Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After Danny’s morning training session, we head to King Street Station. Gracie has given him the afternoon off to visit his grandmother. She seems to already know attending her dinners is nonnegotiable.
Danny is quiet as we wait to board our train.
Perhaps the pressure of the looming fight is getting to him.
I fill the time by watching old reels of female UFC fighters in their title fights.
It’s fascinating—they’re so unapologetically tough in the ring.
So far, my favorite fighter to watch is Ronda “Rowdy” Rousey. Her opponents always tap out.
Danny looks over my shoulder. “Armbar submission. She’s the best to ever do it.”
“She’s incredible.”
“Her armbars are inescapable because she doesn’t follow the textbook. She’ll skip steps and catch her opponent off guard. But once she has you”—he shakes his head—“say goodnight.”
I replay her fight and see what he means. She adapts to the situation, controlling her opponent’s head and torso, ready to apply the armbar in any position and leaving her opponents lost, not knowing what to expect.
Danny watches me, amused. “You don’t have to watch fight reels, you know. It’s not in your job description as my babysitter.”
“Life coach. And I know … but I’m starting to like it.”
We board our train, and soon it’s shuddering and weaving us along on our three-hour journey down to Danny’s grandmother’s home in Portland.
Danny alternates between staring out the window, and closing his eyes, the freshly baked sourdough French bread wrapped in a tea towel in his lap.
“What’s wrong?” I say, touching his arm. It’s warm and clammy, but hard as granite. A fountain’s statue on a muggy day. His eyes are closed, his jaw locked. There is suffering behind his lids. “Worried about the fight?”
He shakes his head no, almost imperceptibly. The train jerks hard around a bend, creaking unnaturally, and Danny exhales, reaching for my hand. What the …
“Are you … scared of trains?” I try.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple jogging up his throat.
“It’s OK,” I say, biting back a small smile. “Everyone’s got something. I once had a client terrified of marshmallows.”
“Stop enjoying this, please.” He doesn’t move his hand from mine. His chest rises and falls quicker now, and small, glassy pinpricks of sweat appear on his forehead.
“Let’s get you out of this, OK? Focus on the sound of my voice. Fear lives in our imagination, so I’m going to bring you back to what’s real. What color are my eyes?” I ask firmly, my professional tone taking over. “You’ll have to look at me to see. I need a verbal answer.”
Danny’s lids stay firmly shut. “Navy blue rimmed with stone gray.”
He didn’t even need to look. The thought flutters around excitedly in my chest, but I tamp it down. Closed eyes don’t help me. I need to pull him from whatever terror he’s seeing in his mind.
“Look at me,” I say. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Danny opens his eyes and focuses on my hand.
“Three.”
“Perfect. That’s what’s really happening.
I have three fingers up, and we are gracefully gliding south to Portland, just as this train does each day.
We are safe on the train, and we will be safe at our destination shortly.
” I hesitate and then—oh, fuck it—take his hand in mine and place it flat and low on my abdomen, under my cashmere turtleneck, skin on skin.
Then I place my hand on his abdomen, ignoring the steep mounds of muscle as I slip my fingers beneath his buttery soft T-shirt.
“Skin-to-skin contact releases oxytocin and endorphins,” I explain.
“Now, breathe with me, from deep in your core, down here. We’re going to move something else into your imagination to crowd out the bad.
Picture a square in your mind. Make it your favorite color, and breathe up and over.
Hold for four. Now, down and across. There. ”
His hand is firm and true on my abdomen as I fill it with air, pressing against his palm, and then releasing. We stay in this space, our skin communicating our breaths, until I can feel Danny’s fear recede.
“Thanks,” he says. “That was embarrassing. But it worked.” The color has returned to his skin, which is also no longer pallid or sweaty. “If you think this is bad, you should see me on airplanes.”
“I’ve heard more than I’d like regarding your behavior with random women on airplanes, thank you very much,” I say primly, taking hand sanitizer out of my purse.
“I guess I can thank Bill for that.” He cracks a smile. “But for the record, it wasn’t a random woman. She was my girlfriend.”
“Oh. Was it, like, a bucket list thing of yours? To join the mile-high club?”
“No.”
“Hers?”
“Definitely not.”
“Then how did you end up in the bathroom with your pants around your ankles? It had to have been somebody’s idea of a good time.”
“It was her idea, but not of a good time. It was medicinal.”
“Medicinal,” I say skeptically. “Right.”
“Takeoff was rocky, followed by severe turbulence. Then the captain came on and said something about a mechanical issue and an emergency landing. I was on the brink. She distracted me.”
“Did it work?”
“Considering I didn’t open a cabin door at thirty thousand feet and inadvertently kill everybody onboard, I’d say it was a success. At least, until we got arrested.”
“She sounds like your soulmate.”
“Apparently not.”
“Why?” I can’t help myself. “What happened?”
“We wanted different things in life.”
“I get it.” I nod, smoothing out the air with flat palms. “Say no more.”
“What do you get?”
“Don’t make me say it out loud.” God, it’s so obvious. “She wanted a ring and kids and you wanted a brand new woman to give you … medicinal blowjobs.”
Danny smiles at me and starts to explain, but then stops himself. “You know what, Theranos? I’m going to let you think you have me all figured out.”
“I’m afraid you might not be as complicated as you project,” I say apologetically.
“Enlighten me. Who am I?”
I tilt my head to the side, considering.
“Ruggedly handsome, opposed to marriage, reckless with a tendency to smolder,” I say, ticking things off on my fingers. “You’re the heartbreaker. The rake. The man who makes you cry before you marry the nice guy whose been texting you all along. Taylor Swift wrote a song about it.”
