Page 89 of Break Point
Ten THOUSAND dollars?
Drew: That’s what the K means. You need to mix it up with school, girl. There’s more to life than tennis.
Oh, shut up. I know what K means.
Drew: I will if you promise to leave everyone jaw-dropped tonight.
I’ll try my best.
Drew: See you tonight then. Love ya, kid. Congrats again.
Thanks, Drew. Love you too.
My stomach somersaults at the thought of seeing Liam tonight. This is the longest we’ve gone without contact since we met. In the past, every time we saw each other after a breakup, something always reignited, just enough to blur the reasons we ended things. But I know that won’t happen again. Not this time. Not for me.
It’s gotten easier to shove thoughts of Liam to the back of my mind, mostly because I’ve had no choice. I stand by my decision, but that doesn’t mean seeing him again won’t mess with my head.
Tonight, I’ll be in the same room as Theo, Henry, and Liam.
Three versions of chaos, all in one place.
God help me.
Dad: Felicidades, mi amor. I still can’t believe you’re 18. I remember your first tennis lesson with Elliot like it was yesterday and now look at you, playing in the Grand Slams. I’m so, so proud of you.
Dad: I’m sorry your mom couldn’t make it. Please believe me when I say she’s truly ashamed about missing her flight.
Dad: We love you very, very much. Let me know when I can come up for a birthday hug.
Dad: Hope you loved the flowers.
I’m heartbroken. A part of me wants to believe Mom is “genuinely ashamed” about not coming, but I know Dad is always sugarcoating things to mediate on her behalf.
I don’t even know what time it is back home. Australia feels like being on another planet, and I’ve never felt so far away and disconnected from everything. But she hasn’t called or texted yet, so I’ll give her the benefit of the time-zone doubt.
I wish I had an off button to stop caring and expecting Mom to show an ounce of affection.
Tears pool in my eyes, clouding my vision as I click my response away. Sadness quickly shifts into anger. It’s infuriating to feel this out of control. Yet again.
Thanks so much, Dad! The flowers are beautiful. I’m heading downstairs to the gym for a run. I’ll see you later for that hug. Love you!
I toss my phone aside and lower my face into my hands. A sob breaks free. Emotions crash through me, flooding my bloodstream like poison. It makes me want to scream, to expel the rage clawing at my insides.
Curling up into a ball, I let my body sink into the white, heavy comforter and allow myself to cry. To grieve. To mourn the part of me that still can’t fathom why Mom is the way she is.
Why is it so easy for her to push me aside? Why can’t she love me the way I need her to? And why, despite everything, do I still love her so damn much it feels like the ache is carving me out from the inside?
Grabbing a pillow, I wonder if there’s a way to smother this pain, to quiet the chaos inside me. So I do the only thing my body demands: I bury my face in it and scream. I scream so loud I don’t know if the fabric can muffle the desperation.
The heartache.
The fury.
The disappointment.
Am I incapable of recognizing the love my dad swears she has for me? Because I can’t feel it. Or maybe I just want it too badly. No matter how much I try to feign indifference, every time she catches a glimpse of my misery, all I do is push her further away.
Stop begging for love.
