Chapter 18 #2
She was rueful. “My mother was not the easiest person to grow up with.” Her voice was soft enough that I had to strain to hear her.
“There was never enough of anything when I was a kid. We moved every year because once the landlord of our current place realized my mother was a terrible tenant who was always late with her rent, there would never be another lease. We never had what I would call oodles of food in the cupboards. Every week, my mother would buy a box of cereal, a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and whatever cheap frozen stuff was on five-dollar deals at the grocery store. I always had the bare minimum. I didn’t go hungry.
It was enough to survive. But at a certain point, I realized that it wasn’t enough for me. ”
Without planning to, I reached over and rubbed her arm. She didn’t respond, so I kept doing it.
“All kids have big dreams, whatever their circumstances might be,” she said. “I was the type of kid who would crush my own dreams, though. It took watching tennis to break me of that mindset. Multiple people can succeed. It’s not just one person. There’s room for other people too.”
“Have you ever seen a professional tennis match?” I asked.
She smiled. “No. Federer and Nadal have both retired. They’re the ones I would have wanted to see.”
“Yeah, but there’s retirement, and there’s retirement.” I wasn’t an expert on tennis, but I was familiar enough with the sport to know a few things, thanks to my father. “All those retired guys get dusted off here and there for exhibition matches. They do it for charity at the Grand Slams.”
“So, you think I should buy a ticket to Wimbledon next year?” she asked with sparkling eyes.
I shook my head. “No, but the US Open isn’t that far away. It’s not even a two-hour plane ride. We could go. My father might even be able to get us tickets to the exhibition—and good tickets—if they sell out fast.”
She looked thrown. “You want to go with me?”
I shrugged. “I like tennis. I don’t think I know as much about it as you do, but I enjoy watching it.”
She cocked her head, and it was impossible to miss the suspicion glittering in her eyes. “Who is your favorite player?”
“Well, when I was little, my favorite player was Andre Agassi. Do you know who that is?”
A wide grin split her face, and she nodded.
“He was considered the bad boy of tennis,” I explained. “He had a blond mullet and wore jean shorts. My mother had a huge crush on him. She would watch matches with me when I was kid.”
“That sounds nice.”
“I don’t remember the specific matches. I just remember spending time with my mother.
” I shook my head to dislodge my mother’s face from my memory.
It still made me sad. “Anyway, Agassi had a drug problem and fell off the tour for a bit. When he came back, he’d shaved his head—turns out he was going bald and had hair pieces glued in or something anyway—and he was serious about his fitness and game.
He became a better player when he was older. ”
“And you liked that?” she asked.
“I liked knowing that there were second chances if you screwed up.”
“Oh.” She nodded solemnly. “I get it. Have you ever seen him play?”
“Yeah. My mother took me to the US Open when I was a kid. Unfortunately, I was too young to understand what was going on. I was eight, and he won. I didn’t understand why it was a big deal. I did understand that it was important to my mother, so I always cherish that memory.”
She swallowed hard. “That is an amazing memory. Did you ever have a favorite tennis player after him?”
“Not a male tennis player. Agassi was always my favorite male tennis player, although I did enjoy watching the three you mentioned. It’s just…” I searched for the best words to convey what I was feeling.
“Agassi was your bridge to your mother,” Bree said before I could find the right words. “You want to keep that bridge intact forever.”
“Yeah.” She got me. It was somehow miraculous. More than her just being beautiful, she understood me in a way that nobody else could.
You could fall in love with her.
My inner voice didn’t shout it, but the truth of those simple words shook me to my very core.
I hadn’t been looking for love—not even a little—yet here she was.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t looking for love.
Not that she would even look to me for that.
I needed to redirect this conversation, because if I dwelled on the fact that I had feelings for her for too long, I might blurt out something stupid.
“I was a huge fan of Serena Williams,” I said. “I’m sad she retired. I loved watching her.”
“Yeah. I’m looking for a new tennis player to watch,” she said.
“Maybe we can start doing research and find one together.” That was as close as I allowed myself to get to making plans with her. Anything more in-depth than that might break me.
She grinned. “That sounds kind of fun.”
We stood together, checking our limbs to make sure nothing hurt and brushing each other off so no grass or twigs clung to us.
“Do you mind if I sit over there and write?” Bree pointed toward a table across the pathway from the one I’d been using. “I promise to be quiet. If this is your place, though, I don’t want to ruin that for you.”
I didn’t give the question any thought. I already knew my answer. “There’s more than enough room for both of us. In fact, I like the idea of having company, even if we don’t talk to one another.”
When she smiled, everything inside me went warm. “I like that idea too.”
And just like that, I knew I was in big trouble. I was going to fall head over heels for this woman, and we hadn’t even been out on a single date. What the hell was I supposed to do with these feelings?