CHAPTER 19
Home is a new apartment in Malibu, right on my favorite beach.
It should feel familiar. It’s the same strip of sand I like to surf in the offseason.
It’s only a few miles from my father’s gated compound.
There’s a garage spot for my baby blue BMW and a huge hall closet for my tennis gear.
I can step out onto the balcony and hear the waves, feel the California sun on my skin.
But that’s just it, isn’t it?
Last night, in my new bed for the first time, I dreamed of Aurelio, beautiful face marred by a black eye. When I asked him where he got it, he shot me a look and said, “You promised you would stop running.”
I was never coming back. How could I be this version of Amy ever again? Beck Bowman’s mini-me. He was the king of tennis; I was the princess.
Except, usually in fairytales, the king doesn’t punch the princess’ true love in the face and call her a loser.
I packed a few suitcases of memorabilia and clothes as fast as I could.
I hesitated at the picture of Beck and me on the nightstand.
It was from my first week here, my first week as a true Bowman.
I used to feel a sense of pride when I looked at that picture, sure that I was where I belonged.
Now, I wonder if I belong anywhere. If tennis won’t save me, what will?
I thought I was drowning, and Beck pulled me out of the choppy waters.
Instead, I realize he just taught me to tread in them. He never wanted to pull me out.
I ran a gentle finger over the picture frame but ultimately left it. Maybe it would comfort Beck when he saw it. Maybe it would hurt him. I wasn’t sure what I wanted more.
The real estate agent I contacted was thrilled at my top-tier budget and quick timeline.
She showed me two beach apartments and I chose this one, in the cheesy complex of New Horizons apartments.
The apartment is a blazing white, like all of the new designs.
There are two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an expansive balcony with a hot tub.
The kitchen is updated, though I have no idea how to use it.
So far, I’ve been subsisting on UberEats and snacks from the flight.
Everything is going according to plan. I left Beck.
I posted on my social media accounts about our split, writing, “I appreciate everything my father has taught me, but I need the opportunity to succeed on my own and shed the Bowman legacy. I am taking a break from tennis and hope to join the tour again in the New Year.” Then, I turned my phone off.
Blissful silence.
Maddening silence.
I’m coming back from an early morning surf when I spot a familiar figure lingering outside my apartment building.
I pluck my earbud out and shove my sunglasses up on my head.
“Vince.” A shiver of guilt goes through me.
My wetsuit drips on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I heard what my father did.”
I don’t say it’s for the best, but obviously it is. Suzy truly loved Beck, and she still left. Vince is well-liked and an expert in the field. He’ll find a better position.
Vince waves me off. “Don’t worry about that. We knew it was coming.”
I shift on my feet. “I didn’t,” I say simply. “Not until this year.” How can I explain that for years all I knew was Beck? All I saw was his way of life? Now, maybe I know his way is wrong, but I can’t see any other way that would work for me.
Vince opens his mouth but then closes it again when a cyclist zips past us on the sidewalk. “Can I come inside?” he finally asks. “I need to talk to you.”
I nod. “Sure.”
I walk over to the front gate and type in my code. The agent brightly suggested that I pick a date that felt important to me, but nothing too obvious, like a birthday. I chose the Australian Open final. Everything changed for me then.
Aurelio’s face flashes in my mind, his cool hand on mine as we danced to Vivaldi.
I push the memory away and lead Vince up to my apartment on the eighth floor. He whistles appreciatively when I push open my front door, taking in the beautiful view of the ocean. “Very nice,” he compliments.
“Take a look around,” I offer. “I just need a quick second to change.” I hurry to my bedroom and throw on a sweat set, my new uniform of unemployment.
My wet hair goes into a bun, and I drape my wetsuit over the balcony railing.
I already put my board into the complex’s storage shed on my way up the beach.
I feel strange when I come back into the living room.
Vince is pondering my furnishings. “It came this way,” I explain when he touches a finger to the pristine white couch, the beige armchair, the huge, framed photograph of a sea turtle hanging on the back wall.
“It made it easier for me to move in right away.”
Vince turns to look at me. “You didn’t add anything,” he notices. “No pictures. No throw blankets or pillows. Nothing.”
