Page 49 of Break Point
I sense the searing heat of Henry’s gaze on me as I stab the last piece of broccoli on my plate. I take it to my mouth and nod a few times. The last thing I need is to feel more embarrassed about my performance in China. I’ll watch the tapes. But not tonight, and not with him.
“Excuse me.” Henry pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket and frowns at the screen. “I need to take this call.”
He walks away, and Mom takes her seat at the table, sipping on a fresh glass of gin—her idea of dessert.
“Speaking of calls,” she says with an unnerving chuckle. “Your bad luck charm called the house earlier while you were showering.”
Your bad luck charm?
“Addison,” Dad warns in a too-mild-for-my-taste “meh” tone. That’s as much as Dad is willing to do for me. Call Mom by her name in a slightly lower timbre with a dipped chin.
Mom takes another sip and goes, “Mmm,” as she settles her glass on the acrylic coaster. All I remember when I sipped on it a few years ago was how awful and bitter it tasted, so I don’t understand why drinking that shit makes her body tingle with joy.
“I told Liam you would call him back. He’s cute and seems like a good kid. But sweetie, you’re jeopardizing your tennis career, and for what?”
Robbie, the coward, stands up, kisses Mom’s hair, taps Dad’s shoulder, and flees the scene. I love him, but he always doesthis to me. He jumps ship when things get heated between Mom and me. And when I confront him about it, he always has a perfect excuse for his lack of support.
“You met Dad when you were eighteen, and my eighteenth birthday is only three months away,” I remind her. “Did meeting Dad jeopardize your tennis career?”
Mom snorts.
“Don’t be silly, Belén,” she smiles, elegantly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You and I are different in that sense.”
And many othersenses.
“Enlighten me.” I toss my napkin on the table and cross my arms at my chest. Her comment reels me in, and I can’t help but take the bait. She thinks she’s better than me. But I’ll prove her otherwise next year. No words or clever comebacks are required for that.
I cannot wait to hear what she has to say.
“You tend to lose focus quickly,” she begins to explain. “I saw you on TV. You forgot to do thatthingyou do before some of your serves. The what’s-it-called?” She chuckles under her breath, and her eyes move in a drunkenly slow fashion toward her glass, which she lifts to take another sip. The sight of it makes me shudder.
She’s officially drunk, which means I shouldn’t bother with her, but I can’t help myself.
“It’s the NEHBL,” Dad answers. And I’m sure Mom knows it, too. Or it could be that the gin has depleted enough brain cells that she’s unable to dig the information out of her head. “And Belén doesn’t need to do it. But it’s great that she has a ritual. It grounds her.”
Is Dad defending me against Mom? That’s new.
“You’ll have to forgive me for saying this,” Mom says, taking another sip, which she can do without. “But I always found it silly whenever an opponent did something similar. It’s pure superstition. It affects concentration for those on the other side of the court and pushes the clock if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you,” I mutter, feeling embarrassed on her behalf for her incapacity to keep herself sober for more than twenty-four hours.
“Belén,” Dad warns, saying my name in Spanish. “Bájale dos rayitas.”?3
He’s right. I should tone it down. The only one who loses every time is me. I’m the one who is left breathing out fire while Mom walks away unscathed, gin in one hand and Dad in the other.
What’s taking Henry so long?
“We should get going,” Dad says, getting up. “We’re going to be late.”
Thank you. Leave.
“Belén?” Mom says, bracing herself on the table while standing up slowly. She stares at me and flattens her dress with her palms. “It would be wise to end things with Liam. The sooner, the better. And I hope you’re being smart and using protection. An unwanted baby will ruin your career forever.Trust me.”
“Addison, that’s enough.” My dad rounds the table, looking visibly uncomfortable and upset. He removes the drink from my mom’s grasp and sets it back on the table. My eyes sting. It’s one thing to suppose your mom resents you and a whole other to have her insinuate it.
I push my chair back and stand up to leave without excusing myself.
“Belén!” Dad shouts. I ignore him. I can’t listen to him trying to convince me that Mom didn’t mean what she said. Not this time. Not about this.
