CHAPTER 20 #3
I glance up at Aurelio whose brow is furrowed in confusion. Still, he carefully translates for me, speaking beautifully to his grandmother. Her expression also becomes confused, eyes darting between me and Aurelio, standing at her shoulder.
I take a deep breath. “Thank you,” I tell her.
“Thank you for convincing Aurelio to come back to tennis. Thank you for convincing Aurelio to pick up the racket again.” Another pause for Aurelio to translate.
I keep my gaze on Nona, though I can feel everyone watching me.
Even Bianca has stopped shuffling the deck.
“If you didn’t...” I’m a little embarrassed when my voice cracks, but I power on.
“You changed his life when you got him to come back to tennis. But, the thing is, you changed my life, too.” Aurelio told them everything, so they know what I mean.
They know that I’m no longer speaking to my father, that he was the one who marked Aurelio’s face.
I dare a peek up at Aurelio and his eyes are wet, too.
But he’s smiling at me like I said the right thing.
In fact, when I look around the room, everyone is smiling at me.
Alessandro reaches over and pulls Bianca from her chair, putting her on his lap.
She snuggles up to him. Aurelio’s father walks over, clapping Aurelio on the shoulder.
I focus back on Nona. I’m surprised when she responds in English. “I do same... for you.” Her words are heavily accented, hesitant. Her gaze is anything but, fierce and unwavering.
I look at Aurelio for help. He asks her a question in Italian, and she responds with a disapproving cluck of the tongue and sharp question of her own. “She heard that you aren’t playing in the U.S. Open,” Aurelio explains.
Nona places both hands on the table. “Will you... play?”
Everyone waits for my answer, even Aurelio. I know he’ll understand if I want a break. I know I’d be happy to sit in his box and watch him play in New York.
But, the truth is, I think I’d be even happier to play with him.
I nod for Nona. “I will,” I confirm. And for the first time all morning, Nona smiles.
All the fatigue, the weakness from the hospital, it seems to fade with that smile.
Bianca claps in approval, nudging her father until he does too.
Aurelio’s eyes shine at me, and I think I’ve said the right thing again.
“Also,” I lean conspiratorially across the table, “Vince got me and Aurelio into the All-Star event on Saturday. We’re going to play mixed doubles together. ”
You’d think we just announced our engagement. Bianca cheers, jumping from her chair. Nona claps her gnarled hands, eyes crinkling in joy. Aurelio’s father raises his espresso cup to us.
Aurelio starts laughing, maybe at the absurdity of it all. At one point, we both saw tennis as a tragedy. He felt his family had betrayed him, that tennis had torn him away from real life. I felt like tennis could only be Beck’s game, not my own.
Now, we’re going to play at a Slam together.
I start laughing, too.
It’s not the last laugh I have that morning, either.
*
Rome isn’t on the coast, but it’s not far from it.
Aurelio parks the car after a short ride, paying the young man standing guard at the striped umbrella so we can enter the beach.
It’s hot outside this deep into July, but the sun is hidden behind the clouds.
The water is a muted blue gray, reflecting the turmoil above.
I don’t mind because it means the beach is pretty empty, just a few people dotting the shoreline.
I inhale the salty air, a deep calm falling over me.
Aurelio reaches out and grabs my hand, twining our fingers together. “Do you want to swim?” He tilts his head towards the water. I’m already a little sticky from the humidity, and I’ll never say no to seeing Aurelio with his shirt off, but something compels me to shake my head.
“No,” I say, looking up at him. The sea breeze ruffles his beautiful curls. “Let’s walk.”
We drop our shoes, beach bags, and towels off under one of the beach umbrellas dotting the coast. The sand feels like heaven under my feet, warm but not scalding. Aurelio bumps my hip so we’re walking half in the sand, half in the tide.
“Did I do okay back there?” I ask him. “With your family?”
He squeezes my hand. “You were perfect, mia dolce.”
“I like them,” I confess. “I really like them. Especially Bianca and Nona.”
He grins. “They’re my favorites, too.”
There’s a pause as we walk a little further, moving out of the way of a young family building a sandcastle. The waves lap gently at my ankles, cool and soothing. Aurelio’s next question splinters the peace. “Do you think he’ll come to the Open?” he asks. “Your father, I mean?”
I sigh. “I won’t see him if he does. But he might be working with Charles Allard. The rumors are swirling.”
Aurelio snorts. “They’re suited to each other.” There’s a pause, and I glance up at Aurelio’s face. He chews his lip, conflicted.
“What?” I ask him.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” he says in a rush. “If you wanted to see him. Maybe there’s a way he can be your father but not your coach.”
I look at the seemingly endless beach in front of me, mind churning through the possibilities.
What exactly would Beck and I be like away from the tennis court?
Is there a chance he’d want to know the other version of Amy?
“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it.
” I shake my head in frustration. “It would be nice to have a family. Maybe without Beck’s interference, my mother and I can become closer.
I was even thinking of reaching out to Suzy after Wimbledon.
She liked my recent Instagram breakup post about Beck.
I’m hoping it’s a sign that she’d be open to talking again.
She deserves an apology for... everything.
” Aurelio nods encouragingly. “But with Beck...” I trail off.
“I can’t picture it. I can’t picture him being my father when, really, he was only ever my coach. ”
“Maybe you both just need some time,” Aurelio offers. I know he’s thinking about his own father and how they finally killed the anger between them, even after all this time. I’m not sure it’s the same thing.
“You’re right—time will tell.” Now I’m the one to squeeze his hand. “Thank you,” I say. He looks at me questioningly. “For being so open to the idea. I know he was awful to you. I don’t take your kindness for granted.”
He untangles our hands and puts an arm around my shoulders.
We line up nicely from ankle to hip to shoulder.
“We’ll figure it out,” Aurelio reassures me.
“Together. The...” he finally finds the phrase he’s looking for, “...ball is in his court, as you Americans say. If he apologizes, if he wants to be your father, we can go from there.”
“And if he doesn’t?” My voice is small. “If he’s the same asshole he’s always been?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Aurelio emphasizes. “Me, and you, and maybe my family, and probably Vince, and definitely Fernanda.”
I laugh. “Not a bad group.”
Aurelio’s eyes widen suddenly. “You need a new coach! For the U.S. Open,” he says, panicked. “Maybe I can contact the Italian federation, see if they have any suggestions—”
I interrupt him. “Aurelio, don’t worry. I already have a new coach.”
“You do?” And when I tell him who it is, his eyes widen even further. “Merda! How the hell did you get—”