An image of the man she’d punched in Venice crumpled on the sidewalk flashed in her mind’s eye, the look of horror on his girlfriend’s face. But Peachy had said he was fine, she reminded herself, and had texted to let her know he had not been to the bar again. With great effort, she pushed the image away. Jab, jab, right, breathe. She needed discipline now more than ever, not just physically but mentally. She could not let anything distract her from her training. She could not keep getting in her own way.
“That’s nice, Bonnie,” Felix murmured at intervals. “I like that straight right.”
Bonnie gave a curt nod of acknowledgment and kept working, but she felt the compliment spark a familiar warmth within her. She had forgotten what it was like to be praised. That was the thing about training, as tough as it was, as grueling as it could be, there was a sweetness to it. Being observed, feeling nurtured and encouraged, Bonnie had loved that more than anything. She had never really concerned herself with whether she was a good boxer; she had only worried about pleasing Pavel. And whatever she did now, she was still aware of him. He might studiously ignore her, but she knew the effort it took for him not to watch her. Even at their closest, Pavel had not spoken much. But she could feel his awareness of her too. Barely perceptibly, unnoticed by anyone, they leaned toward each other, like plants for whom the other was the sun.
Aside from traveling for fights, they’d spent little time together outside the gym. But there had been moments. Once, ten years after they started training together, Bonnie had been walking to the gym when she stopped suddenly. Across the street, sitting alone in a booth in the window of the diner on Sixty-eighth Street, was Pavel. A server was walking toward him with a slice of cheesecake held aloft; his face lit up as she approached. Bonnie considered continuing to walk; there was something so innocent about the scene, so tender, that it felt almost violent to intrude upon it, but she found herself crossing the street and opening the diner door, drawn toward him like a bee to a bud. Pavel looked up as she approached, a large bit of cake hovering on his fork. He gave her a self-conscious grin.
You catch me, he declared.
He motioned for her to sit across from him, and she slid into the booth. Without taking his eyes off her, he scooped the cake into his mouth, clearly delighted by the experience.
You discover my one weakness, he said between bites.
Cheesecake?
Cheesecake. Pavel nodded. This one is very good. We don’t have like this in Russia. You want a piece?
Bonnie was about to decline—she kept to a strict training diet that included very little sugar—when she surprised herself by nodding.
Sure, she said. Why not.
He ordered her a slice and watched with a fervent intensity as she took the first bite.
What do you think? he asked eagerly. Is good, no?
To be honest, it tasted like regular cheesecake to Bonnie, but his enthusiasm was irresistible.
Delicious, nodded Bonnie, her mouth full.
Pavel beamed.
Next fight you win, I get you this, he said.
They sat in peaceable silence eating their cake until both their plates were clean. Bonnie assumed Pavel would immediately hurry them along to the gym, but he sat back and smiled at her contentedly.
You want coffee?
Another indulgence she rarely allowed herself since Pavel discouraged reliance on any stimulants, including caffeine.
Are you getting one? she asked in surprise.
Today, we live a little, he announced and ordered them two cups.
The mugs of steaming dark liquid were placed before them and Bonnie took a tentative sip, watching over the rim of her cup as Pavel took a long, satisfying gulp.
Aaaah, he exhaled, placing his down in front of him and regarding her with his amused, knowing stare. So how are you, Bonnie?
How was she? As…a person? Bonnie didn’t know how to answer that. In the past months Pavel had asked her how her combinations were flowing, if her right shoulder was still bothering her, whether she was out of gas between sparring rounds, if she was keeping her chin down and her guard up, but never how she was. She mumbled something about being fine, then took a large swig of coffee, burning her tongue.
And your sisters? he pressed. How’s Nicky?
This was easier for her.
She’s good. Bonnie nodded proudly. Just started her teaching degree. She wants to be an English teacher.
Good for her. Pavel tapped his head and smiled. That Nicky, always taking notes.
That’s right.
Bonnie smiled back, pleased, as always, to be talking about her special younger sister. A silence descended between them again; she wrapped her hands around the mug and cleared her throat.
And…how are you? she tried cautiously. How’s Anahid?
She didn’t know why she’d asked that. Pavel rarely mentioned his wife and Bonnie never asked. The few times Anahid had visited the gym, Bonnie had found her very striking and serious, exactly the kind of impressively intimidating partner you would expect for Pavel until you knew him better and discovered his silly side, the goofy, childlike version of him that loved to dance and juggle. And, Bonnie thought, smiling to herself, eat cheesecake alone in diners.
I think she is well, he said.
Bonnie knit her brow together. Think?
We call it quits, he clarified. A little while ago now.
Oh.
Bonnie didn’t know what to say. Talking about anything outside of boxing, let alone something as personal as a breakup, was like trying to walk with Pavel on ice; neither of them quite had their balance.
In fact, he continued, I just signed the divorce papers today.
He gave a self-effacing laugh, seemingly marveling at the strangeness of the statement he’d just uttered. Bonnie searched his face for signs of heartbreak, but he was the same Pavel he had always been. Same flat, square nose—a true boxer’s nose, he’d joke, broken many times into submission—set beneath bright, surprisingly gentle eyes.
