“I’m sorry.”
“She was the only person in my family who took it seriously.”
He rubbed one thumb along the cardboard seam of the coffee cup.
“She used to come watch me compete. Not because she understood jiu-jitsu. She had no idea what was happening.”
I smiled.
“Most parents don’t.”
“She once cheered when I escaped a position and accidentally ended up in a worse one.”
“That seems supportive.”
“She stood up and yelled, ‘That’s my boy!’ while Carlos was screaming at me to stop giving up my back.”
He laughed.
I did too.
It was the first time I had heard Ethan talk about another person without performing for anyone.
“She wanted me to open the academy,” he continued. “Dad thinks I’ll get bored.”
“Will you?”
“I’ve been training eight years.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
He looked at me.
“No. I don’t think I will.”
“What do you want it to be?”
That surprised him.
“What do you mean?”
“An academy can mean a room with mats and memberships. Or it can mean something else.”
He considered the question.
“I want kids there after school.”
I waited.
“Not little-kid fight club,” he said quickly.
