Page 141 of Break Point
That’s all I need.
Henry’s head tilts slightly, his brow furrowing the moment he sees me. His gaze flicks to the sliding glass door, looking at my mom gliding our way. Then back at me. He knows better than to ask.
I nod once, slow and subtle, to let him know I’m not fine, butlet’s get through this without any drama.
We can talk it out later.
Mom finds it in her to look decent enough to sit through lunch without raising alarms. The conversation mostly stays light, revolving around the tournament in Mexico and what the whole experience had been like.
Since I got back, I haven’t had the chance to debrief with Dad. I’ve been too busy acclimating to my new coach and training schedule.
We talk rankings, tournament points, and predictions, and I listen to Dad and Henry go on and on about how reaching number one might be feasible. I’d rather not dwell on it. Don’t want to jinx it.
Gemma and Robbie keep talking about how pumped they are to see me play at Wimbledon.
“You better make it to the quarterfinals,” Robbie says. “Dad said he won’t greenlight the trip unless you’re a sure bet to hit Centre Court.”
“Well, duh,” Gemma says, sounding more like her old self around him. Before it got awkward. Before everything changed.
It’s the first time she’s remotely teased him about anything in months. It’s like it slipped out. Or she’s starting to move on.
She bumps her shoulder lightly against mine. “I have a feeling she might win this one.”
Mom snorts. It’s loud enough to cut through the whole table.
The conversation dies.
She dabs at her nose with a napkin, pretending allergies are to blame.
Henry looks at me, and his eyes are begging me to drop it.
I do. Barely.
It’s been a decent day so far, considering. I’m not about to let her ruin it for me.
But she pushes her chair back, saunters over to her magic-wheeled cart, and pours herself another drink.
She fumbles with the ice cubes, missing the glass twice before they finally clink in. Dad doesn’t move to help her. Doesn’t stop her either.
“Were you able to get tickets for that play?” she asks Dad, her voice syrupy, too casual for how tense the room just got.
He blinks at her, confused, like he’s struggling to keep up with her now.
I toss my napkin onto my table, push my chair back, and walk away before I say something I’ll regret.
“See?” She says behind me, sweet and cutting all at once. “She can’t stand it when the conversation isn’t revolving around her.”
Look who’s talking.
I laugh under my breath at the sheer absurdity of her rude, hurtful, and tone-deaf remark. One would think a parent would be proud of their child’s accomplishments, but that’s not always the case.
Some don’t want their children to shine at all.
I head for the front door and step outside. It’s easier than staying. Easier than calling her out to my dad. Easier than starting a fight in front of my family and guests.
Easier than accepting this as my reality.
I walk. And I walk. And I walk.
