Page 19 of Breakpoint
Brandon stuck his tongue out at his sister. He was a man in his late thirties, but still picked on his little sister. “Just don’t let her bore you with her tales of the best way to do a drop shot or having good footwork.”
“I can’t help it that my footwork is better than yours,” she retorted.
The bickering continued, a comfortable, familiar rhythm of teasing and mock annoyance. Jaz complained about his manners, his insatiable appetite, and his general lack of respect for personal space. Through it all, Dani watched a warmth spreading through her.
It was refreshingly nice to sit across from Jaz and get to see the different layers underneath the woman she had assumed she understood from afar. She was still uber confident and assured, but suddenly it looked and felt different to Dani now.
She’d been disarmingly honest and vulnerable about the things she cared about, a far cry from the arrogant persona she’d constructed in her mind. She had all the sides and dimensions that Dani wanted to explore. This realization was a rogue wave crashing against the carefully constructed seawall of her long-held opinions. It felt odd, exciting even, to be so completely taken aback.
Her phone beeped beside her on the bed, and she looked to see it was a text message from Chris.
Dani, where are your photos and social media posts from today’s sponsorship event? I don’t see them on your page.
It just dawned on her that she hadn’t posted a single thing while at the event. It was usually the first thing she did at sponsorship events. To help the brand and keep her name out there. Chris always said her endorsements and off-court activities were just asimportant as how she performed on the court. He wanted her to post something almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day.
But with those kids, it somehow felt wrong. Plus, she knew how Jaz felt about it and how she didn’t want those things publicized. She blew out a long breath and decided to ignore his texts for the moment. She needed to make sense of it, to vocalize the strange, unsettling warmth that had bloomed in her chest where bitterness once lived.
She replayed the day she had with Jaz at the youth center, but also the ride home. Talking about their families and sharing their journeys. Just bringing them up made her miss her parents more, especially her mom, and the relationship they once had. After the day with Jaz, she was high on hope that she could bridge any gap. She picked up the phone and called the number she knew by heart.
She took a deep breath, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants. She hadn’t talked to her mom in weeks, not since the terse exchange after her last tournament.
Her mother finally accepted the call. “Hello.”
She forced a lightness into her voice. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”
“I’m doing well, and you?” Brittany Kappas answered. Not with the lightness and fun that used to be there. In the tennis world, Brittany Kappas was the greatest American tennis player who ever lived. Her eighteen Grand Slams at the time of her retirement were the most ever by an American woman.
“I’m good, Mom. Busy. You know, training, playing.” Dani got up and paced the length of her spacious guest room. The silence from the other end of the line stretched into an uncomfortable void. She wanted to tell her mother everything and get her advice.
“I see you made the Olympic team,” her mom offered.
“I did. It's amazing at this stage of my career. I’m sure you saw I’ll be playing doubles with Jaz Mason.” She was a bit nervous to bring up Jaz because of their history and tried to keep the pride out of her voice at her accomplishment. To make it sound casual, like a simple update, not a desperate plea for acknowledgement. “I’m actually training with her right now. I was so nervous the first time we hit together, but I’m learning a lot. I’ve never trained this much in my life. It’s like I’m going through the Jaz Mason bootcamp.
“That’s good.” The conversation flowed in fits and starts, a well-worn dance of pleasantries and surface-level updates. She wanted to tell her all about the grueling practice sessions with Jaz and all the details she was picking up on. She wanted her to understand the passion that burned inside her, the drive that pushed her to the edge of her limits every day. But she knew, sheknew, the words would fall flat, met with the same disapproval that had been her constant companion since she’d announced her decision to drop out of school and turn pro.
“So, I’m playing Eastbourne next week,” Dani began tentatively, hoping to bridge the chasm.
“Eastbourne is a good tune-up before Wimbledon,” Brittany stated. And that was it.
“The draw looks pretty good, and I’m hoping to make a run to the semifinals.” Dani longed to talk to her mom about the real things about being a pro, tactics to utilize on different surfaces, the gnawing loneliness that sometimes crept in despite the cheering crowds, the pressure that squeezed her chest tight before everymatch, the lingering doubts that whispered in the dark corners of her mind.
“That’s... nice, dear,” her mother replied, the words clipped and distant. She continued, “Your father and I were just discussing your...career. It's been a year, and we think you should go back and finish your degree. So that you have more opportunities.”
Dani closed her eyes, a familiar ache settling in her chest. Here it was, the same old argument. She’d heard it a thousand times, the constant reminder that her choices were wrong, that her dreams were frivolous. “Mom, we’ve talked about this,” she said, her voice strained. “I’m happy with my decision. I may go back and finish college at some point in time, but right now I’m doing well.”
“At what cost, Dani?” Her mother’s voice rose, tinged with a familiar bitterness. It was as if she were watching Dani through a pane of glass, observing, but never truly connecting anymore.
Dani felt a wave of frustration wash over her. “It’s more than that, Mom,” she pleaded, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s...It’s everything. It’s the competition, the strategy, the adrenaline. It’s pushing myself harder than I ever thought possible. And you may not think so, but I’m actually pretty damn good.” She wanted to tell her about the roar of the crowd, the feeling of hitting a perfect forehand, the satisfaction of a victory hard-earned. But the words caught in her throat, trapped behind a wall of years of disapproval.
“Dani, what are you going to do in five years from now when your career is over? Think about your future and not just the moment,” Brittany spat back.
Dani bit her lip, the familiar tension coiling in her stomach. “You just can’t deal with the fact that this is what I want. ThatI’m actually in the spotlight now and not you.” She didn’t mean for that to come out, but it was an unspoken pressure that swirled within Dani. That she was always being measured against a legacy she hadn’t chosen, a shadow she couldn’t escape.
“Dani, if that is what you truly believe, then we have nothing else to say.”
The silence returned, heavier this time, punctuated only by the hum of the ceiling fan. Dani knew the conversation was over. There was nothing more to say. Her mother would never understand, would never accept her choices. And despite the burning desire for her mother’s approval, she was tired of explaining.
“Okay then,” Dani whispered, the words hollow even to her own ears. “Love you.”
