Chapter 5
five
Lilian interrupts her humming to ask me, “Sweetheart, would you mind flipping in a minute or two? I’m going to use the restroom.”
“Of course!” I slide beside Eli at the stove, mouth watering at the smell of the nearly done bacon.
He nudges me. “Practice match today?”
“Practice match today,” I agree, nodding.
“Feeling good?”
“I think so. Francesca wants me to modify my serve, so I’m going to experiment with that today.
” When I have to make adjustments to my game during the season, it can throw off everything, and unless I’m only playing one tournament every couple of months, there’s not much room for error.
The offseason is the best time to try something new.
“She also wants me to go to the net more, but you know me.”
Eli smiles down at me, the lines beside his kind blue eyes carved deeply. His salt-and-pepper hair has gotten shaggy, so he’s donned the headband we make fun of him for using when he cooks. “I do know you. Not an aggressive bone in your body.”
Austin snorts from the breakfast nook across the kitchen, where he sits on his phone.
Usually, he’d be helping us, but Lilian insisted he stay seated because of his ankle, and Austin was more than happy to comply.
Being here with them every Saturday in the offseason is cozy and healing in a way I can’t put into words, especially with how much time Eli and I spend apart from Lilian and Austin the rest of the year.
Describing the Wards as a second family wouldn’t do justice to our bond.
When I was eight, right around the time the twins were born, Austin and his family moved to Tampa.
Austin, whose glasses took up half of his face and whose two adult front teeth were growing in, struggled making friends at school.
We sat beside each other in our third-grade class, and through conversations about SpongeBob (the only cartoon I got to watch) and Legos (which I managed to get my hands on thanks to the hand-me-down gifts brought to us by our neighbors), we quickly became thick as thieves.
The Wards took me in, adding an extra thirty or more minutes to their morning and evening routines to give me and Chase rides to and from school when the bus perimeter changed so that we no longer qualified.
Both Lilian and Eli played professional tennis for years, so naturally, Austin had begun learning long before we met.
Soon after we became friends, they brought me on excursions to the courts.
From the moment I stepped onto the painted concrete, my life changed for the better.
For an hour here and there, they coached me until I was good enough to play in USTA tournaments on the weekends.
One of them took me, while the other took Austin, since girls and boys tournaments are often in different places.
Chase—along with Dad when he was coherent and available and neighbors when he wasn’t—took care of the twins those weekends.
Once the money from the state, Dad’s occasional work, and the few paid chores a fourteen-year-old could get wasn’t enough to feed four growing children, the Wards found me a coaching job.
Saying we’re indebted to them is an understatement.
When Austin and I finally went pro at eighteen, Eli began traveling with me, sitting in my box and coaching me until I made enough to hire someone, and Lilian went with Austin on the men’s tour.
While they both were second parents to me growing up, Eli kept the isolation of the tour at bay in the beginning, before I made friends.
He was the first real father figure I felt I could trust and rely on for emotional support.
The sound of Lilian washing her hands in the bathroom reminds me of the pancakes that need flipping. I slide the spatula underneath one, answering Eli’s joke about not having an aggressive bone in my body, “Yeah. As Francesca likes to say, I need to make more enemies on court.”
We share a laugh and begin plating food just as Lilian returns, all of us sliding into the homely nook. The sun hasn’t risen yet, the sky barely hinting at dawn, and the quiet stillness of an early morning on their residential street wraps around us.
Eli pours syrup onto his pancakes and bacon. “Thank you for the food, Del.”
I wave it away. It’s the very least I can do.
Years ago, when we first started this tradition, they were thoroughly opposed to the idea of me buying the ingredients, but over time, and since I never stopped bringing them, they seemed to have recognized that this is my small way of paying them back.
Of not taking any more from them than I already have.
“It’s nothing. Thank you both for cooking.”
We fall into a contented silence as we eat. About halfway through my first pancake, Eli says, “I hear you’re keeping Matteo waiting about mixed doubles.”
