Do I Know You?(36)

Packing up my self-respect, I shut my computer screen. Not leaving myself time to hesitate, I step out the door and head down the path to David’s room.

When I reach his suite, the lights are on. I can hear the TV through the door. It’s chilly out, and dusk colors the sky gold past the trees. Huddled on the porch where the woodchip path meets the concrete of his entryway, I knock gently.

David answers a moment later, then laughs at what he sees. I’m standing on his bungalow’s small patio in my gym clothes, which I didn’t change out of when I returned to my room, wrapped up in my focus on the boxing dilemma. Furthermore, I know I must look miserable.

I cut to the chase. “Eliza challenged me to a boxing class tomorrow, and I was so busy pretending to be someone else that I forgot I’m going to be a disaster and she’ll see me fall over myself and never want to go out with me again.”

David, still grinning, doesn’t seem disturbed by the panic in my run-on sentence. He opens his door wider. “Come on in.”

Morosely, I trudge into the chaos of his room. It’s worsened since my previous visit, I notice. The piled clothes and detritus look like the product of nothing short of a Category 4 hurricane.

David faces me from the entryway. “Do you know any of the basics?” he asks.

“I’ve been watching videos, but I can’t replicate it very well,” I reply, catching the note of urgency in my own voice. Why did boxing need to be tomorrow morning? With twenty-four hours, maybe I could’ve prepared. Instead, I’ve got twelve, of which I’ll spend seven sleeping. Nine, if the exhaustion of my workout wins out.

David gestures to the small space of floor not occupied by furniture or laundry. “Show me your boxing stance.”

I drop into the posture I’ve cobbled together from two hours of YouTube. Embarrassment rolls over me in waves. Most days I feel tall—now I just feel gangly. I’m a collection of elbows, half-hunched in the middle of this hotel room.

David’s gaze sharpens. It’s sort of interesting to see, how suddenly he’s not just happy-go-lucky but concentrated, even studious. “Weight evenly distributed,” he counsels, nodding his head in one direction. Following, I lean to center myself. “That’s better,” David says. “Okay, take a step forward.”

I do. One awkward, searching step.

David moves quickly to my side, correcting me. I jettison my pride right into the small wooden wastebasket next to the minibar. “Just keep walking,” he goes on. “Four steps forward, four steps back. We’ll worry about hands later.”

Following his instructions, I continue to pace the floor in this plodding, silent dance. Eventually I graduate on to side-to-side, which leaves me questioning how I even had the coordination to learn to walk in the first place, but David remains encouraging.

“You’re going to be fine,” he tells me, words I get the distinct impression he’s repeated to legions of five-year-olds with skinned knees. “A couple hours of practice with me and you’ll be looking like a person with beginning-to-moderate boxing experience.”

“That’s the dream,” I reply. Daring to introduce talking into my side-stepping routine, I go on. “I’ve taken this too far, and if you can get me through it, I’ll seriously owe you.”

The truth is, I don’t want to look goofy in front of Eliza because nobody likes to fall flat in front of their wife, obviously—but for me, the fear that brought me to David’s doorstep is something more. I admitted it to myself on the walk over, under the silent trees. I wouldn’t worry about losing luster in Eliza’s eyes so much if I didn’t think I’d only just gotten it back. With every one of my ungainly punches, I feel like I’m fighting for my relationship, literally.

David hands me one of the complimentary water bottles on the tray near the ice bucket. “It must be kind of freeing, though,” he speculates encouragingly, “pretending to be someone else, with the only stakes being a boxing class.”

Cracking open the cap on the water bottle, I really consider. “Maybe,” I concede. “It’s definitely getting me to try things I wouldn’t otherwise. Letting us have fun together. I don’t constantly feel my marriage hanging in the balance. Even if it still is.” It’s not easy to say, and I probably would have kept silent if I weren’t exhausted from the gym and hours of YouTube tutorials. With my inhibitions down, I’ve voiced out loud thoughts I usually don’t even let cross my mind.

David grins, leaning against the closet. “Oh, it’s not.”

I glance up. “What?”

“It’s not hanging in the balance,” he clarifies with confidence. “Eliza is into you.”

I laugh, too sheepish to betray how much this outsider’s conclusion pleases me. Not being completely clueless, I got the impression Eliza was drawn into the weight room this evening by something other than spontaneity, but while I know I’m in decent shape—not to mention six foot two—the feeling she’s out of my league and knows it hovers over me like a dark cloud. David’s conviction is nice to hear, even if I can’t quite believe it.

“I hope so,” I say earnestly. “How’re things going with Lindsey?”

“Put your hands up, do some jabs,” he instructs.

I resume my stance, then start swinging as David offers helpful corrections, raising my fists, pushing my elbows in. I stay silent, knowing he can’t resist a direct invitation to talk about Lindsey. Sure enough, when I’m punching more fluidly, he elaborates.