Page 83 of Best Year Ever
I’ve been trying to support his wishes, which are entirely understandable, but the sale of our house, it’s the end of a major phase of my life. Our life.
I wish he’d given me a minute before he pulled the trigger.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks.
I take a second to gather my thoughts. I don’t want him tofeel bad, after everything he’s done for me, but at the same time, I’m hurt.
One of the things that the situation with Landon has inspired in me, though, is being honest about how I’m feeling. In the past, I’ve held so much in and just shut people out. I don’t want to do that with Dad.
“This is just a lot. Saying goodbye to a piece of my childhood, you know?” I think through all of the major milestones in that house since I was ten. So many memories with Dad, my friends, my tennis. “I wish you’d told me before you took the offer.”
“You’ll still have those memories,” Dad responds, as if he can hear my thoughts. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t talk to you first. I got excited and didn’t even think. It was thoughtless of me.”
“Thanks Dad, it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Just need a moment to digest it.”
“Understandable, sweetheart,” he says. I can hear the sadness in his tone that he hurt me. “We’ll find a time where you can get anything you want out of your room before we pack it up.”
I sigh. This is really happening.
It’s rare that I’m upset at Dad, and I try to navigate my feelings, knowing that he didn’t mean anything bad by what he did.
On the flip side, it’s also grating on me a little that he still hasn’t come clean about his situation with Julie—if there is one? I’m still not 100% certain that I haven’t invented this.
It’s frustrating not to know for sure, but at the same time, I half don’t want to know, unless it’s serious. The whole thing seems messy when I think about it, and I hate messy situations, so maybe it’s better to block the whole possibility out.
Nevermind that I’m in a secret relationship myself now, so I guess I’m a big hypocrite. Dad and Julie still have no clue about Landon.
“Dad, hey, I’m pulling into Pinnacle now, so I’ll talk to you later,” I say as the big sign for our tennis complex comes into view.
Pinnacle is busy today, with players at all levelsfilling the courts. It’s surreal, but my practices tend to attract a crowd these days, with the kids here for lessons stopping and watching.
I’m used to a big audience, so that aspect doesn’t phase me too much. It’s just crazy how much has changed, that anyone even cares to watch me practice. One other new thing to get used to with the success this year.
Lunchtime brings some unwanted drama, however. In an interview that hit social media today, Tessa had some words about me, presumably to get under my skin.
“This is some load of BS,” Peter says, looking at his phone. “I’m sorry, Rori.”
“Yeah, doesn’t she know how petty and small it makes her look?” Maggie says.
A group of us—including other players, coaches and trainers—are sitting around on the deck of our practice facility’s clubhouse with our lunch.
“Rori’s overrated,”Maggie repeats Tessa’s quote to a British paper, using a mocking nasal tone. “I won’t be surprised if she gets knocked out of the U.S. Open early.” Maggie throws her phone face down, eyes rolling.
“Fuck that, you’re going to win the whole thing,” Malcolm says loyally.
He has been trying out our facility this week, in anticipation of pulling the trigger on the move from California.
“That’s what I think too,” Peter says. “It’s your time for a Slam, Rori.”
I appreciate their faith in me, but now I’ve got to deliver.
And in reality, Tessa’s comments do the opposite of what she probably intended. I’m not letting thatchildpsych me out of another win.
Tellingly, my afternoon practice is incredible. Her words are the fuel for my driving forehands and pinpoint serves.
“That’s what I’m talking about, Rori,” Julie says as we leave the courts. “Great job today.”
I’m drenched with sweat but feeling fully satisfied.