Cutting into the sunny-side up eggs Eli made special for me, I answer, “I wouldn’t say I’m keeping him waiting. I told Francesca I’m going to stick to singles.” Even if my call with Chase yesterday made me rethink the decision for a minute.
Lilian’s eyebrows twitch like I’ve startled her, but she doesn’t show it beyond that. “Can I ask why?”
I wipe my hands on a napkin, dabbing my lips as I think through the jumbled reasonings that have been floating through my head.
“I guess I’m struggling to understand why he chose me?
I can tell he’s not giving me the full truth about it, and I don’t think that’s any way to start a partnership.
Plus, he’s normally a top ten player, which I’m sure he’ll get back to soon, and he has so many prospects.
I’m failing to comprehend why he’d be interested in me specifically.
” I don’t mention what he said yesterday about feeling partially responsible for Austin’s injury.
“Don’t put yourself down like that, sweetheart,” Eli chimes in. “You are such a strong doubles player and an asset to any partner you have.”
Lilian nods. “Absolutely.”
I laugh. “We just agreed I’m not great at net. Austin is a beast up there. If Matteo is looking for that from me, he won’t get it.”
“You’re not playing men’s doubles with him, Del,” Austin adds. “It’s mixed. He’s not expecting you to be a copy-paste version of me on court. He’s obviously seen you play and thinks you’re a good fit or he wouldn’t have asked.”
“And nobody agreed you’re not great at net.” Eli forks another pancake onto his plate. “All I agreed about was that you aren’t aggressive enough sometimes to get yourself to the net.”
I sigh, knowing they only want what’s best for me. If they’re pushing, it’s because they think I need to give it more thought, and I’m not sure their judgment has ever led me astray.
“Are there other reasons?” Lilian asks gently.
Remembering what Nic said yesterday, I shrug.
“I don’t believe everything reporters and players say about him, but I can’t ignore the fact that he has, in the past, slammed his rackets, and yelled at chair umpires.
Gotten fined for those things.” I turn to Austin.
“I didn’t see him play with you a ton this season.
How was he then? Did you get fined a lot? ”
“So many people on tour do those things,” he says with a derisive chuckle, shaking his head.
“I think they like to latch onto him and make him seem worse than he is, honestly. And no, he wasn’t too bad during doubles, especially in the latter half of the season.
The once or twice we did get fined, he paid it all himself. We had fun.”
I don’t respond after a few moments, and Austin must take this as continued hesitation.
He sets his utensils down and clears his throat.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but you’re wondering why you, and if it helps you make your decision, you should know.
” Everyone, myself included, stops eating, raptly awaiting Austin’s next words.
He draws out the silence, enjoying the attention, until I shove him gently.
“Matteo’s sponsors aren’t happy with him.
Neither are the Italians, who kicked him off the Davis Cup team. ”
The Davis Cup is a team event where the top men from twenty-six countries compete every year, with the winning country touted as the world champions.
Matteo, who, from my understanding, holds dual citizenship for the US and Italy, plays for his home country.
I know he played in it for the last few years, so I was surprised to see him here since the Italians are still in the running.
Maybe this is the ulterior motive I saw him hold back on yesterday.
“His behavior is catching up to him, and he’s struggling to outrun it.
His own countrymen are against him. Half of his endorsement deals were pulled at the beginning of the year, and the other half have told him he’s on thin ice, no matter how good he continues to be.
The way I see it, he needs someone like you to work with him to prove he’s not as bad as he’s seemed all these years. ”
Eli is nodding like it all makes sense, but I ask, “Someone like me?”
“You know. You’re the WTA’s sweetheart. Everyone loves you. No matter what country you’re in or who you’re playing against, the crowd is rooting for you. I imagine his team recognizes that playing mixed doubles with you at the beginning of the year will help his image this season.”
I ponder that for a moment. I’m liked on the tour, sure.
I have no enemies. The people I’ve beaten usually become good friends, even if we don’t often talk outside of tournaments.
But I didn’t realize my reputation stretched over into the men’s tour.
Certainly not to the point that someone like Matteo might need someone like me.
“And you truly believe that it won’t end negatively if I train with him? And if we qualify for Aussie?”