Page 37 of Break Point
There’s a lot I need to work on. Liam’s the best, and I’m afraid I will fuck things up for good if I don’t get my shit together. Fast. But I’m not ready to talk to him yet. I’m too fired up and jealous about those photographs, and because of that, I won’t be able to handle this call. Talking to Henry left me feeling overly emotional, too.
I let the phone ring until it goes quiet.
“Aren’t we supposed to hit the gym, Coach?” I say with a smile. “Youdon’t want to see me working out in a bad mood, so if I had taken that call, I would’ve set the gym on fire.”
“Yeah, we don’t want that.” Henry laughs. “I’ll meet you down there in twenty.”
I take a deep breath, and a couple of messages pop up on my screen.
Liam: Question. Why are there photographs of you holding hands with your coach splashed all over the gossip sites?
Liam: Is it him you want?
My mouth twitches with tension, but I don’t reply. Let him suffer for a while. I still can’t get over those photographs of him with that redhead.
If Liam’s jealous of Henry, so be it.
Advantage, Freeman.
1 Oh, my God!
2 Son.
3 Oh, daughter, I see you every day. You’re too “seen”. (Literal translation of a common saying).
4 Direct translation: “You’ll see!”
5 Your food will get cold, daughter.
6 Please sit down to eat.
CHAPTER 11
INSOMNIA
SEPTEMBER 20, 2010
TONY IS DRIVING Robbie,Henry, and me back to Manhattan, and all I want is to sleep in my bed. My bedroom back in Montclair doesn’t feel like home anymore. Mom doesn’t even keep cookies in the pantry, and she knows how much I love my chocolate chips. But God forbid I walk in the house with them.
Once, I woke up one morning to find that she had tossed my paper bag filled with freshly baked cookies from Insomnia. I’m still recovering from the shock.
After that regrettable episode, I stopped taking cookies to Montclair. But gin? The bar and pantry are always fully stocked with bottles in all shapes, sizes, colors, and brands.
Those are a few reasons why I refuse to go back to live with my parents. My apartment in New York is my home now and it’s fully stocked with cookies, thank you very much.
On the other hand, my dad is a saint. He always looks out for everyone’s well-being, goes above and beyond to make everyone happy, and fixes everyone’s problems. He’s also a cookie smuggler on the side. But I can’t rely on him to get my daily dose of the only pleasure I allow myself to indulge in.
One would think I inherited my intricate personality from my mom,who is a complexcharacter on her own,but I didn’t. I was crafted in my father’s image. He’s noble but can be stubborn as an ox. And so can I. That’s where we collide, just like we did this weekend.
I’ve been training at the Montclair Ridge Country Club for the past five days. The first day washell. My mom’s friends and other women I failed to recognize gathered around the court to watch me train. Some of them waited until the end to talk to me. But all they did was grill me with questions about my tennis career while others approached me to make a snarky comment or two about the racket thrashing incident combined with the occasional “but good for you.”
Others focused on Henry, telling him how happy they were to see him back in Jersey, offering their condolences, and asking him how his mother was faring.
My stomach turned when I caught one of them flirting with Henry. I had to look away. The woman was more than double his age and kept touching his arm. It was painful to watch.
Another woman, Mitzi, asked Henry if he was single because her daughter had returned from a year abroad in Spain and would love to make “new friends.”
He replied with a smile that he was, in fact, single.
