had been printed. I brought them with me to the dojo and waited for Mat to tell me where to put them. I had also drafted up a newsletter for him, one that went over the issues the dojo was having and outlined the actions we were planning to solve the crisis.Buddy Weekwas mentioned in it, as were additional classes that students could take. Inspired by his tournament performance and Emerson’s reaction to the pictureof Mat and Sophia holding the trophy, Mat decided to start a competition team. They would have an extra day of class where they worked on advanced techniques with hopes of entering some of the kids’ competitions in the area.
I’d already signed Emerson up. It was an extra twenty-five dollars a month, but I knew Emerson would be begging to join the moment she heard about it. Besides, what kind of an impression would it leave on the other parents if I wasn’t willing to sign up for some of the things I’d helped create?
At the end of class, Mat clapped his hands to get the attention of everyone in the room. He announced the event andBuddy Week, and he told the parents to stop by the desk for newsletters that would go into more detail on all upcoming dojo events and changes. He didn’t tell them that the reason for the events would be included. I knew that this was hard on him, and I didn’t judge him for not wanting to admit the dojo’s struggles to a room full of children that looked at him like he was a superhero.
I didn’t stick around to watch parents read the fliers or the newsletter.
I wasn’t sure that it’d be helpful to Mat, and I knew that a lot of other parents and children would be vying for his attention.
I was, however, surprised when he called me later that night. He was a texter. He’d told me over the weekend that the worst part about being a small business owner was the fact that he had to answer the phone. It wasn’t lost on me that this was the second time he’d called me in a week.
“You would not believe the number of parents who have reached out since class ended,” he gushed into the phone, skipping all the normal phone pleasantries.
I laughed. “Hello to you, too.”
“Oh shit, did I not say that part?” His voice was rushed and almost breathless. “Hi. You would not believe the number of people who’ve reached out. We already have ten kids signed upfor competition team. Another parent made a few suggestions forBuddy Week. Like giving discounts to students who bring someone who signs up or a prize for the kid who brings the most buddies during the week.” It took me a moment to recognize the emotion in his voice: giddy. He was giddy. I didn’t know why this realization made me so happy, but it did. I loved hearing how excited he was about all of this. “And have youlookedat the donation list yet? I was worried we wouldn’t get anything, but there’s already stuff on it.”
“I haven’t. I was getting Em ready for bed.”
“Right. Parenthood stuff. You do have more to do than just watch a spreadsheet and obsess over my problems. I’m sorry.”
His voice deflated a little, and I wanted that giddiness back. It sounded good on him. I could almost imagine the way he looked right then, manic energy radiating from him as his eyes glittered and that damn dimple looking deeper than the Grand Canyon. In my head, he looked… like something I shouldn’t be imagining.
Fuck, I was so far gone.
“I’ll check it now,” I told him, pulling my laptop out of its bag. “I was about to get on the computer anyway. I have a west coast client, and he almost always emails at the end of his day.”
“Oh?”
