41
“The Becoming of Luna Aldridge”
—Sartorially
THE LAST TIME I had seen Ava Williams in person was in a hotel bed with Jeremiah. Her eyes were wide like a deer’s. Ironic seeing as she was the new, doe-eyed player at the time.
Shiny and novel. Last year’s up-and-coming tennis player. Freshly a pro at the age of twenty. Suddenly my twenty-five years of age had felt old then.
When I saw her in that bed, I knew I could never look at either of them again.
Him for tearing my heart apart. Her for making me forget why anyone would want mine.
Did he think she was a better tennis player than me?
Prettier than me? More interesting? Was it because she was taller?
Thinner? There was a never-ending list of questions that haunted me for months.
I thought I was doing us both a favor by never speaking about the infidelity.
But now, looking at her from across the hall, her doe eyes one year older, all I felt was guilt.
She wouldn’t look at me, only focusing on the ground where she retied her laces for a fourth time.
Twenty-five-year-old Luna had wanted Ava to beg for forgiveness, while twenty-six-year-old Luna was healed enough to know that it wasn’t Ava’s responsibility to do anything at all.
I wanted to extend my hand forward and ask if the girl was okay.
Kieran stood beside me, Coach already in his seat in the crowd, as Ava and I waited for the go-ahead to enter the court.
“You all right?” he asked. Despite the heaviness of the moment, it made me laugh to read my last name embroidered on his hat. He had stolen it from my closet when he moved some clothes into my place last week.
“I think I need to talk to her,” I admitted. He refrained from rolling his eyes despite telling me to do that exact thing yesterday when I explained the situation.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he reassured me. “I’ll give you some space.” He leaned forward to kiss me goodbye, his lips enveloping mine with need and desire. I felt dizzy when he pulled away, his hand latching onto my wrist to keep me steady, before walking off.
“Aren’t you supposed to say good luck!” I shouted.
“You don’t need it!” he hollered back. Then, he held up his hand, pointing to his wrist.
I stared at the exit before realizing. Looking down at my wrist, there was a new trinket hanging from my bracelet.
A crescent moon. Have some faith in who you are, Luna Aldridge.
I squeezed my wrist, my palm hugging the charms, before I grabbed my bag and walked over. Ava sat on the ground again, her sun-dyed braid falling over her shoulder as she picked at the laces.
“Do you want some tape?” I offered.
Her head snapped up, startled by my voice. “What?” She gaped.
“Tape, for your laces,” I explained, gesturing to her shoes. She looked down at them but only appeared more confused.
“Here, let me,” I replied, kneeling on the floor. With her eyes still wide, she retreated, letting me take over. I peeled up the end of the masking tape, tearing a strip twice the length of my finger. I nudged her tied laces to the center and pressed the adhesive across them.
“Let me see your other shoe.” I ripped another piece off.
She didn’t hesitate, unfolding her leg from her chest to provide me with the other sneaker.
Silence filled the space. Her bewilderment was heavy.
“Figure skaters get nervous about their laces untying and catching on their blades during programs, so they’ll add tape around the boot of the skate to keep them from moving.
It’s not the prettiest trick, but it should keep you from worrying,” I explained.
“Thank you,” she finally replied as I double-checked the tape.
“It’s no problem. Keep this just in case you want to add more between sets.” I put the roll in her bag. Her eyes, green like ocean moss, followed my movement. Maybe this was a bad idea. I had startled her right before the match, and if she messed up it’d be my fault—
“You’ve always been my favorite player,” she confessed.
“Really?” I asked with shock.
She nodded. “I remember watching you win your first Grand Slam. I was sixteen at the time, sitting on the floor watching you at Wimbledon. The announcers wouldn’t stop commenting on your inexperience and how no one had known your name before this match.
They expected you to lose, and then you won in straight sets.
It was the quickest Wimbledon final to date.
You were magical. I told my mom that day that I wanted to be just like you.
” She relayed the story, her voice finally resembling a tone of normalcy.
“I… thank you.” My words teetered on the edge of a cliff, fearful of how she felt about that statement now.
“When I made pro last year, I was a wreck. I was overwhelmed, and it felt like no one believed in me. Seeing your level of success at twenty-one felt so impossible to reach.” My heart was pounding listening to her.
