Page 130 of Carrie Soto Is Back

I see my own face on the television and see Greg Phillips reporting that “Javier Soto, father and coach of Carrie Soto, has died unexpectedly. He was not with his daughter at Wimbledon this past July, and some speculated it was due to health concerns. But he was expected to be with Carrie in New York next week for the US Open.”

Bowe tells me later that I threw the remote at the TV and cracked the screen.

—

In the paper, they print a picture of him from the early seventies at the French Open. He looks young and handsome in his polo shirt and panama hat. He would have loved it. I try to tear it out of the paper to save it, but I accidentally rip it.

—

At some point, Bowe gets in bed and holds me. He makes me smoothies every morning. He always gives me the wrong type of straw, but I don’t know how to tell him without screaming at him and I don’t want to scream at him.

I walk into the bathroom, thinking Bowe is in the shower. But instead, I find him sitting on the edge of the tub, with the shower running. When he sees me, he looks up and his eyes are bloodshot. He stands up and asks me if I am okay.

I wonder when he is going to leave. I’d have left by now.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, even though I can’t tell if I said any of that out loud.

—

After my father’s funeral and the reception, Gwen is packing up all the food as I stand there in the kitchen, not moving. She’s telling me about all the times my dad made her laugh.

“Can you please, for the love of God, shut up?” I say.

She stops putting cheese slices into Tupperware and looks at me.

I say, “I’m sorry.”

She takes my hand, but hers is cold and I want her to let go of me. But I also know that even if I ask her to, she won’t.

Bowe goes out onto the court every day. Sometimes I watch him from my window.

He comes inside after a particularly grueling session with a hitter. “How are you?” he says, breathless.

“How the fuck do you think I’m doing?” I say.

I look down and see I’m wearing my father’s slippers. And I don’t remember when I put them on.

Later, I ask Bowe if I should drop out of the US Open, and he tells me I already know the answer. But he’s wrong. I do not.

—

I am in a T-shirt and pair of Bowe’s boxers when Bowe comes into the room and tells me he’s scheduled to play Franco Gustavo. I’m scheduled to play Madlenka Dvoráková in the first round in New York.

I hear my father’s voice. “Ah,será fácil.You can whoop her ass.” I turn to see him, but he’s not there.

—

I am standing in the middle of my living room, looking at all the flowers people sent. The house is overflowing with blooms that are starting to die.

So many people havesentsomething but not come by. Which is more than I would have done for any of them.

—

The phone rings as I am lying in bed, and I don’t answer it. But I can tell by the way the ringing stops that Bowe has picked it up.

He comes in a few moments later.

“It’s Nicki,” he says. “Chan.”

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