Chapter 29 #2
“No, baby. I love you, but you have dishes to do.” Andreea smiles sweetly and kisses his cheek. Max laughs and shakes his head as he clears our plates and takes them to the kitchen.
The silence stretches between us but neither one of us starts the conversation back up. Instead, we both stare into our wine glasses, listening to the muffled sound of running water as Max rinses plates and loads the dishwasher.
“How could you possibly think you could make the same mistakes?” my dad finally says, breaking the silence.
I sigh in defeat. “I don’t know Dad, seeing you and Mom constantly fight and reading about the cheating rumors in the news didn’t exactly instill confidence in me to fully open up to someone.”
Dad runs a hand down his weathered face and I take him in.
He looks older, different than I remember him.
But then again, he also looks better. Happier, even.
There are more crinkles around his eyes and mouth and I wonder if he’s dating someone.
If those laugh lines appeared because he’s found someone to make him laugh.
“You could never make those same mistakes because you’re nothing like your mother. You’re nothing like me, either,” he scoffs, shaking his head in wonder. “Thank God for that.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I wanted to keep the media out of my marriage, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. But honey, the only reason they were so hell bent on writing articles about us is because your mother went chasing them,” he says, resigned.
I frown and wait for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I prod. “She did?”
“The first time she cheated on me was back when we were still living in Romania and you girls weren’t born yet.
We almost got divorced then, but we talked things through and decided to put it behind us.
” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. He never talks about the time he lived in his home country and I might finally understand why.
I never knew my mom was the one who was cheating.
“The second time she cheated, that I know of, you girls were maybe ten and fourteen. It was when we lived in Australia. You and your sister were taking tennis lessons and I was supposed to train a client, but he canceled on me at the last moment. I drove back to our house and found your mother with our gardener.”
I gasp. “No way,” I say, placing a hand over my mouth. Really, the gardener?
Dad gives me a sad smile and says, “Oh, it gets much worse. A year later, when we moved to the States, she started sneaking out. Turns out she was having an affair with another tennis coach at the same club I was working at.
“By the time you were in high school and we moved to California, she was going out a lot, partying. The news got a whiff of it and ran an article. Then another. And another. And she kept doing it. I begged her to keep a low profile, go to rehab, something to get better, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
Then she started seeing this guy who worked for a prestigious sports news outlet, and that’s when things got out of hand.
“It’s like I had a target on my back, the media was always on my heels, and the rumors that I was cheating on your mother began.”
“But you never did?” I ask, stunned.
“Never, pi?cot, I swear,” he says, expression earnest and sad.
I nod slowly, seeing my dad in a whole new light. “Why didn’t you tell us back then?”
He sighs and shakes his head. “You girls already had a lot to deal with—school, the pressure to go into tennis, hormones. I didn’t want to paint your mother in a bad light and take her away from you.”
“But she left anyway,” I say, jaw tight.
“That was never my choice,” he says, squeezing my hand.
I chew on my bottom lip and take in everything he’s telling me, reshaping the memories I have of my high school days and giving them new meaning.
Every fight they had, every article I read, it all makes so much sense now.
I blamed my dad for the divorce, when really my mom was the culprit all along.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly, squeezing his hand back.
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have let so much time get between us. I shouldn’t have let my pride get in the way of telling you all this sooner either. For what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you, pi?cot.”
A tear drops to the table and I stare at it, my vision becoming more blurry. Isn’t this everything I’ve always wanted to hear? And yet, why don’t I feel like jumping up and down in joy?
You know why. The voice in the back of my head tells me.
It’s because you’ve fucked everything up with Rowan.
All he wanted was for us to be together and I’ve constantly made him feel unwanted, even if it wasn’t my intention.
He told all his friends about me. He told his mom and my sister.
I was too scared of what our relationship could turn into if I told anyone.
Rowan has always been there. A constant ray of sunshine in my life. And I pushed him away. I’m such a fucking coward.
“I was skeptical of Rowan at first,” my dad says, sensing the shift in my thoughts.
“Why?” I ask, wiping my tears away.
“Boys are boys, and when you brought him home the first time, I thought he was just like any other twenty something year old. Chasing fame and money, but—he surprised me. Do you remember when we fought about you going pro and I thought you weren’t ready?”
I snort. “I wasn’t ready. You were right,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Rowan overheard us having that fight and found me later. You know what he said to me? He told me he’d never seen anyone more talented or more determined than you,” Dad says, his lips twitching. “He told me I had no idea how incredible my own daughter was and how much I was disappointing her.”
The laugh that comes out of my mouth is strained and I blink back more tears. Of course my incredible, thoughtful, wonderful best friend would tell off my dad. “He never told me that,” I say, shaking my head. My hands inch closer to my phone and I’m dying to call him.
“I see the way you two are together. It’s a special bond, one that can’t be broken by some piss poor articles in the media,” Dad says, waving his hand around like he’s swatting at those reporters.
“I really hurt his feelings, Dad. I let him go and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You start by getting ready for the French Open, then show up for his final match. Even when it’s hard, even if he doesn’t think he wants you there. I know he needs you. If you want to avoid making the same mistakes as me,” he says, taking a ragged breath, “then show up.”
“Thanks Dad.” I break my composure and tackle him in a hug. “I really missed you.”
“I missed you too,” he says, patting my hair.