It was like cracking open a journal hidden away in an attic.
“I just want you to know that what happened last year, it’s not who I am.
I—I never meant to hurt you or your marriage or cause all of this chaos.
I was in a really horrible place, and I shouldn’t have let it affect your life.
” Her voice trembled, and her eyes welled with emotion.
I pictured this moment in a million different ways.
But never once did I think it would result in my heart breaking because of the guilt-ridden look on her face.
If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed with shame a year ago, I would have digested the fact that she didn’t do what she did because she loved him, but because she was taken advantage of by him.
A decade older than her. Someone who should have been a role model.
Someone who could have ruined her life if he wanted to.
I swallowed, resting my hand on her knee. “Hey, it’s all right,” I managed. If I hadn’t run through all my tears this year, I’d be crying with her. “In all honesty, I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” she asked, pressing her fingertips into the corners of her eyes.
“Because I should’ve reached out a long time ago.
I couldn’t look at you, let alone call you, because I was so embarrassed.
And ashamed and overwhelmed. But the more time passed, the more I realized what a terrible person he is.
None of what happened was your fault. None of it.
You were so young—are so young—and I should’ve reached out.
I was too busy swallowing the fact that my marriage needed to end. He was a really awful husband.”
She laughed despite her flushed cheeks. “Which I think means you did me a favor,” I explained. “I know we’re about to compete against each other, and you’ll be dreadfully busy if you win, but I was wondering if you had plans next week? Maybe Friday for lunch?”
Her mouth fell open just enough for it to settle the nervous pattering behind my rib cage. “That would be amazing,” she responded, her cheeks hitting the outer creases of her eyes.
The Pressure Is a Privilege sign in the tunnel watched over us as we stood from the ground and entered center court.
An hour and a half and two sets later, I was exhausted. We were tied. One set each. Forty minutes into the third set and the win was right under my tongue. Match point.
One more point. I needed one more point.
The sun had officially set, and the only thing lighting the arena was the moon and the roof’s LEDs. My arms, legs, fingers—even my toes—were heavy. I could feel each muscle’s pulse, throbbing against the heat. Each step I made while waiting for Ava to serve was like moving through water.
I tried to push away the thought that this is where things usually went wrong.
One point away from winning the third set.
Where my downfall began and I gave the set, and the rest of the match, away.
When words like Jeremiah’s crept in. Why are you talking to me about tennis when you can’t even win? Everyone was thinking it, weren’t they?
But I remembered Kieran holding my gaze in the hotel bathroom. Have some faith in who you are, Luna Aldridge. I know I do. He didn’t falter. No hesitation, no pity. He believed in me.
Have some faith. I could have some faith. Even envision winning.
With my feet flattened against the court, I took a deep breath as Ava checked her shoes and stood. Seconds that felt like minutes passed when she served, sending the ball right to me.
One more point. One more point. One more point.
Sweat traveled down my chest as I swung, instinctively pivoting to a forehand. The ball flew to the right of the court. She dove for it. I readied myself for the ball to come back as her arm extended.
Wait, no. She wasn’t going to reach it. Her racket was two inches too far from the ball.
Then the ball hit the wall behind her, and her arm slumped.
Everything went quiet in that moment. All I could hear was the blood pumping in my ears.
It thudded once. Twice. Three times before it became a roaring noise that turned into applause.
The stadium itself seemed to stand up on two feet.
Finally, I stepped out of my bubble of focus and took in the crowd.
I won.
Everyone stood. They clapped, whistled, cheered, smiled.
Twenty thousand people. I searched their faces, waiting for that moment of fulfillment to hit, but it wasn’t until I found myself staring across the court at Deidra, her daughter Emma, Cecilia, Serena, Amir, Mary, Willow, Coach, Kieran, and…
Walt and Dad. They both had on shirts that said We Know Luna Aldridge, jumping in the stands.
There was an open seat next to him. For Mom.
My chest swelled as I imagined her there, shouting for me.
It was as if my heart were growing too big for my sternum.
I wanted to grab the memory and hold on to it forever.
I walked forward, where Ava awaited me. She extended her arms over the net and pulled me into a hug.
“You were amazing,” I breathed, unsure if the moisture on my cheeks was my sweat or tears.
“Magic, Luna. You were magic,” she exhaled, not a hint of animosity.