Page 82 of Break Point
All I remember is how much fun I had with Theo, and it’s best to keep those memories intact. Fun. Light. Casual. I don’t want any unnecessary catty drama between us. I like things as they are, kept at a distance, simple, and at peace.
Having my dad push me to “talk it up” with Theo makes me laugh under my breath. If he only knew how many times we sneaked out of our rooms at tournaments to make out after hours, he wouldn’t be so quick to push me straight back into Theo’s orbit.
“Henry could keep filling in as your coach while we wait for Tim to become available,” Dad says in an appeasing tone. “That way, he can also focus on his college applications, as we originally planned.”
Enter the plans of his own …
“Whatever you need, Joe,” Henry replies with a tight smile.
“Did you hear back from MIT?” Dad asks.
“MIT?” I echo, whipping my head toward Henry. His face goes stiff.
Are you freaking kidding me?
“Not yet,” Henry says flatly. “Decisions don’t come out until mid-March.”
He looks at me with a face that screamsI can explain,andit’s not what you think,but I can’t help feeling deceived. He said he would apply to colleges in New York. That he wouldn’t leave again.
“They’d be stupid not to want you,” Dad says, standing up. He walks over, pats Henry proudly on the back, and smiles. “I have a few meetings, but I’ll join you guys later for dinner.”
He pulls me into a quick hug, pressing a peck to my cheek.
“Felicidades, mi amor. Trata de descansar un rato.”?1
“Gracias,” I say, my stomach pitching. “Claro.”?2
Dad reaches for the doorknob.
“Why isn’t Mom coming?” I toss in before he can leave. If this day is heading downhill, we might as well go full speed. “And why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Dad stops, letting the heavy door slam shut. He keeps his back tome and says, “She wasn’t feeling well and thought twenty-plus hours of flight time would only make it worse.”
After a brief silence, he glances over his shoulder with a tight, apologetic smile. But he’s not the one who needs to explain or apologize. Yet he always does and covers for her.
“Nasty hangover?” I scoff, shaking my head in disappointment.
Even now that I know what a hangover feels like, I don’t feel sorry for her. Mom knows exactly what drinking does to her, yet she keeps putting herself through it on an almost daily basis.
“Bells,” Henry whispers, his fingers lightly brushing my arm. I shake them off instinctively. I don’t want to be touched or coddled. Not right now. I’m too pissed for that.
“She said she was sorry, Belén,” Dad sighs.
Not to me.
Dad knows better than to approach me. He knows it would only turn this into a bigger deal than it needs to be, so he’ll avoid a confrontation with me like the plague, especially during a Grand Slam. I need to stay focused and hold on to whatever zen I have left. But he’s still trying, uselessly, to excuse Mom’s behavior. And I can’t let that slide.
“She’ll call you tomorrow to wish you a happy birthday.”
“How thoughtful.” I snort. “Appreciate you adding it to her to-do list.”
“Belén,” Dad snaps. I can tell I’m getting on his nerves, but the fact that he doesn’t see how much Mom’s absence hurts me is beyond comprehension.
Or maybe he does see it. Maybe it’s that he loves her too much to hold her accountable or to admit out loud that she has a problem. Which is paradoxical if you ask me.
“You know how much she loves you.”
“Do I?” I huff out a sarcastic sigh as I meet his heavy, apologetic gaze. But he has nothing left to say. I can tell.