I bark a laugh, sinking into the beige armchair. “What pictures? Beck and me smiling on the tennis court? Suzy and I laughing together months before she left? My mother and I on Christmas day, pretending not to be strangers?”
Vince perches on the couch across from me. His expression grows serious. “What happened in Cincinnati, Amy? Once your father found you and Aurelio?”
I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to think about the things Beck said, the things I didn’t say.
I don’t want to think about watching Aurelio get onto the elevator without me.
Instead, I focus on Vince. “I’m really sorry, Vince.
” I take a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have included you in our drama.
It got you in trouble with Beck, and for that, I’m sorry.
I’d be happy to pay your salary for a few more months. ”
He shakes his head. “Stop. You didn’t pull me into any drama. As far as I know, you and Aurelio didn’t have any drama. Your father overreacted.”
I look down at my feet. My socks are a little wet from how quickly I put them on after surfing. I can feel sand between my toes. “He was hurt,” I say quietly. “That I didn’t tell him about Aurelio. I can understand that.”
“But you didn’t tell him for a reason,” Vince says gently. “You knew he wouldn’t be happy.”
A lump rises in my throat. “He said the only reason I started dating Aurelio was as a distraction. That deep down I knew I didn’t have what it took to be a champion.” I finally look up at Vince. “Do you think that’s true?”
Vince hesitates, watching my face. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. My eyes burn with the effort not to cry.
“I think he’s right that ever since Australia, I worry that I’ll never be a champion.
That I’ll never be great. But I don’t think Aurelio had anything to do with that.
” My voice wobbles a little. “He thought I could do it. He believed that I would win a Slam this year.”
“Do you know why Aurelio believed that? Why he still believes it?” Vince leans closer, face intent. I shake my head. “He thought that because you were the reason he won a Slam this year.”
I laugh again. “Stop, Vince. I’m the reason he has a black eye, not the reason he won Wimbledon.”
He doesn’t push, switching tactics. “Have you heard from him?”
“No.” I fold my hands together, squeezing tightly. “He went home. And I turned my phone off after the press release about Beck.”
“He released a statement yesterday,” Vince reveals. My eyes widen. “That his grandmother had pneumonia and was in the hospital for several days. She’s home safely now, with him and his family.”
“Oh, thank God.” I let out a sigh of relief.
“Aurelio will be so happy.” I imagine him and his nona embracing in his childhood home.
The lovely vision pops when I imagine her asking him about his black eye.
I was supposed to meet her and the rest of his family.
I was supposed to fly to Rome right after Cincinnati.
A Bowman like me would be a black mark on such a lovely family, just as the bruise my father left on Aurelio’s face is.
“He also said,” Vince continues, “That he’s hoping to make it back for the U.S. Open next week.”
I don’t say anything. I know what he wants, but I don’t know how to give it to him.
Vince throws his hands up in the face of my silence. “Amy! Are you giving up? I’ve seen the toxic love between you and your father. But I’ve never seen that between you and tennis. Why are you ending your season early?”
I stand up, clenching and unclenching my fists. “I don’t want to stop playing!” I say, frustration boiling through me. “But I don’t know tennis on my own! I don’t know tennis without Beck in my corner. I don’t know if I can do it!”
Vince smiles for the first time since he arrived. He pulls out his phone, tapping a few times. “You don’t have to do it on your own, Amy. Here’s proof of that.” He puts the phone in my hand, which I hear faintly ringing. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in twenty.”
I put the phone up to my ear.
“Did you find her?” A voice asks frantically on the other end.
I smile. “Fernanda.”
A pause, and then, “Amy?” Another pause. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Sorry.” I swipe at a cold droplet of water trickling down my neck. “It’s been a crazy few days.”
“I’d say,” she says darkly. “I saw your Instagram post. What happened in Cincinnati? The hotel was buzzing with crazy rumors.”
I wander out onto the balcony of my apartment. I sit in one of the rocking chairs and watch the waves below. It takes me a moment to find the courage to share all the worst parts of me and my father. But strangely, once I start talking, it all spills out easily.
I tell her everything.
*
Fernanda responds to the news just as I expected. She curses at my father in Spanish, she makes sympathetic noises when I tell her about Aurelio’s eye and his nona, she compliments my quick thinking when I tell her about my new apartment.