Chapter 9
nine
I’m not allowed one mimosa with brunch?” Sahar asks exasperatedly the next day. “On my rest day?”
“I literally haven’t said a word,” Noah answers.
“But I can tell by your pinched face that you think I shouldn’t. Show of hands, who else can tell by Noah’s face that he doesn’t want me to drink this mimosa?”
At the glare she shoots all of us, we raise our hands, Aleksandr included.
Delilah raises both her hands, and at our confused looks, says, “Matteo would agree with me if he were here. You know what? Someone else raise a second hand because Austin would agree too.” Both are preparing for the ATP1000 tournament in Monaco, the latter of whom is playing in his first tournament since an injury benched him during the offseason.
Sahar raises a second hand, and Noah rolls his eyes with a smile. “Again, I haven’t said anything. If you want a mimosa, have a mimosa. Just be ready for your match tomorrow.”
The patio of the restaurant Delilah and Harper chose—part of their becoming tourists while on tour bit—is sunlight dappled, filtering through wide leaves.
Around us, cutlery clinks, mingling with laughter and the call of seagulls.
Pitchers of cold water, sweet tea, and their less innocent afternoon friend, mimosas, make their way around tables by way of waiters skilled in the art of Southern charm.
And because I knew Aleksandr would be insufferable about the fact that I haven’t been trying something new the last couple of days, I finally bit the bullet and decided to get the sweet tea.
Beside today’s date, I’ll be writing, I do not enjoy sweet tea. It’s too ungodly sweet for my tastes.
Maya, who I haven’t seen in nearly a year, sits across from me, her dark hair shorn at her shoulders. Though she left the tour injured, she’s glowing. Likely a product of doing what she loves: heading and coaching for a charity that teaches tennis to underprivileged kids.
She looks around the table, making a noise of excitement, like she can’t contain it. “I’m sorry. I’m just so glad to be here with you. I spend all my time with football players and children. I’ve missed this.”
Delilah shoots up from beside me, walking around the table to sit in Maya’s lap. Maya accepts her with a warm smile and open arms, and uncomfortableness flares in my chest. Not quite jealousy, but not unlike it either.
Perhaps envy that I can’t so easily be part of this. That everyone seems to have their own favorite person and I’m just…here.
To the left of Maya sits Cooper, Maya’s boyfriend and tight end for the Charleston Sabertooths, who does a phenomenal job of ignoring the glances he’s drawing to our table, nodding along to the conversation Maya and Delilah have started about their time together on tour.
His blond hair matches the straw cowboy hat draped over it, and his eyes never leave Maya.
To my right, Sahar and Noah continue bickering, and Harper chimes in occasionally from in front of them, trying (and failing) to keep the peace.
I’ve been around these people for a while, and I still struggle to find my footing, knowing when and where to join in. Knowing what to say. I’m thankful they invite me and think of me as one of them, but in instances like this, it’s so hard to feel like I am one of them.
The hint that I don’t belong here presses painfully against my head, leading my thoughts to the gym. Would I have set myself up for more success if I’d stayed back to train?
I shake off the idea, sinking into the background, wondering if I’ll go another twenty minutes without saying a word.
“The worst seafood I ever had while on tour was in Basel,” Aleksandr says from beside Harper. While I spiraled, the conversation became tablewide. “I was sick for three days and had to pull out before the quarterfinals.”
“Why would you think seafood in a landlocked country like Switzerland would be good?” Sahar asks.
He holds up a hand defensively. “I’d had it from another restaurant there before and it was good!”
“Wait, I know which place you’re talking about,” Noah says. “The one not far from site, right? With the amazing hand rolls?”
Aleksandr nods. “Exactly.” He turns, eyes finding mine. Sahar speaks, but I barely hear it, locked on the sea in his eyes and the small grin on his face. He watches me like he can see in me what most can’t. What I try so hard to hide from the world.
His eyes drop. It’s only now that I realize I’ve been rubbing my arm with a finger, self-soothing.
Immediately, I stop, shoving my hands under my legs.
I’ve spent years working on my fidgeting while in groups, not wanting others to perceive how uncomfortable I am.
