Chapter 22 #2
“Honestly, I have only about two decent memories.
One with my grandmother and one with my daughter.
My abuelita celebrated the holidays on Three Kings Day.
Everything's like 75% off, and you miss out a lot of the holiday crowds.
I didn't celebrate it like I wanted before my daughter came, because I was still pregnant.
But after she was born, I adapted that tradition for her first Christmas.
She probably doesn't remember it, but it was the first-time things felt normal. When I get Mónica back, I want to continue that.”
“That's beautiful.” She was beautiful. And I could totally see myself in that situation.
With her. Especially if she could visualize me in it with her.
“I'm sure your daughter would love that.
We're still waiting for the checks to cut on some of your deals, but at least you'll be able to give that to her.”
She leaned in to kiss me, purring into the kiss. “It just sucks that now you choose to honor my no hookup rule until after a fight.”
“Look, I just said no dick. I need you out there, aggressive.
And the post-fight dick I'mma give you might make that ass submissive, and I need a beast out there.
Trust me, mi pinga* will show you how much it missed you once you win.
But in the meantime, if you need a mouth to use.
I mean, my tongue really don't count because it's basically a vibrator,” I joked, trilling my tongue.
“You know, you'd just be doing it for you,” she teased.
“True, but you get to benefit in the best way. So, it's a win-win. I want to make your post-match ritual special this time.”
“Boy, how do you even make something we do nearly every day special?”
“Ma, ain't you ever had sex by candlelight? Rose petals everywhere, and sexy music?”
“No!”
“What do the men your age do on special occasions? ?Cono*! Girl, you're gonna be hearing so much R&B, you won't even be able to listen to it without getting wet. That's a promise.”
“You're so silly,” she laughed, leaning into another kiss.
“Y eres especial*. In two days, I'll show you just how much.”
***
It’d been a busy morning, at least for Sierra, as the contrast between male and female fights couldn't be more evident than her having to sit in hair and makeup for four hours before our day even started.
She was a trooper, though. Glitz and glam weren't normally her thing, but I know she liked all that girly shit.
She just never had access to it in this way before, so I was happy that she got the experience it.
She looked so good. No one walking by her would be able to tell that she was a professional fighter.
She had a designer dress on, fit to kill. And they had done her locs up in a mohawk, a style fit to accommodate her fight the next day. The conference was at noon, followed up by the weigh-in, and another night of rest before the big fight.
Héctor and me had finally had that follow-up chat with the matchmaker, and given how she hadn't seen much of Sierra in the past, she couldn't ignore her now, given this woman had made it to Vegas.
So, when I got a text from Sierra, twenty minutes before she was supposed to go out, instead of taking a rain check on the couple, I let Héctor handle some of the small talk that could lead to negotiations, rushing to the waiting room she’d been in, wondering where all these pre-interview jitters were coming from.
“Sierra? Ma, let me in. I want to talk to you,” as the knock got answered in rapid speed. ?Qué tienes*? You were fine this morning. You go out there in less than twenty. I need you to be ready—”
“I’m just…I'm so nervous,” she interrupted.
“Don't be nervous, Mama. You got this.”
“I just wish I knew what they were gonna ask me. What if I start stuttering? What if —”
“Sierra.” Kiss. “Relax. Breathe. If you walk out there with half the arrogance you've always shown me, none of those motherfuckers will be able to touch you.”
“What if they mention stuff about my daughter?”
“Then let them. Sierra, we talked about this. She's the sole reason you fight, which ain't that hard to remember, since it's the truth,” as I play pinched her chin, shooting her a controlled smirk.
“Okay,” she dismissed.
“?Ya*?”
“Yeah.”
“Then come on, do it before you lose the nerve.”
***
“Here tonight, we welcome bantamweight heavy hitter all the way from Santiago, Brazil. Teresa DaCosta!” as Teresa waved to the crowd, stoically answering with a modest, “Glad to be here.”
“Who we have next to her, repping Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the upcoming rising star, who started from the bottom only to rise from the ashes—welcome, Sierra Medina!”
“I'm just so happy to be here,” she gushed, in contrast to DaCosta’s more neutral approach. Good, she was leaning in with her sweeter side, using her femininity to her advantage. That was good.
Side by side. Teresa and Sierra were mic’ed up, taking, dismissing and clearing up questions and misunderstandings before the fight.
“They call you La Loba*, but we're curious. Have you always had that name, or did your fans grant you that moniker?”
“It's actually a funny story—even though he may not find it so funny. It's a nickname my coach gave me. Who I've been lucky enough to train with at his gym House of Beast. He’s only ever moved by fighters he feels has a little beast in them. I was really persistent on him training me, and she wolves are fiercely protective of their children, have strong intuition and are good at surviving. Traits I’ve had to develop as a single mom.”
“That's right. We doubt this fight would have even happened had DaCosta not called you out—”
“I was just talking shit,” DaCosta defended.
“The shitty thing about fighting world is sometimes it takes something to draw out a fighter, you really want to fight.
So sometimes you punch a little under the belt.
In men's fights, they love it. In women's fights, we get accused of being catty or bitchy.
For simply behaving the way men are allowed to.
I want to go on record apologizing to my opponent.
Because it wasn't my place to assume I knew her situation. Fighting just gets boring. Everything I was hearing about her was far from boring. Plus, our coaches have history.”
“Sierra, would you like to address that comment?”
“I'm not addressing anything that doesn't have to do with who will actually be in the cage.
DaCosta and I have worked really hard, and our coaches had their time.
We already have it hard enough as queer women of color, and we'd rather be focused on that, than any unfinished business between Vega and Mendez,” Sierra rejected.
“But you two must understand. Their last fight was one of the most watched fights of all time. The two of you are their legacy. You understand why we're curious. Could you just tell us what it’s like to work with legends?”
“Vega is very…Vega,” Teresa dryly laughed. “He is very good at what he does, but I am rebellious. I make his life harder. Which I would not have any other way.”
“How about Josue Mendez? How is he as a trainer?”
“Umm…” Sierra hesitated, and at first, I thought she’d give some horror story or lie about how we met.
“For lack of better words, he was my dream trainer. Everything I thought he could do for me, he did it, times ten. I came from nothing, so I think that's why I looked up to him. It wasn't instant, but he saw something in me. Probably one of the reasons why I’m here is because he bet on me. I just never want him to lose that faith in me, especially given I wouldn’t have been his first choice.”
After a lot of dancing, the interview took a detour into their training and mental state, but you could always count on an asshole to redirect things back to paint a certain narrative. Thank God, Sierra was prepared for that.
“What do you have to say to all the haters claiming that they can't wait for you to lose because you're a bad mother?”
Sierra just wore a bright look, protecting her peace through a smile.
“Honestly, I don't have anything to say, because a person that barely knows me is only projecting from their own trauma, and I'm just the vehicle to vent out that frustration. I’m sure it’ll probably be Latto next week,” she joked.