CHAPTER 9 #4
Before I can respond, she kneels down on the hallway floor, needle in her mouth, and fixes my dress.
I stand still, at her command, but inside, I’m reeling.
Is it possible that Fernanda is an entirely different woman in real life than the one I imagined in my head?
I think back to the conversation Aurelio and I had in the locker room.
Can Fernanda and I exist as ourselves and not just as the opponents we are on the court?
It only takes her a few minutes to expertly stitch up the tear. She even makes sewing in a sequined gown look easy. “Thank you.” I run my fingers over her work. With the black thread, you can hardly see the damage. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She’s aghast. She puts a hand on her chest. “Of course I did! We girls have to stick together.” I notice she’s changed her nails. The background color is a deep burgundy, but each one has a golden firework exploding across the darkness. They’re so very Fernanda.
She hooks her arm through mine, dragging me towards the elevator. “Do you want to ride with us? I always get a big limo for the event. It’s way more fun to ride together.”
When we get to the lobby, I see a posse of seven or eight women, including the ones I sat with at breakfast. They’re already laughing and talking amongst themselves.
They’re excited, I realize. To do something away from tennis, for a good cause, in fancy dresses, together.
Last year, Beck said this gala was a waste of time. He pouted the whole time I got ready.
I don’t pull away from Fernanda’s arm. “Sure,” I say, looking up at her. “I’d love a ride.”
She smiles like she knew my answer before I gave it. I’m not even mad. Turns out, Fernanda’s planning and scheming is often for the good of others. I’m just happy to be included this time around. That for once, I said yes.
*
By the time the limo rolls back up to the hotel afterwards, we’re all exhausted from dancing and a little tipsy from champagne. Fernanda squeezes my hand in the lobby as the other girls disperse to their rooms. “I’m glad you came with us, Amy. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Her question interrupts my intense focus on pulling the bobby pins out of my hair. “Wasn’t so bad?” I echo. “What do you mean?”
She watches me carefully. “It just seems like you’ve always avoided us in the past. Like maybe you thought you were above having friends.” I should have realized Fernanda picked up on it. She’s smart as a whip. “But having friends is nice, isn’t it?”
I’m too tired to pretend she’s wrong. I just nod. “Yeah, I think it is.”
She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.” I pass it over wordlessly. She types in her number and snaps a quick selfie for the contact photo. She’s pouting for the camera. I shake my head at her, but she just hands the phone back to me. “In case you need me.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “Tonight was nice.” The words feel ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but I can tell they please Fernanda. She loves it when a plan falls into place, and finally, I’m cooperating.
She steps back, heading towards the bar. “Until we meet on the court, Amy. Then we can go back to your version of things.” She winks. I have to smile a little at her antics. “I’m meeting Angelina for a nightcap. I’ll see you soon.”
I give her a wave and then make a beeline for the elevators. I hardly ever wear heels, and my feet are killing me. I promised Aurelio I would get up early for our walk, and I don’t want to go back on my word. I need to peel away gala-Amy and replace her with sleep mask-Amy.
I pull my heels off as soon as I’m inside my hotel room. I can already hear Beck snoring through the connecting door. Our argument this morning feels like a million years ago.
I’m setting down my clutch and plugging in my dead phone when I notice a bright blue sticky note on my mini fridge. I can’t see what it says, so I sit down, plucking it off the door. It’s in my dad’s chunky handwriting.
I’m sorry for today, Amy. There’s a surprise for you in the freezer.
See you tomorrow.
— Dad
A lump starts in my throat. I don’t think I have a single note, card, document, or text where he’s signed it “Dad.” I always call him Beck, or Coach.
I open the mini fridge, eyes immediately darting to the little cubby at the top that serves as a freezer.
Wedged tightly into that cubby is a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Mint Chocolate Cookie ice cream.
It’s been my favorite since childhood, the treat my dad always resorted to when I scraped my knee or hit my serve into the net.
He didn’t know what to say, so he just shoved the carton into my hand.
How much longer can we go on like this? I already lost Suzy because of him.
I don’t want to lose anyone else. But how can I let go of my dad?
I wasn’t lying when I told Aurelio that I didn’t know how I could sacrifice him.
He’s given me the only life I’ve ever known. Without him, what life do I even live?
Instead of finding the answers in the darkness of 1 a.m., I grab the spoon from where Beck left it on top of the mini fridge and let the minty ice cream melt on my tongue. It tastes like childhood, like when Beck was a giant to me.
It’s strange not to see him that way anymore.