So much so that Austin takes great pleasure in calling me the group’s “ice queen,” a title I’m more than happy to hold if it means they don’t recognize I’m defective.
Over the years, I have learned that acting aloof forces people to keep their distance, from which point they can’t poke and prod me enough to notice my nervousness. My inadequacy. And because normal people don’t fidget when they’re uncomfortable, I’ve exorcised the fidgeting from myself.
Or at least I thought I had.
“Which country has the best seafood, Nic?” Aleksandr asks after Sahar finishes speaking. All eyes turn to me, and I curse him, though I’m not certain whether it’s for knowing me well enough to see I was drowning or because I’ve never been good as the center of attention.
Taken by memories of lavraki made by my yiayia, I answer, “Greece.”
Harper points at me. “That’s my second favorite! Madrid has had my favorite seafood yet.” She rests a hand on her stomach like she didn’t eat an entire platter of eggs and veggies. “I’d give anything for that right now.”
“I don’t think I’ve tried it there yet. We’ll have to go this year,” Aleksandr answers. Everyone agrees excitedly, but his eyes remain on mine, like he was speaking to me and me alone. I glance away, body warm.
The conversation slips elsewhere, and a few minutes later, when I’m sure I won’t speak for the rest of our time here, my eyes focused on the table linen, Delilah leans over the table and asks me, “Nic! Do you remember that time we beat Ester and Valentina? What was the final score in the tiebreak again? Was it 12–10 or 13–11?”
“14–12.”
“14–12! Can you believe that? Every time we thought we had it, we were thwarted. Nic had to put her backhand winners to good use for us to get the win.”
“I hate being on the receiving side of her backhand,” Sahar groans. “It’s too damn good.”
“You have to fuel your shots with anger,” I answer. The group laughs, though I wasn’t making a joke. Or are they laughing at me? I can’t tell, but I don’t think so.
Once we’ve paid, Maya checks the time, her lips turning down. “Oh my gosh, it’s been four hours.” She turns to Cooper, who nods. “Duty calls, my loves. We have to get going.”
Delilah stands, pulling Maya into a tight embrace. “I’m not playing Stuttgart to give myself a breather before Madrid, so I can coach for the charity for a day or so before I leave for Europe.”
My eyebrows come together, and I smooth them with a finger before anyone notices. I didn’t realize Delilah wouldn’t be in Stuttgart. It makes me wonder if I should be taking a breather before Madrid too.
But if I skip Stuttgart, I may not be warmed up and ready to go for Madrid. I can’t take that time off. Plus, we have a week off between the Charleston Open and Stuttgart, when we’ll be training in Orlando. That should be plenty of time off for me.
“I would love that. Text me the days so I can have everything ready,” Maya says.
They’re still squeezing each other tightly, and Sahar, who stands with the rest of us, jokes, “Okay, Delilah, we all want a turn too.”
The pair separate, and everyone hugs Maya and Cooper. I’m last to wrap my arms around Maya, who whispers, “You’ve got an admirer.”
I pull away enough to look at her, and her eyes flick to where Aleksandr stands behind me. “I’m not sure he’s taken his eyes off you for more than a few seconds at a time today.”
Rolling my eyes, I force a smile. “Right. He won’t leave me alone. Very serious about my training. So much so, I can’t enjoy brunch with my friends without him.”
Maya smiles and hums. “Right.” She squeezes my arms and pulls away, her side still pressed to mine.
Addressing all four of us girls, she says, “I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”
She’s holding back tears, and Delilah, Sahar, and Harper rush forward to swallow her in a group hug that I’m now a part of.
Arms wrap around me from all sides, and though I’m not entirely comfortable with all of it, my breathing is a little less forced than usual, a little less like someone’s digging their knee into my chest.
After we finish saying our goodbyes, the rest of us begin the walk back to our hotel. Shockingly, Aleksandr sidles up beside me at the back of our small group. His eyes burn a hole in the side of my face, and when it becomes unbearable, I whip my glare to him. “You have a staring problem.”
He smiles. “Maybe.”
“Not maybe. I’m diagnosing it.”