“That’s some list. It’d be a shame if someone did it to you.”
“Go ahead.”
“You just rescued me. It would be rude.”
“I insist.”
“Alright. You’re the goodie-goodie. Too buttoned-up and scared of breaking the rules you’ve forged for yourself that you can hardly breathe, let alone enjoy the moment you’re in. And even if someone manages to slip past all that armor you polish, you sabotage it.”
“I … none of that’s true,” I say, my turtleneck feeling tight as I swallow. “I enjoy moments. And I literally just taught you how to breathe.”
The train accelerates out of a turn, and Danny’s body stiffens next to me as adrenaline races through his system. The train car groans all around us.
“Don’t get any ideas, Lothario,” I say, flicking my eyes to the lavatory. “Medicinal or not, it’s never gonna happen.”
Danny doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares out the window hard, breathing heavily and rhythmically.
I count the beats in my head. Up and over, hold for four, down and across.
He’s practicing the square breathing exercise I just taught him.
Somewhere in his mind is a softly glowing square of his favorite color.
“Sorry you’re dealing with this,” I say, my voice softer. “Believe me, I do know how it feels.”
Danny nods, his eyes closed.
“I must admit, part of me is relieved. I thought I’d have to zip-tie you to your chair to keep you away from the bar car this whole train ride.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I actually have a healthy relationship with alcohol,” he says, resting his head back.
“Oh, so that wasn’t you waking up in your boxer briefs on church steps when those poor wedding guests arrived?”
He manages a grin. “A healthy, open relationship, with just the right amount of chaos to make it fun. What else did you hear about me?”
“You punched a priest.”
“He was a deacon,” Danny corrects. “And he hit me first.”
“Let me guess—that was right before a big fight, and you got kicked off the card.”
Danny nods and looks out the window at the fast-moving fields strobing past in the distance. “A title shot. My first and last, until now. It’s why everyone is taking this fight so seriously. Bill and Gracie … they know this is my last chance.”
His forearm is touching mine, and I’m enjoying its warmth. His skin feels like it’s stored up all the sunbeams from his youth on the islands, forever warm to the touch.
“Why not just keep day-rate fighting and forget about the belt for a while?” I ask. “Give yourself some time to figure out what you really want to do?”
“Because time is running out. I’m already one of the older guys out there.
Hell, half the guys I came up with are retired.
Endorsement deals, money—it’s basically the whole point of putting yourself through it all.
Through the fight. Or maybe because, on some level, I think I actually deserve to get my face pounded in.
” Danny rubs his eyes and swallows hard.
“God, ignore me. I don’t know why I get like this on trains.
Imminent death turns me all emo. I bet you’re loving this, Theranos. Me, scared and pouring my heart out.”
“You’re not going to die,” I say, side-checking him with my shoulder. “Tell me why you think your face deserves to be punched.”
Danny glances out the window again. Then he starts speaking, slowly and carefully.
“When I was in high school, my mom married this guy—a real estate developer. He was OK, I can see that now, but I was stupid then. A rebellious teenager. We’d butt heads.
My mom had never been big on rules, and suddenly here comes this guy, throwing his weight around, giving me a curfew.
I didn’t make it easy on them. It got so bad, he eventually gave my mother an ultimatum. Him or me.”
My fingertip is drawing small, soothing circles on his forearm. I pull my hand back.
“What happened?”
“She chose me.” He shrugs. “Her love for me was as abundant as the ocean, which is probably why I took it for granted.” His eyes soften, as if lost in a memory. “He broke her heart, and it was all my fault.”
“But you were just a kid,” I say, shaking my head.
“All teenagers are self-centered. You can’t still be beating yourself up over it now.
Besides, he put your mother in an impossible situation.
Of course she chose you.” I take his hand in mine and squeeze it.
“And you will be the champion. Bill and Gracie believe that.” I hesitate. “I believe that.”
Danny turns his hand over in mine, and my heart pounds at the intimacy. I take my hand back, but his eyes stay on me.
“What about you? I bared my soul, emotionally speaking. It’s only fair you do the same.”
I take a sip of my water. “That’s not how this whole life-coaching thing works. There’s a curtain of professionalism in place, and it’s supposed to stay down.”
“Just one little peek, to make it fair. I’m a visual learner.”
I sigh, setting my cup down, and consider which morsel to share.
“OK, well, like you, it’s about my mother,” I say.
“She’s basically a stranger to me. Our relationship exists for one hour per year, when I fly into San Francisco for dinner at Tadich Grill.
It’s awkward, and we both want to be done with it.
But it makes my dad happy. He still harbors a lot of guilt about her leaving us.
” My eyes slip to the side. “Some of it warranted.”
“When did she leave?”
“Third grade? Yes, it was around the time I met Ally. She was the extrovert who socially adopted me. I wasn’t exactly popular …
reminding teachers to assign homework will do that.
” I glance away. “And my dad was a bit … unconventional as a parent. But Ally befriended me anyway. She showed me how to dress, helped me make a few friends.” Out the window, the scenery blurs into a watercolor of greens.
“She was my counterweight, my opposite. When she died, it felt like I sank to the ground. The hardest thing about losing her is learning who I’m supposed to be without her. ”
Danny tilts his head, looking at me. “It seems to me you know exactly who you are.”
I roll my eyes. “A fake medical entrepreneur with a failing Edison machine?”
“An exceptional life coach.”
“Go on,” I say, bumping him with my shoulder. “Look out your window.”