“Okay, Doctor. What’s the prognosis?”
“Not good. If you don’t stop, I might finally throw a weight at your face. Or slam a tennis ball at you from close range.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “Not good indeed. What can I do to stop it before it gets to that point?”
“Find someone else to bother,” I say like it’s the obvious answer.
“Damn. Guess that’s it for me. I’ll have to bother you at least through Roland Garros. Will I make it without you breaking my pretty face or bruising me with a tennis ball?”
I bite back a small smile, hating how my body betrays me. “You’ll be lucky to make it through the week at this rate.”
He heaves a prolonged sigh. “Will you at least come to the funeral? Say a few words?”
“I think not.”
“I love when you’re mean to me.”
I roll my eyes, noting that we’ve dropped away from the group, who are several yards ahead of us. Picking up my pace, I speed through a crosswalk in the hopes of losing him.
No luck. He’s beside me on the other side in an instant. “Were you okay? At brunch?”
“We were eating with my friends. Why wouldn’t I be?
” With narrowed eyes, I finish, “I would think you, as the person who doesn’t hang out with us much, would be the one struggling.
” The words taste funny on my tongue, tinged with regret.
I’ve spent so long feeling left out, treating him like he doesn’t belong makes me no better than my childhood bullies.
Aleksandr shrugs, unfazed. “I get along with anyone and everyone.”
Must be nice.
I don’t voice the thought, and because the man is incapable of being quiet, he asks, “Do you often find it difficult to talk in large groups?”
“Do you always ask such overstepping questions to people you hardly know?”
“Always. Though I wouldn’t agree that we hardly know each other.”
“I know exactly two things about you.”
“Which are?”
“You’re a Morozov. And you annoy me at every turn when you could be doing anything else.”
His deep chuckle reaches low inside me. I hate it. “I thought I knew lots about you, but now I’m not so sure.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I thought you were just reserved. That the only thing you cared about was tennis and maybe, sometimes, your friends. But I was wrong.”
I stop abruptly, though the hotel is visible ahead. If my body would let me, I’d disappear into my room and ignore this man and his discerning commentary. “Do you plan to do this with all your clients? Or is this just for me?”
Disregarding my questions, he adds, “You care so much, don’t you?
About what others think of you. About saying the right thing.
About being included. About not fidgeting so people can’t see how uncomfortable you are.
” His eyes drop to where my right thumb smooths a pattern against my other elbow, and I grimace. “You want to belong.”
It’s a knife to the chest to be perceived on this level. “Big fucking deal. I care about stuff. So what?”
“So I’m telling you it’s okay to feel that way.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize you were the purveyor of what others are allowed to feel. Thank you, O wise one.”
Another sigh. “Alright.”
I charge toward the hotel, walking into the lobby to join my friends. The four of them are standing in a small huddle, discussing. When I get to them, Harper smiles at me, then behind me at Aleksandr.
“We’re thinking about hitting the pool in a couple of hours. Meet you there?” she asks us both. At my nod, she, Sahar, and Noah wave goodbye and head toward the elevator on their side of the hotel.
Delilah bumps her hip against mine as we walk to the other side. “Want to come to mine and get ready?”
Aleksandr has put distance between us, thankfully, talking to Anya, Natasha, and his parents, who speak with their arms crossed.
Most players and their teams stay here during the tournament, so it’s not a surprise to see them.
Anya catches me looking, her face contorting into a sneer.
Still angry about Aleksandr leaving her team, I imagine.
I glare right back.
“Now?” Normally, I’d spend my off days with Karolína and Pen, working through film or prepping for sponsorship work, but because I knew I’d be spending the day with the girls, they’re exploring Charleston.
“I’m going to call Matteo for an hour. You’re welcome to be there, but it might get inappropriate.” She giggles. “I meant after. I feel like you and I haven’t gotten to spend much time together recently.”
My shoulders sag at the words. I thought it was just me who felt the growing chasm between us. Without doubles, we only get a couple of hours here and there, and often they’re spent around other people. I can’t remember the last time we hung out alone since the offseason.
“I’ll be there.”